Dragon Royal Bastards MC (Tulsa, OK) - Page 49

I grab at one of Cove’s new nipple rings, giving it a sharp tug that makes him cry out. “She’s a big girl.”

“No,” Cove says, seething as he smacks my hand away, “she’s not. She’s too young and innocent.”

“So are you,” I argue, “but I have no problems with defiling you. Frankly, neither do you. Didn’t hear one complaint last night. In fact, the only thing I heard was, ‘harder, Dragon,’ or ‘oh God,’ or—”

“Fuck off,” Cove snaps. “I’m serious. Calla’s not me. She’s different. Softer. Fragile. I don’t want Filter fucking with her just because he’s still pissed off at Stormy for using him.”

Cove, in all his bitchy morning glory, is hot as hell. My dick perks up at the way his lips twist into a cruel sneer. I love his fucking mouth. It does things to me.

“Dude,” Nees huffs. “Don’t look at him like that. I’m right here. You’ll get me pregnant too.”

Cove flips Nees off and while he’s distracted, I yank him back down onto the bed. He puts up a fight for all of three seconds before letting me win. I climb over him, straddling his thighs, knowing Nees won’t be able to handle much more than this.

“Nine,” Nees barks out before slamming the door to our suite.

“It’s going to take longer than that for me to eat a donut off BP’s dick,” I yell after him.

“You’re an idiot.” Cove grabs me by the shoulder, tugging me down. “Now kiss me and then make me come.”

“You’re addicted to dick, Baby Prospect.”

“Just yours.”

“This,” Koyn says, an unlit cigarette pinned between his lips as he gestures between us, “is getting real fuckin’ old. When I say nine, I mean nine. Not a quarter after.”

It’s nine minutes after nine but whatthefuckever.

Filter has the audacity to smirk at us, which isn’t smart since he’s fucking Cove’s twin. I can feel the disgust rippling from Cove, but he doesn’t say anything to Filter. At least not yet. Filter’s smugness hardens as he realizes his little secret isn’t much of a secret anymore.

That’s right.

My bitchy boyfriend and his even bitchier older sister are going to kill you, pretty boy.

Boyfriend?

The thought of Cove being my boyfriend is an amusing one. And if I wasn’t knee-deep in Night Giant shit, I’d want to mentally analyze that a bit more. It’s weird with Cove. Most of the time, I’m pretty sure he hates me, but then he purrs like a fucking kitten when I have him beneath me.

I like it.

I like him. A lot.

Having a claim over him—even if it is a cheesy-ass term like boyfriend—I feel a bond-deep sense of pleasure. I want him to be mine. I’ve never wanted anyone to be mine before. Not ever. When I was a teenager, that was the last thing on my mind as I was having the time of my life. And when Night Giant kidnapped me, I was forced to be something or someone I hated being. After, I was so fucked up, having someone close to me, besides a platonic way like with Katana, felt alien.

But with Cove?

I feel it. I want it. I crave it. I need it.

Cove sits down in a chair directly across from Filter. I find it amusing that the guy who’s half the size of our VP is trying to intimidate the man in front of him. Dropping into the seat beside him, I sling my arm over the back of his chair and also glower at Filter. Moral support for my…boyfriend.

As though he’s listening in on my thoughts, Cove turns his head to shoot me a nasty look that’s meant to have me retreat. All it does is make me want to kiss him. So I do. Leaning forward, I drop a kiss on his swollen lips and grin.

“You’re fucking hot when you’re bitchy, Baby Prospect.”

Koyn groans, but he doesn’t say shit. I catch Bermuda’s smile he tries to smother and Halo’s surprised expression. Copper is giving me the Fed stare-down, but I’m used to ignoring his ass. Nees is grinning like a fucking tool, Bizzy isn’t saying shit because I’ll kill him, and Gibson keeps stealing the occasional glance. Katana seems bored with the entire display.

“On the ride here, Bermuda’s been pulling all he can on Night Giant or Vaughn Kingsville according to Loki’s man, Roch’s, intel,” Koyn barks out, jumping right into business. “The giant fuckface is a ghost. For being nearly seven feet tall, there’s nothing on him. We’ve searched by height, name, etcetera, etcetera. Copper’s exhausted his resources with the Feds too to no avail.”

Back to square fucking one.

Unbelievable.

“He’s here. In Memphis. We just have to find him,” I growl. “We will find him.”

Several of the guys nod in agreement. They might annoy the shit out of me—like my own brothers used to back in the day—but they have my back. Even if they moan and complain a lot.

Tags: K. Webster Romance
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