Honey Whiskey (A Bastards MC Novel) by Carina Adams Page B

Instead, he was leaning back against the closed door, one
foot propped up behind him, biting the knuckle on his index finger
as he watched me.
    Before I could ask what he was waiting for, he
groaned. “I’ve had dreams like this,” he pushed himself off the
door and swaggered towards me, “where you come here, take off all
your clothes, and tease me. I always wake up before I get to touch
you.” He reached out a hand, running fingers along my collarbone
lightly, as if to make sure I was real. The fingers trailed down my
chest, between my breasts, over my stomach, and onto my
hip.
    He stood so close that I could
feel his breath on my face while he looked over every inch of me,
and I fought the instinct to cover myself and hide. There was a lot
more meat on my body than there had been last summer. I’d let the
irritation of the divorce and the stress of losing Matty get to me,
and I’d packed on an extra fifteen-ish pounds. I was curvier than
I’d been in a long time, and a lot more woman than I was sure he
was used to.
    His eyes met mine, watching me
carefully for a few minutes. “You are so fuckin’ beautiful and you
don’t even know it, do you?” His voice was low, practically a
whisper. He reached out his other hand, and following the same
trail slowly, ended up on my other hip. “Joes?” he bit his bottom
lip as his eyes met mine again, and I knew he was asking if I was
sure I wanted this. I nodded.
    He picked me up and my back hit
the wall before I even realized we’d moved. His hands skimmed down
my hips, onto my ass, and then to the underside of my thighs,
pulling me as close to him as I could get while he was still fully
clothed. I wrapped my legs around his waist, desperate for contact.
His mouth moved up my neck, his tongue drawing a line and his lips
blowing on it, his beard tickling me—the combination sent shivers
down my spine and made my muscles clench.
    I tangled my fingers in his hair,
trying to pull his head back, needing to kiss his lips. He was
stronger though, and he continued his tantalizing journey—lapping,
blowing, and sometimes nibbling—up to my ear and back down onto the
front of my neck. Helpless to do anything else, I rocked my center
against his jeans, the denim providing just enough friction to make
me moan.
    He ran the tip of his nose back up
my neck, onto my face, and his mouth closed over mine, claiming me.
All too soon, he pulled away, releasing me and backing up. My feet
were not ready to hold me, and I leaned against the wall, confused.
He grinned as he looked me over once more. “Fucking
amazing.”
    Shrugging off his jacket, he let
the leather drop stiffly to the floor before he reached over his
shoulders and grabbed his shirt, yanking it over his head. I
inhaled, appreciating the view. While I had packed on the pounds,
Matty had apparently exercised his stress away. He’d always had a
fit runner’s body—muscular in all the right places with a six pack
and that V that drove me crazy. Now, all of him was toned and
well-defined. Thick peck muscles rippled with every move he made,
his abs belonged on a model, and even his stomach looked like it
would feel like solid rock. Amazed at the differences, my fingers
ached to touch him and explore this new Matty.
    I’d forgotten how beautiful the
art on his body was. The words "Only God Can Judge Me," above a
heavily shaded cross were on his right peck. Below it, there was an
odd drawing that I had never asked him about. A giant anchor
started right below his breastbone and stretched over the middle of
his stomach. A large angel, hands clasped and head hung in prayer,
filled up his left side. Above it, a Claddagh covered his heart,
surrounded by tribal knots that wove up his shoulder and down his
arm into a half sleeve. I’d only gotten a few of the backstories,
but the pictures made me want to know why he chose the things he
had. I skimmed each tattoo quickly as he unbuttoned his jeans and
kicked them off, realizing a