Chapter 1
Quain Beaumont
There were certain things I loved coming home to, like KC—who happened to be at his grandfather’s this weekend—or nice home cooked meals, or sex with my boyfriend. Then there were the things that had me questioning why I was dating a man like Luke “Barber” Booth.
This was one of those times.
“What is that?” I stared at the outfit he held up, his grin wide and wicked. His eyes were alight with his typical humor, and while sometimes it was difficult to hold back a laugh when it came to him, I didn’t feel amused right now. I was exhausted, my shoulders sore and my muscles aching from the tedious hunt with my target that had taken longer than it should have. Someone had tipped him off that he was being chased, and he had skills I hadn’t anticipated—the kind that made it difficult for me to track him. Now I was home and all I wanted was a hot bath, even hotter sex, and then sleep.
Was that too much to ask for?
When it came to Luke—yes, it definitely was.
“It’s a sexy outfit.” He held up the said clothing, which wasn’t much material to begin with, higher for me to see. It was made of white leather and it looked to be a corset with a short skirt. A headband was attached to the hanger, and on it was two rabbit ears. “It’s a cute bunny costume.”
“Sexy or cute? They’re two different things, Mr. Booth.” I crossed my arms and sighed. My shoulders slumped as exhaustion settled on me even heavier than before.
Luke’s amusement slid off his face and his brows went low in concern. “You okay?” He threw the outfit over the back of the U-shaped couch he’d been standing beside and walked up the steps of the living room to reach me in the foyer. He cradled my cheek with his palm, and I sighed, leaning into his touch. This was why I dated him. He acted like a fool in front of his brothers and friends, but there was another side to him as well. He cared. His family was important to him, and he would do anything to protect them.
And now I was part of that equation.
His rough palm was a comfort, and he smelled like motor oil. I’d never thought that kind of scent would relax me, but it did, and I was too far gone with him to do anything but step against him and wrap my arms around his muscular body. He wrapped me up in his arms and pressed a kiss against my temple, and I inhaled his smell again.
“This assignment was hell,” I said honestly, closing my eyes as I touched my forehead to his shoulder. The leather of his jacket was soft against my skin, and I realized he wore the new one he’d bought just for me because I liked the way it looked on him. Luke never pulled this jacket out unless I asked him to wear it. I hated the other jackets, which were torn and rough, but they were his riding clothing.
“What do you want to do?” he whispered, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Want me to kiss it all better? I’ve got an awesome mouth. I’ll work my magic.”
I chuckled and turned my head, giving him permission to use that “awesome mouth” on mine, and he did exactly that. He kissed me deeply, and I moaned into his delectable lips, tilting my chin a little higher to give him more access. His warm tongue pushed into my mouth and I groaned, allowing him entrance. He tasted like hot cocoa, something I found he liked to drink on cold nights.
“Is this your way of making me feel better?” I asked when he’d broken the kiss. “Because I’d much prefer a hot bath and your dick inside me.”
“Mr. Beaumont!” Luke gasped dramatically. “Is that any way for a gentleman to speak?”
I rolled my eyes and poked him in the ribs, causing him to laugh.
“You didn’t tell me what you thought of the clothing.”
“I am not wearing that, Luke. Ever.” I glared at him. “So, get it out of your thick skull.”
“Who says it’s for you?” He waggled his eyebrows, and I froze, breath caught in my throat. I glanced toward the white leather skirt and corset, and then back to Luke.
“You’re not serious. You wouldn’t wear that.”
“I’ll do you one better.” He grinned, wide and teasing. “I’ll wear it tonight to the clubhouse. It’s Easter.”
“Easter was last weekend and you’re not religious.”
“Who the fuck cares? It’s an excuse to party, and we partied last weekend. But now you’re home, and we can fuck in King’s bedroom again. What’s a better excuse than Easter?”
“We’re not doing that again, Luke. I don’t have a death wish and he nearly caught us the last and only time we did that. So no, no sex in King’s bedroom.”
“Fine, but at least come have some drinks with me.”
“If you wear that—” I pointed at the bunny outfit lying over the back of the couch. “—I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Is that a promise?” He pressed his tongue into the corner of his cheek, and I had a feeling I’d just said entirely the wrong thing. But I was used to Luke, and sometimes it was fun playing his games. My entire life was about living on the edge, doing things normal people didn’t, and my boyfriend was no different.
I raised my eyebrows and smiled. “Yes, it’s a promise.”
Would I regret it? Knowing Luke? Definitely.
Chapter 2
Luke “Barber” Booth
I knew that look, the one that said he’d love nothing more than for me to strip naked and let him get his knife on my skin. Quain didn’t realize how easy it was to read him. He might be a world class assassin, but he was also the guy I kind of had a thing for. Fuck that. More than kind of. He was my guy. I understood every emotion that passed over his face.
“Want me to fuck you before we go?” I winked at him and turned one of my feet, flashing him the white heels I was wearing. The outfit was originally meant for Quain, but I wasn’t afraid to wear it, either. And with a promise he’d do anything for me if I wore it to the clubhouse, how could I resist? I wanted to have my way with my boyfriend.
Quain blinked at me and his mouth curled lazily. “Not yet. I’m more eager to see your brothers’ faces.”
I smoothed my hand over the short white leather skirt. It didn’t leave much to the imagination, and I needed to get a brand-new pair of white undies out to match. Luckily, Quain bought me a set before he went out on his latest hit. Perfect little housewife. I wasn’t going to voice that aloud, though.
The white leather top was curved so it covered my nipples, but it stopped above my belly, showing off my flab. All right, it wasn’t flab, but I didn’t have six-pack abs like Scar or Bishop. I had no need to hit the gym like them, and Quain liked me just the way I was—fucking perfect.
The ears were attached to a headband that I’d slipped onto my head, and one of them was purposely bent. Overall, I looked fucking sexy.
I would fuck me.
“Where did you get those heels?” he asked, crossing his arms over his black turtleneck, one of his favorite pieces of clothing. I liked the shirt on him because it clung to his chest in the most delectable way. I liked it even better when I dragged down the collar to suck on his neck and leave behind bruises that claimed my ownership of him.
I flashed him my heels by tilting my other foot before I winked. “That’s my little secret.”
“Luke.” He pursed his lips. “Are you going to get arrested for shoplifting high heels?”
I laughed and stepped down into the living room. Now that I had the heels on, I was much taller than him, and a part of me whooped at having him stare up at me. I cupped his face and pecked a kiss on his lips. “Not a chance. They’re Caroline’s.”
“Jester’s sister?” His eyes widened. “You asked Caroline for white heels? . . . and they fit?”
I shrugged. “I admit, they’re a little small. My toes stick out.” We both dropped our stares to the shoes where my big toe was poking out over the front. “They were meant for you. But they aren’t bad.”
He shook his head and pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek like he was trying not to laugh. “You’re absurd.”
“Absurdly sexy.” I spun my back to him and bent slightly, flicking the back of my skirt up at him. “No one can pull off this outfit like me, darling.”
He slapped my ass and the sharp sting had me jerking forward, nearly tripping myself on the heels. He laughed and shook his head. “Let’s go, Cinderella. Your outfit might turn to rags at midnight.”
“You’d still fuck me,” I teased.
His laughter grew louder and it was the prettiest sound I’d ever heard. I couldn’t get enough of it. Quain might’ve been a pain in the ass neighbor not long ago, but now he was mine. And fuck if he didn’t make me smile every day.
Chapter 3
Quain
I didn’t know what was more amusing, watching Luke struggle to walk in the heels as he entered the clubhouse or seeing his brothers’ reactions. They were both great moments in my life that I wouldn’t ever forget. Especially the millisecond when Scar saw Luke and completely missed the bar stool he’d attempted to sit on. He ended up falling on his ass, his beer shattering on the floor.
The barroom went silent, the music switched off as everyone stared at Luke and the outrageous costume he wore. King and his boyfriend, Dallas, were half lying on one of the new leather couches, while a few of the other guys were crowded around the pool table. Josh, the regular bartender at the clubhouse and Scar’s younger brother, was grinning wide enough that I thought he’d burst out laughing. All around the room, the guys were frozen in shock.
To his credit, Luke didn’t miss a beat. He fluttered his fingers at them.
“Hey, boys. Who here paid for the stripper?”
Scar managed to get himself to his feet, shaking off spilled beer on his hands, and glared. “If we ordered a fucking stripper, he wouldn’t be as ugly as you, Barber.”
Luke cocked his hip. “Baby, you couldn’t afford me.”
Charley, who’d been sitting on the stool beside the one Scar missed, threw his head back and laughed, ignoring the glare Scar aimed at him. “Show off the goods first.”
Luke went to step forward, but I grabbed his elbow, dragging him back. He nearly tripped in the process, but I glared at Charley.
“No.” I sent him the deadliest smile I could muster, which I knew from experience scared even the biggest men. “He’s mine.”
Charley tilted his head, his dark hair gleaming the actual lights that were overhead until someone decided to trash the freshly redone room, and grinned. “He asked.”
“And he’ll regret it later.” I turned my glare on Luke and cleared my throat.
Luke’s indulgent smile and eyebrow waggle might’ve knocked down a weaker man, but I’d spent months upon months watching him from afar as his protector. I’d learned what made him tick and he liked dousing a fire with fuel, both in the literal and figurative sense. He got off on drama.
“Why are you in that, Barber?” Dallas asked from where he leaned on King’s chest. “I didn’t realize it was a costume party.”
Luke’s attention turned to him and his smile turned mischievous. “Nice of you to ask, Sierra Blanca.” He paused, and waited, but Dallas didn’t react to him calling him another Texas town name.
Instead, Dallas stared as though waiting for the answer. It was hard not to snort in laughter at that. He was probably the first one to realize that if you didn’t react to Luke, then Luke got bored quickly and moved on. Scar, on the other hand, was the easiest to rile up, and Luke took pleasure in making his club brother mad.
“Well, are you going to answer?” Dallas shot him a smile, and King laughed, throwing an arm over Dallas’s shoulder and dragging him closer. For once, he didn’t have a beer in his hand like the other boys, rather what looked to be a cola. I had no idea what King liked.
“I know all you fuckers think I’m sexy, so I wanted you to see what you can’t have.” Luke spun on his heels, and I didn’t know what he’d been attempting to do because he tripped, and this time, I wasn’t quick enough to grab him. A part of me suspected that I purposely didn’t save him because of his flirting, and he went down like a ton of bricks. He landed on the floor with a crash, his ankle twisted at a weird angle. The moment he tried to straighten it, he grunted loudly.
“Fuck!” Luke groaned in pain while the guys around the barroom roared with laughter. Scar was the loudest, but I didn’t expect anything else from him.
I crouched near a wincing Luke, guilt kneading an anxious concern in my gut. He wasn’t laughing or making a joke, so I suspected he was in serious pain. “How bad is it?”
“I’ve been shot,” he said, trying to crack a smile. “I’ve had worse injuries than a twisted ankle.”
I stared at him nonchalantly, waiting.
He sighed. “It fucking hurts like a bitch.”
Josh was at our side immediately, and I nodded at him in thanks as we worked together to carefully undo the heels from Luke’s feet. The shoes were dangerous as far as I was concerned, but Luke never did things halfway. It was do or die with him. I had to praise the women who wore the death spikes because I’d rather come face to face with another assassin like Ardan Murphy than wear these contraptions on my feet.
I didn’t know when King moved, but he was at our side a few moments later. “Come on, let’s get him over to a couch.”
“Leave him there, King. He might learn a lesson,” Scar called from his bar stool, laughing like a maniac.
Luke flipped him the bird. “Suck my cock, Scar. Or wait, do you not know how?”
Scar ignored him and raised a beer that he’d stolen from Charley.
With King’s help, we managed to get Luke on the couch he’d vacated. Once he was settled, King shook his head and gestured for Dallas to follow him. Dallas patted Luke on the thigh with an amused shake of head before he was up on his feet, following King across the room. I didn’t know where they were going, and I didn’t care.
I took the spot Dallas had vacated and sighed, staring at Luke. “Did you prove your point?”
Luke cringed as he grabbed his knee, moving his ankle slightly. His face had gone paler than usual, and he fell back against the couch, grunting. “Fuck heels.”
I chuckled. “The only thing they’re good for is stabbing someone.”
His eyes slid to me in curiosity. “You done that before?”
I smirked. “What do you think?”
He laughed, then winced again. “Why?”
I shrugged and leaned against his shoulder. Now that the fun was over, the exhaustion had returned, and my shoulders felt heavy again. I really wish we could have crawled into bed and snuggled, but I owed the Kings a lot, and if Luke wanted to party with them, I couldn’t find a reason to say no. They weren’t bad guys, quite the opposite, and I enjoyed every minute I got to spend with my guy. Not that I’d tell him that. He had a big enough head already.
“It was the only weapon I had. The guy’s mistress went upstairs, left her heels downstairs. He came down when I didn’t expect it, we fought, he knocked my knife out of my hand, and I took her heel and shoved it into his chest.” I laughed at the memory. Good times. “It was fun.”
“You’re a psycho, you know that?” Luke said with a grunt.
“Ugh. You know I hate it when you use that word, Mr. Booth. Psycho isn’t a word you can just throw around. It’s a real mental condition—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it all before.” He hooked his finger under my chin and raised my face toward his. “I’m in pain.” He pouted. “Make me feel better?”
I touched my hand to his chest and smirked at him. “Let me guess. You want to fuck?”
His grin confirmed it. He smoothed his hand over the ridiculously short skirt and lifted it, showing off a new pair of underwear. His cock was already half hard, stretching out the thin piece of material. Calling him by his last name always did that to him. “All you need to do is hop on and take me for a ride.”
I groaned. “Your flirting is getting worse.”
“And that only makes you hornier for me.” He waggled his eyebrows. “A man in a skirt and crop top can still fuck you straight into heaven, killer.”
God help me. How did I manage to date a man like this?
Chapter 4
Barber
I waggled my eyebrows because it was how I always got what I wanted. A little bit of charm and Quain was putty in my hands. All right, maybe not putty, but he couldn’t resist me.
“Here?” Quain glanced around the room at the other couples.
My entrance had already been forgotten and everyone was back to doing their own thing. Jester was over in the corner and already had his Courtesan, Bliss, with his pants around his ankles, fucking into him. Quain wasn’t new to the public sex in the clubhouse, we’d just never done it before.
“Why not?” I asked quietly. Seriously. I liked being the clown of the club, but sometimes—only sometimes—I could be serious if I needed to be. I brushed my knuckle over his cheek. “You said I was yours. Prove it.”
Quain’s lashes fluttered, dark against his pale skin, and he glanced around the room. No one was paying attention to us. Josh was back behind the bar, King had taken Dallas out of the barroom, and most of the other guys were too busy doing other things, like playing pool or drinking. They didn’t care who fucked who around here. I’d had sex with numerous whores and one-night stands in this room, but this was different.
This was Quain.
My killer.
I wanted this. Wanted him. Here. Now. Fuck. I’d have him any time and anywhere if I was given the chance.
Quain was too refined, though. It was as if he was raised in the regency era or some shit. Maybe I’d never fuck him in the barroom.
Quain shifted off the couch and I sighed. At least I fucking tried.
When he turned to me, he smirked. He reached for his belt, unbuckling it, and all I could do was watch, mesmerized by the way his fingers worked the leather.
My throat worked, excitement stirring my cock.
“Don’t get used to it,” he murmured as he unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. It was hard to look away. He moved like a porn star, nimble and flawless, and all I wanted to do was get inside him. “But seeing as you got into the skirt, and I did promise you I’d do what you want….”
I spread my legs, cursing at the painful twinge in my ankle. Nothing could break my attention away from Quain and how easily he dropped his jeans to the floor, leaving him in cute blue boxer briefs. I didn’t miss the way he glanced around, though, licking his lips with a nervousness I hadn’t seen from him.
“Hey,” I whispered, capturing his gaze. “No one gives a shit. Come here.”
Quain huffed. “I’m not worried, Mr. Booth.”
My cock twitched. The bastard knew exactly what happened to me when he called me that. I smirked and leaned back, resting my arms along the couch. “Then show me how not worried you are, killer.”
Jester came up behind Quain and threw a bottle of lube at him. Quain caught it, eyes wide, but Jester just shrugged and walked off while fixing his pants. Bliss wasn’t far behind him, giving us a crooked smile as he went past.
Quain stared at the bottle in his hand, frowning.
“Did you miss me or not?” I teased, tugging down my underwear so my cock sprang free. My hard-on slapped against the skirt I’d shoved up to my waist and the leather was cold against my sensitive skin, but fuck if I cared. I needed Quain’s hole and now.
He rolled his eyes. “You’re such a drama queen.”
I laughed, but quickly stopped as he finally stepped out of briefs. He wasn’t embarrassed by his nakedness from his waist down and he didn’t need to be. He was fucking perfect and knew it.
I grunted in surprise when he threw himself at me in a very unproper way and slammed his mouth against mine, and I held him by the back of the head, falling into his kiss. He tasted like. . . Quain. There wasn’t a good way to describe it because Quain was unique in every way possible. He was mine as much as I was his.
The bottle of lube was caught between us, and he pulled back enough to open it and slick his fingers up. He reached behind himself and I couldn’t see a damned thing. I wanted to watch him stretch his hole for me, but I was stuck with his mouth on mine again. The moans that came from him vibrated into our kiss and it was delectable, almost as though it was something else I could taste.
I shivered when his hand landed on my cock and he spread the remaining lube onto me. The room around us evaporated and it was only me and him. All I could see was Quain and his handsome face. All I could feel was him slowly, but confidently, guiding my cock to his ass before he sat down on it. His hole sucked me in, the tightness consuming me until even the pain in my ankle became a distant memory.
He was perfect like this, his mouth popped open in pleasure and his eyes screwed shut. It’d been months since I’d been inside him, before he left to go on another assignment, but the best sex always came when he returned. It was like a starving man finally getting his favorite meal.
“Fuck.” My eyes rolled into the back of my head as I gripped his hips. I’d spent too long with my hand and I fucking hated him being away.
“Is this what you wanted?” he whispered, grazing kisses up my jaw. “Because, Mr. Booth, you feel fucking amazing.”
“Fuck yeah.” I snapped my eyes open again and grinned at him. His face was flushed, his lips red and pouty. I wanted to devour him. “You’re so tight, killer. Move.”
He pressed his knees into the couch beside my thighs and touched his hand against the white leather of the crop top. He tickled his fingers up over my chest and down my belly, and I groaned.
“Like this?” His eyes twinkled knowingly as he began to move. His warmth enveloped me, sucked me into a bliss that I’d only ever known with him—it was corny, but true. Quain completed me in ways he wouldn’t ever know. He put up with my antics, and sometimes even laughed. Other times, he took care of me when my teasing came with consequences.
He rode me exactly how I wanted him to, unconcerned about the people around us. It was only me and him. His hard cock slapped against my bare belly; his hole owned me. He could ask me anything now and I’d agree to it.
It didn’t take long for my balls to bust. It’d been too long since I’d been inside him and the moment he leaned down to nip at my lower lip, I was a goner. A few more thrusts and I was coming inside him, groaning through my release.
He wasn’t far behind me. Wrapping a hand around his cock, I tugged him until cum spurted from him, landing on my white leather top and stomach. His spunk nearly disappeared completely on my top.
He slouched forward, and I held him, running my palm over the black turtleneck. I tugged at the collar and kissed his neck, sucking a deep bruise on his sensitive skin. He shuddered and warmth spread through me.
Quain Beaumont was mine in every way.
“That was nice,” he whispered after I kissed him on the lips.
“Mm.” I glanced over his shoulder and pointed at Scar, who still sat in the same place by the bar. He was half watching us, and when he saw me looking, he flipped me off. “Scar, that’s how you top someone. Bet you can’t fuck Charley like that in a skirt.”
Quain groaned and punched me on the shoulder—hard. “And you just ruined it.”
I grunted out a deep laugh. “Love you too, killer. Happy Easter. Who needs chocolate when you have candy like me, right?”
Quain rolled his eyes.
We were perfect for each other.