Chapter One
Domino
Home sweet home.
The wooden sign in my and my husband’s bedroom, as cheesy as it might be, renews my energy and spirit when the mundane everyday life gets a tad too dreary.
I study the sign. It doesn’t move an inch as the bed bangs against the wall. Narrowing my eyes at it, I notice a fault. It’s crooked. I’ll have to fix it.
My husband grunts above me, his pace quickening as he closes in on his orgasm. I moan dutifully, ignoring the crooked sign, and fabricate an expression my husband enjoys.
Eric grunts again.
I love my life.
My life is the epitome of righteousness and perfection.
What more could I possibly ask for? I’m happily married to my wonderful husband, Eric, who is a police officer. We live in a nice house with a beautiful garden and a white picket fence.
Eric and I have known each other since high school. We’re the picture-perfect American high school sweethearts who got married and lived happily ever after.
As a stay-at-home housewife, I take care of the house and all the house chores. I love to clean and cook and wash. My days are filled with things that need to be done around the house. I’m good at it.
So far, we haven’t been blessed with children, but it’s inevitable. Eric wants at least one of each. They will cure me of any boring moments I may have. It’ll be an honor to raise our children.
I live a content and happy life with my husband.
A very content and happy life!
Today, I have to go grocery shopping because Eric wants meatloaf for dinner tomorrow night. Then I have to do a load of laundry, and when that’s done, I have to iron all the clothes. I also have to bake my famous apple pie because… well, because Eric told me to.
I also have to swing by Mrs. Hanson and welcome her home. She lives across the street and has just returned home from a stay in the hospital after having fallen down the stairs. She had to have a hip replacement. Mrs. Hanson is an old, mean hag, but like Eric said, she is our neighbor, so I should visit her on our behalf.
Frankly, I don’t much like the people living on our street. Our next-door neighbors are a married couple around our own age. Eric doesn’t much care for them, either. They are the epitome of health, and they will remind everyone of how healthy they are and how unhealthy the rest of us mortals are. I don’t think the words grease, gluten, or butter exist in their vocabulary. But they do have something Eric and I lack. Children. Two of them, to be precise.
Our other next-door neighbor is Mrs. Wilson. She is a nice old lady who lost her husband a decade ago. However, she talks about it like it happened last week. I feel sad for her. She clearly loved her husband very much and hasn’t been able to accept his passing. But what I don’t much like about her is that she has acquired herself cats. Not one cat, but several cats. They all meow during the day, but when Eric comes home, they stop. At least, he says he can’t hear them.
Eric hates it when I complain. He says I’m ungrateful. He says I should be thrilled living on this road. It’s a good place to raise children, and he’s right; it really is a good and safe place to start a family.
‘’That’s it. I’m close!’’ Eric grunts above me, bringing me out of my thoughts.
I have my legs spread wide to accommodate my husband’s wants. They’re spread so wide they barely touch his hips. Eric prefers it when I lie still. It allows him to dive in and out without having to touch me too much. According to him, the missionary position is the only proper position for a wife and husband.
His sweaty body hovers above me. Drops of sweat drip down onto me, making me crave a shower. I gaze up at him, watching his face contort into a grimace I know all too well. Another minute and he’ll be done.
I utter a few moans, making sure he knows that I like what he’s doing, but honestly, my husband hasn’t gotten an honest moan out of me for years, much less an orgasm. But maybe this is just what sex is meant to be like between a husband and wife.
In high school, Eric and I fooled around, but we didn’t have sex until after we were married. I don’t regret it. It was the right thing to do. And in the beginning, the sex was nice. He made me feel good, but the sexual bliss was short-lived.
Eric is only interested in doing it in the same position and in the same place. At first, I thought I was doing something wrong, so I tried to spice up our sex life, but Eric got mad. He said it wasn’t right or proper and that if I wanted to be whore I could go stand on the street corner. That was the first time he got furious with me. That was the first time he hit me.
The episode shocked and scared me senseless. The despicable look he had in his eyes still haunts me. He made me feel wrong and revolting about myself. He still gets mad at me from time to time. But only when I do something wrong. Like when I forget to iron all of his clothes, or if I tell him I’m not in the mood for sex. The latter has only happened once. I learned my lesson quickly. As a wife, my duty is to obey and satisfy my husband.
With one final grunt, Erick comes inside me, filling me with his release. I close my eyes and let out another round of fake moans while telling myself that this is what I want. My life with Eric and our future children is what I want.
Eric rolls off me and collapses onto the mattress. His cum seeps out of me, so I slide off the bed and calmly enter the bathroom.
Under the spray, I scrub myself clean. I don’t stop until my skin is bright red. Gently putting my hand between my legs, I remove the evidence of what we have just done.
It’s so stupid, but lately, sleeping with my husband has felt wrong. Every time we’re together, I feel dirty. I hurry into the shower and scrub myself clean of his touch and his sperm.
I hate myself because of it. My life with Eric is perfect, and I should be happy. This life is what I’ve always wanted ever since I was a kid. One with a mom and a dad and children. The perfect life has always been my dream. But then, why do I feel so miserable? Does it have something to do with the blue-eyed biker I met when I went to my father’s funeral?
I shake my head clear of thoughts and finish my shower. Eric needs it before he has to go to work.
The fact that we had intercourse this morning is a surprise. Usually, it only happens on Wednesday nights. But he said he was in the mood, so who am I to deny him? I am his wife, after all. Satisfying my husband is my job.
I dress in a classic, demure dress and put my red hair into a fancy updo before applying a light coat of makeup. I study my reflection in the mirror. I used to be happy with what I saw, but I haven’t felt like that recently. I’m not sure what it is that I don’t like about myself.
Instead of thinking about myself, I make Eric’s lunch while he’s in the shower. I’m almost done when he comes up behind me and softly kisses my cheek.
‘’I think we hit the jackpot today,’’ he says, wrapping an arm around my lower stomach, referring to the fact that we’ve been trying to get pregnant for some time now.
‘’Yeah, me too, honey,’’ I answer, slipping out of his hold. ‘’I made your lunch.’’
‘’Of course, you did. You’re my wife,’’ he snaps in a matter-of-fact tone that has started to bug me.
Would it hurt him to say thank you? Instead of arguing, I smile. ‘’Have a nice day at work. I’m going to get started on the chores I need to get done.’’
‘’Good idea.’’ Eric scratches his belly, which topples over the belt keeping his pants up. ‘’Listen, I’m gonna be home late. Me and the guys are gonna grab some beers after work.’’
I answer with an okay and retreat back to the bedroom to remove the dirty sheets. At least with him being out with the guys, I don’t have to cook dinner. But I do hate it when he drinks. Alcohol increases his mean streak tenfold.
The faint clicking sound of the front door closing alerts me that Eric has left and will be gone all day. I let out a relieved breath. I dart to the kitchen sink and grab a glass of water, pulling out the pills hidden in my purse, swallowing one.
I feel horrible and relieved at the same time. Eric thinks we’re trying to get pregnant, but I’m still on the pill. It’s not that I don’t want a child; I do. I love children. I’ve always wanted to be a teacher, but Eric doesn’t want me to work. He says I belong in the home.
Thanks to social media, I know that most of the girls I went to high school with have gotten an education and a job. Some are married, some are not, some have children, some have pets. I don’t keep in contact with any of them. Actually, when come to think of it, I don’t talk to anyone besides Eric, my mother, my neighbors, and my hairdresser. Eric says that will change when we have children. Then I’ll have all the other moms to talk to.
However, recently, I have found myself not wanting children… with Eric. Maybe it could make us, or me, truly happy again, but my gut tells me it won’t. I don’t have the heart to tell Eric. He wouldn’t understand. He’d get mad. He’d think me a horrible wife.
A loud banging on the front door startles me out of my musings. I go to answer it. When I see who’s on the other side, I promptly smack the door close.
‘’Now, that’s not a nice way to treat a guest, Domino,’’ the man on the other side of the door hollers.
His mocking words have me swinging the door open, gripping his wrist, and dragging him inside. Fortunately for me, he goes willingly. He’s twice my size; no way could I actually make the man do anything against his will. It’d be physically impossible.
I scanned the surroundings before shutting the door. I can’t risk any of the neighbors seeing him on my doorstep. They’ll tell Eric, and then I’d have to explain what a biker from my father’s club is doing on our property, which I don’t have an answer to, especially after Eric specifically ordered me not to attend my father’s funeral.
The man in front of me is tall and handsome. He’s the one who showed me my father’s room when I visited his clubhouse. He’s the man with the baby blue eyes, boyish grin, and devilish charm that has been haunting my dreams for the past few weeks.
Bomber.
Or at least that’s his road name, or gang name, or whatever those animals call it.
Dressed in worn jeans and leather, he’s everything my husband isn’t. He is everything I despise. He is everything I am not.
He is dangerous, arrogant, and handsome. An outlaw. Those one-percenter motorcycle clubs do nothing but rob, steal, and cheat.
‘’You can’t be here. You need to leave,’’ I hiss.
‘’Listen, Domino—‘’
‘’My name is Julie! Not Domino!’’ I exclaim. For a second, I feel bad for interrupting him, but then I remember who I’m talking to. The bastard only smiles arrogantly at me in return. Bomber named me Domino because there were small domino figures on the shirt I wore when we first met. Needless to say, I threw that shirt away the second I got home. ‘’What do you want? Why are you here? Did any of the neighbors see you?’’
‘’Relax, woman. I’m here on club business. The MC wants to know if you want any of your dad’s belongings? You know, the furniture and such.’’
‘’No, thank you,’’ I answer, stepping backward, only now realizing how close I was standing to him.
Bomber slowly drags his eyes over me. The way he looks at my body sends shivers down my spine. I nearly moan when he licks his lips, imitating the picture of a hungry animal.
I snap my mouth shut, but Bomber seems to be aware of the effect he has on me if the satisfied smirk on his lips and the mischievous glint in his eye are anything to go by.
‘’How have you been, sweetheart?’’ he whispers.
I shake my head. ‘’I don’t see how my well-being is any of your concern.’’
‘’Humor me.’’
‘’I’ve been fine,’’ I stutter when I give in to him. What has become of me? Humoring a gang member. ‘’How do you know where I live?’’
Bomber chuckles, looking almost adorable, but then his expression turns serious. ‘’I know everything about ya, Domino,’’ he says, purposely putting more force on the name he has given me, letting me know that to him, I’m Domino.
He stalks closer, gripping a piece of my hair that has come undone from my hairdo and gently places it behind my ear. His fingertips slowly move down my heated cheek, his palm almost cradling my jaw, before he runs his fingers down my neck, ending at my collarbone, where my cardigan begins.
I’m trapped in Bomber’s clear blue eyes. They are the kind of eyes that can make any girl weak in the knees, and I’m sure they have done so plenty of times.
‘’How did you know where I live?’’ I ask again after having trouble finding my voice.
‘’A guy from the club is good at finding things. Actually, Hunter is pretty much capable of finding anything. He found you, easily, I might add. He found your address, your phone number, your social security number, your report card from high school, your—’’
‘’Okay, okay! I get it! You know everything,’’ I say, exasperated. ‘’But if you know so much about me, why didn’t you just call and ask if I wanted any of my horrible father’s belongings? Why drive all the way to Phoenix from Lineville? Unless…’’ My eyes widen as fear courses through me. ‘’Unless you’re here to hurt me? Are you?’’ I stammer. ‘’Are you here to hurt me because I told you that my dad, your so-called MC brother, was an FBI agent before he went rogue and joined your despicable gang? Are you here to punish me for my father’s treason?’’
I gaze at Bomber with a horrified expression while he watches my mouth intently as if that will help him follow my ramble.
He squeezes my shoulder lightly when I’m finally done talking. He tilts his head to the side and studies me closely. I have no idea what he’s trying to find, and I have no desire to find out.
‘’I think you’d be awfully pretty with your hair down,’’ Bomber quips randomly, ignoring all my questions.
I blink repeatedly. He looks so damn innocent and boyish that I almost thank him for the compliment, but then my gaze lands on his cut with his club’s colors. Bomber is anything but innocent. He’s horribly dangerous.
Stepping back, I lower my gaze, severing the connection between our eyes and bodies.
‘’Don’t go all shy on me now. We were just starting to have fun,’’ he teases.
‘’Just tell me why you are here,’’ I ask, taking another tiny step backward, preparing myself to flee if he is here to cause me harm.
‘’I’m not here to hurt you, so stop moving the fuck away from me,’’ Bomber retorts just as sternly while taking another step toward me. ‘’I’m here to see you,’’ he whispers in my ear.
I snap my head up to look at him. To my surprise, I find him standing much closer to me than expected.
I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out. I track my eyes all over Bomber’s face, taking in every wrinkle and dimple. When looking closely, you can see that he is older than he appears at first glance. Something in his eyes tells me he has seen and done a thing or two in his lifetime.
‘’I’ve been thinking about you,’’ he murmurs in a low growl.
Never in my life have I heard someone utter such a sexy growl, which is probably why I let him move closer until his body is practically plastered up against mine. I can feel the heat radiating from his body, and his intoxicating scent of wood and sex infiltrates my nose, leaving me a dizzy mess.
I let out a deep breath when Bomber tangles a hand in my hair, slowly pulling out the clip holding my hairdo together.
My red locks fall down on my shoulders. Bomber gently massages my scalp, removing the tension in me with his skilled fingers. I close my eyes and enjoy the sensation instead of pulling away like I should.
‘’So beautiful,’’ he mutters so lowly that I think the words are only meant for himself.
I smile timidly, biting down on my lower lip to stop the smile from spreading. I can’t remember the last time someone called me beautiful. Eric certainly hasn’t called me that in forever. He always calls me his good wife. That’s about the only compliment I get from him.
When Bomber presses his body more firmly against mine, I tense up. It’s very easy to feel his muscles through his clothes, not to mention the prominent bulge in his pants, which he doesn’t seem to be ashamed of. I tell my brain to move away, and my brain is screaming at my body to do exactly that, but my body stays rooted in place.
I tell myself it’s the shock of his bluntness that makes it impossible for me to move away, and not because I find his presence extremely arousing.
What is wrong with me? I have just had sex with my husband. I should be satisfied with that and absolutely horrified and appalled by Bomber’s advances. And I am! I really am! I’m disgusted that a few looks and touches from Bomber have me wetter than Niagara Falls when sex with my husband makes me drier than the Sahara desert.
When Bomber leans in, his mouth hovering above my ear, his five o'clock shadow scratching my cheek, I almost want to come in my panties.
I have to forcefully remind myself that men like Bomber are everything I hate and everything that is wrong with this world. They are horrible human beings who have no respect for anything or anyone. Especially the law.
My dad left me and my mother and threw away his thriving career as an FBI agent to live with the Death’s Soldiers MC, a club of animals and monsters. They brainwashed him. They stole my dad from me and turned him into a criminal.
I remember my dad being there when I was little. He would watch Winnie the Pooh with me every time I was sick. It was my favorite cartoon and the only thing that could calm me down.
One day, my dad didn’t come home from work, and I never really saw him again. He visited a few times when I was younger, but the visits quickly stopped.
It wasn’t until high school that my mother explained what had happened to my dad. That my dad, Martin Reynolds, had chosen to live a life of crime in a biker gang instead of a respectable life with his family.
I hate my father for leaving us. I hate him so much, and I hate bikers even more. They should all be thrown in jail. I hate that my father’s road name was Winnie after the cartoon. Apparently, he was obsessed with the thing. At least, that’s what I was told when I visited the Death’s Soldiers clubhouse.
Deep down inside, I wish my father’s road name was his way of remembering me, of loving me, but I refuse to entertain that thought for too long.
‘’I’ve thought about you and your fiery red hair. It smells so good,’’ Bomber whispers seductively, inhaling deeply.
‘’Why are you here? Why have you come?’’ I ask, trying to find a way out of the haze that is Bomber.
‘’Told you already. Came to see you,’’ he mumbles, sucking my earlobe into his mouth.
I let out a surprised scream, which quickly transforms into a heady moan against my better judgment. I grab hold of Bomber’s shoulders and attempt to push him away, but instead, he shoves me roughly up against the hallway wall, his lips never once losing contact with my skin.
‘’Bomber!’’ I groan, wriggling beneath his big, hard body. ‘’Tell me the truth. Why are you here?’’
‘’I already have, Domino,’’ he snaps, purposely calling me by that horrible nickname. ‘’I ain’t here to hurt you. I volunteered to find out if you’d want any of your dad’s belongings.’’
‘’You knew the answer would be no. And even if you didn’t, you’ve already claimed that you know everything about me, including my phone number, so you could have just called.’’
Bomber drags his head back to look at me, releasing my earlobe with a pop. We both breathe heavily as we stare each other down.
‘’I know, but like I told you, I wanted to see you,’’ Bomber finally admits. The honesty in his eyes floors me. I have no idea what to say to him. ‘’You’re a hot piece of ass, Domino. My dick has been hard since the first time I saw you. Can’t get you out of my fucking head,’’ he says, shrugging his shoulders like it’s nothing.
His words make me flinch. I feel disgusted with myself for what I’ve let him do to me. I can’t believe I’ve let him defile me. I’m a happily married woman, for goodness' sake.
I try to push Bomber off me, but he doesn’t move an inch; he only laughs boisterously at my weakness.
‘’Don’t be such a spoilsport, Domino. We were just having such a good time.’’
‘’Get off me, you lowlife scumbag,’’ I exclaim, gripping onto his shoulder, trying once again to shove him away.
‘’Yeah, dig those nails into me, leave some marks, baby,’’ Bomber growls, moving his lips down to my ear. ‘’I bet that if I were to take this finger,’’ he mutters darkly while dragging the finger in question down over my chest, stomach, and thighs, letting it rest on the spot where my dress ends. ‘’And run it through your pussy; you’ll be soaking wet for me.’’
‘’Don’t!’’ I warn in a pathetic, desperate voice. He squeezes my thigh lightly, sending electric shots down to the tips of my toes.
Bomber chuckles hauntingly in my ear as his hand travels under my skirt, his touch burning my skin. I close my eyes, wishing it all to be a bad dream. I dig my fingernails deeper into Bomber’s shoulders, and he hisses in pain. Or is it pleasure?
‘’Please don’t,’’ I whisper when Bomber is about to slip his fingers into my cotton panties and feel the awful truth. That I am, in fact, soaking wet for him.
When he gently grazes my panties, I let out a shameful whimper. Bomber snickers arrogantly in my ear, knowing he is right. I take a deep breath as he gently pushes my cotton panties to the side and slides a finger through my wet folds.
I let out a mortified sob, but I also accidentally spread my legs further apart to accommodate him better. I know that he notices, and it makes me hate myself even more. I’m a horrible human being. A horrible wife. I love my husband and hate Bomber and everything he is and stands for. There must be something seriously wrong with me since I’m allowing this to happen.
Bomber fingers disappear as quickly as they got there, leaving me cold and confused. I gaze up at him, and I’m met with his usual self-satisfied smirk. I watch hypnotically as he slowly puts the finger drenched with my cum into his mouth, sucking it clean.
I gasp in horror. How disgusting! Those lowlife bikers have no standards or class. They’re nothing but a bunch of filthy animals.
Eric would never have done such a thing. He believes the missionary position is the only way for civilized people to have intercourse. Anything else is for animals and deviants.
Maybe that’s why a little traitorous part of me thinks that Bomber looks beyond sexy, eating my cum like it’s the best thing he has ever tasted, like it isn’t disgusting or wrong at all. I have never been witness to such crudeness before, and it disturbs me profoundly.
‘’Fucking shit, you taste good,’’ Bomber growls when he’s done sucking his finger clean. He looks me up and down while grinning like a Cheshire cat. I swallow deeply, waiting nervously for whatever is about to happen next.
‘’Do you wanna know what you taste like?’’ Bomber asks, his evil smile remaining firmly in place. I shake my head, not trusting my own voice just yet. ‘’You taste like apples,’’ he says crudely, disregarding that I didn’t want him to answer.
I should have known that my negative response would only spur Bomber on.
‘’Apples?’’ I ask disbelievingly. I may not have the most experience, but I’ve read enough and seen enough movies to know that nobody tastes like apples down there.
‘’Sure thing, babe. You taste like a delicious, juicy, forbidden apple,’’ he answers, making a big deal out of enunciating each word. His face and lips move closer with each word that leaves his lips until he is right in front of me, his mouth only a breath away from mine.
Spellbound, I watch his light blue eyes turn stormy with lust. When he leans in to steal a kiss, I blink several times, and without thinking, I raise my hand and slap him across the face.
Bomber snaps his head backward, shock written all over his handsome face. My jaw drops to the floor in shock as well. For a long moment, I’m afraid that I’ve pissed off Bomber and he will hurt me, but then he throws his head back and laughs boisterously.
The sound of his voice as he laughs is just as charming as everything else he does. It almost melts away all the hatred I have toward him and his biker gang. I can’t deny that a laughing Bomber is also able to make me a tiny bit weak in the knees. He looks so happy and carefree. Like nothing in the world can touch him. I don’t recall ever looking or feeling like that.
I’ve always been a person who worries a lot. In school, I worried about what my friends and teachers thought of me. I worried about homework and tests. I worried about how I looked and behaved. I worried if I was a good daughter and a good girlfriend to Eric.
Since we got married, I’ve constantly been worrying if I’m a good enough wife. I worry about how I look, what I wear, and what all our neighbors think of me. I worry about dinner, about cleaning, about washing.
I only worry because living the perfect life has always been my goal. I want the complete opposite of the life my father lived.
As Bomber's laughter dies down, I give him an incredulous glare. ‘’Seriously? Apples? Does that line ever work for you?’’
‘’You’d be surprised.’’
‘’Amazed,’’ I retort sarcastically.
Bomber places his left forearm beside my head while the other hand fidgets with the top button of my cardigan. I gulp. His body is so close to mine that he practically has me caged in. ‘’You know, I thought we were finally starting to agree on something before you so viciously attacked me.’’
‘’Yeah, and what was that?’’
‘’That you are a bored, horny housewife, and my dick has been hard as a rock since the last time I saw you,’’ he answers, popping my button open, exposing the top of my cleavage.
‘’Get off me!’’ I slap his adventurous hand away. ‘’You’re disgusting!’’ I hiss, wriggling out from under Bomber’s body. ‘’Does that line work as well?’’
‘’Again, you’d be surprised,’’ he says, winking at me.
‘’I’m sure that works on the women you normally associate yourself with, but not on me. I’m way above your trash talk.’’
‘’Didn’t mean to offend you, Domino.’’
‘’Bullocks. I’m sure you are only here to see whether you could get a happily married woman to bed you. Well, I’m not your girl! Find someone else to bother,’’ I retort, pointing a finger toward the door, signaling for him to leave. I should have anticipated that nothing is easy with Bomber.
‘’You wouldn’t be the first happily married woman to fall for my wicked good looks, babe.’’
‘’Oh, I’m sure.’’ I step closer, craning my neck to look up at him. Why is he so tall? I stab his chest with my index finger. ‘’You are without a doubt the most sleazy, disgusting, immoral person I’ve ever met!’’
Bomber glances down at my finger and smiles that stupid smile of his. ‘’I admit it would have been pretty awesome to be able to tell the brothers that I had fucked the wife of a police officer senseless in every dirty and wicked position imaginable. And on every flat surface in the house. Hell, I’d even fuck you up against the fridge just for the workout.’’
‘’Well, unfortunately for you and your sick dreams, I’m happy to let you know that I’m a happily married woman. In fact, my husband and I had a very nice time in our bed this morning.’’
Bomber doesn’t react to my words at all. Normally, I would never tell someone about my bedroom activities, but I desperately wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face.
Of course, I’m sourly disappointed when all Bomber does is look around the house, trying to find evidence to support my claim.
‘’So you had a nice time,’’ Bomber quips, stepping closer to me, once again invading my personal space. I cross my arms over my chest and tap my shoe against the hardwood floor, showing how annoying I find him, but all he does is smile at me. A charming, evil smile. ‘’Everyone knows that fine actually means not fine. Did he even make you come, sweetheart?’’
‘’Excuse me!’’
‘’Did your husband make you come while you were having your so-called nice time this morning?’’
‘’Yeah, I heard what you said, but have some manners. You don’t ask a lady something that vile.’’
‘’So that’s a no then?’’
‘’No. I mean, yes.’’ I pant heavily. ‘’I mean, of course, he made me… you know,’’ I lie.
Bomber twists his head to the side and studies me closely. ‘’How many times did he make you come?’’
‘’That’s none of your business.’’
‘’Oh, come on, Domino. How many times did your husband fuck you senseless this morning? How many times did you scream his name? How many different positions did he fuck you in?’’
‘’Stop,’’ I object, my voice weak even to my own ears.
Bomber moves closer, bending slightly down so we’re face to face. ‘’Did he leave any marks on your body? Are you sore from the pounding he gave you? Did he only do your pussy, or did you let him fuck that round, tempting mouth of yours as well?’’
As Bomber’s long index finger gently brushes over my pale lipstick-covered lips, they part on a moan. I should tell him to stop, but no words leave my trembling lips as his finger moves further down until it’s at the top of my cardigan.
‘’Did you let him come inside you, Domino? Or did he blow his load across your face or tits instead?’’ he growls, his finger sliding the fabric of my cardigan inches to the side, exposing the top of my cleavage. ‘’Did he make you beg for more? Did he taste you? Did he fuck you into oblivion?’’
I have no idea what to say; I can hardly breathe. My lack of response is all the answer he needs.
Bomber chuckles. ‘’I didn’t think so. If he had, you wouldn’t have been so soaking wet for me,’’ he says, licking his lips in hunger.
His disgusting words are a cold bucket of water to the face. ‘’Get your vile ass out of my house, you disgusting caveman!’’ I hiss, which only makes Bomber smile even more satisfied at me.
‘’You’re so damn sexy when you get all worked up. You're like a controlled bonfire, but poke it a little and the flames burn high.’’
‘’Get out!’’
This time, Bomber does as I say, leaving my personal space with his hand raised in the air like a common criminal surrendering.
Before Bomber has the chance to leave, the front door is pushed open, revealing my husband. One look at Bomber’s cut, and Eric goes from shocked to fuming. If he were a cartoon, smoke would be coming out of his ears.
‘’What the hell is going on here?’’ Eric bellows, glaring at Bomber, clearly not wanting me to answer the question.
‘’Calm down, Officer Miller,’’ Bomber answers in a calm and tad boring tone.
‘’Don’t tell me to calm down. I want to know what a scumbag like you is doing in my house!’’
‘’Well, I’m here because your lovely wife invited me inside,’’ Bomber retorts smugly, dragging me into the mess.
With shaky hands, I flatten the skirt of my dress, removing whatever wrinkles there might be. I gaze between Eric and Bomber, both waiting for me to say something. ‘’I thought that…’’
‘’Well, spit it out then,’’ Eric sneers. ‘’What did you think?’’
I think I see the muscle under Bomber’s eye jump. Is he annoyed with me or Eric? It’s probably me. No way would he care how my husband talks to me.
‘’I didn’t want to risk any of the neighbors seeing him outside, so that’s why he is here, inside our house,’’ I explain apologetically, keeping my head down.
Bomber snorts at my response, and when I steal a peek at him, I find him staring disapprovingly at me as if I’ve disappointed him with my answer.
‘’Good thinking,’’ Eric praises, but I flinch at his words instead of feeling proud. ‘’But that doesn’t explain why the criminal is here in the first place.’’
‘’His name is Bomber,’’ I snap, surprising everyone in the room with my loud and firm voice.
Bomber's lips tick up into a crooked smile, and his eyes fill with heat. It’s enough for me to stand up proud and straighten my back, that is, until I catch Eric’s disapproving glare.
‘’What I mean is that Bomber was sent by the Death’s Soldiers MC to find out whether I wanted some of my father’s belongings. You know, since I didn’t attend the funeral and all,’’ I explain.
I turn toward Bomber, giving him a pointed look, hoping that he is able to hear my prayers and not ruin my life by telling my husband the truth. That I, in fact, lied to my husband and went to my father’s funeral even though he forbade me.
Bomber doesn’t make a move to rat me out, but he does quirk an eyebrow at me, which I don’t know how to interpret. He looks like a demon who just won the lottery while at the same time looking rather intrigued and impressed by me for going against my husband’s will.
‘’My wife doesn’t want anything that belonged to that man,’’ Eric interrupts, and I nod in agreement as the obedient wife that I am.
‘’Alrighty then, I’ll be sure to let my prez know.’’
‘’Wait,’’ Eric exclaims, stopping Bomber in his tracks when he was finally on his way out the door. ‘’Did he leave any money?’’
‘’The club’s lawyer is still sorting out his finances. We’ll be in touch when we know something.’’
‘’Great,’’ Eric responds, satisfied. When he looks at me, I shoot him a pleased smile. ‘’Why are you dressed so inappropriately? Button up your cardigan and do something about your hair.’’
‘’I’m sorry. I lost my hairclip,’’ I stutter, fixing my cardigan. ‘’I didn’t expect you back.’’
‘’I forgot some papers in my office. I’ll be right back, and then you,’’ he says sternly, pointing a finger at Bomber, ‘’will be gone.’’
Eric disappears down the hall, and I immediately open the door for Bomber. He takes the hint and moves past me. The warm Arizona weather embraces him, a halo surrounding him. But Bomber is no angel. Anything but that. On the doorstep, he turns around and gives me a wicked smile. I hold my breath. That smile is trouble.
‘’I think I’ll hold onto this for a while,’’ he says, showing me my hairclip before pocketing it.
‘’Give it back.’’
‘’I’ll give it back to you the day you’re married to me,’’ Bomber says so sincerely that for a second, I don’t think he’s teasing.
If I weren’t so well-mannered, I would have given him the middle finger and called him many ungodly things, but I’m a respectable woman, so I take the high road and settle for a glare.
Bomber gazes over my shoulder before leaning in. ‘’Just so you know, Domino… apples and oranges.’’
‘’What?’’
‘’You taste like apples and oranges. Mouth-watering sweet with a tiny hint of sourness. I like it,’’ he quips.
After throwing me one last mischievous wink, he gets on his bike and revs up the engine. It’s so loud that everyone in the neighborhood will have heard it. Darn him. I’d bet my grandmother’s ashes that he did it on purpose.
Bomber rides off, down the road, and out of my life.
For good.
Or...