Skirt (Ruthless Kings MC #5) - K.L. Savage Page 0,72
gets the chance.
Chapter Eighteen
SKIRT
I roll over and my arm hits nothing but an empty side of the bed where Dawn is supposed to be. I flop to my back and yawn, while my arm searches the spot for any heat. It’s cold. I rub my left eye, then stretch, and every bone in my damn body cracks into place. I groan in relief then twist my neck like I always do. “Lips!” I call out to her and scratch around the skin that’s burnt. It’s itchy. While my chest is sore and my back aches, it’s nowhere near as bad as it was yesterday. “Dawn? Where are you?” I yell for her again, but all that answers is the sound of my own voice.
She must be over at the clubhouse with the other ol’ ladies. They love to get together in the morning over gossip and giggle and shit. It tickles me that Dawn fits in so well with them. I love it. It’s important our women get along when we can’t.
Like Poodle and me.
Even though it’s more on me than him now. Life’s too short to be petty like this. I’m going to talk to him this morning, right after I talk to Bullseye and find my Lips. I need a good morning kiss.
Rolling out of bed, my cock is hard, aching for Dawn. Beads of pre-cum dribble out of the tunnel, and I fist every inch, stroking my morning wood until it starts to soften. I don’t know what it is about the mornings, half the time I’m hard and not even wanting to fuck. The moment I give it a good squeeze, it deflates, which makes the rest of the morning go by a lot easier as I get dressed and am not thinking about sex.
Okay, I’m kind of thinking about sex now that I’ve been having it all the time, but it isn’t giving me a painful erection 24/7.
I go to the bathroom, piss, wash my hands, and brush my teeth. When I look in the mirror, I turn my body around to get a good look at my back. “Fuck me,” I whisper in awe. It looks like I’ve been to war and back. I have the slashes on my skin, but the red lines jettisoning down my back and chest from Dawn’s talons look more painful than the actual injuries I have. “Shite, Lips. You tore me up.” Seeing her mark on me, I’m getting hard now. I want to fuck her against the nearest surface while she tries to get away from me.
Fucking love it when she does that.
I comb my fingers through my beard and leave my hair the mess it is. I don’t give a fuck. I slip on a kilt and shirt, then head to the front door.
It’s open.
A slither of something I can’t quite put my finger on alerts me. I study the room, trying to see if anything is out of place. The door is open because she went to the clubhouse.
“Idiot,” I chastise myself as I make my way outside. I inhale, and my mood is fucking glorious. I prance down the steps with a happy little trot and open the side door that leads to Reaper’s office, and if I follow the hall to the kitchen, I’ll find some pie.
It’s been too long since I’ve had pie.
“Morning, Badge,” I wave at the man sitting at the computer desk, staring at five screens, typing furiously, then zooming in on different monitors.
“Morning,” he grunts, not wanting to be bothered.
I wonder if he’s had any luck on finding the kid. Ambling down the hall, I enter the kitchen and go straight for the fridge. With a smile on my face, I take a look inside and then in the next instance, I’m frowning. “There’s no pie.” I don’t think I’ve ever been so devastated. “There’s always pie. How is there no pie?” The fridge is empty besides a few bottles of beer and a mountain dew. There’s a tub of butter, but I don't feel like eating that again.
Damn dares. That butter fucked up my stomach for weeks.
“What are you bellowing about?” Bullseye lumbers in the kitchen and heads straight to the pot of coffee.
Ah, just the person I need to see. “There’s no pie.”
He nods while sipping his coffee enthusiastically, a strangled moan leaving his throat as he drinks. “I swear, coffee is better than sex in the mornings.”
“Yer fucking the wrong women if ye think that, Bullseye.”