Page 49 of Biker's Property
“Why wouldn’t you want to marry me?” I push back. “I’m better than your first husband.”
“How would I know that?”
“I rescued you. I licked your sweet pussy lips until you creamed all over my fucking beard…”
I kiss her again, giving her a break to soak in my excellent points before I continue to supply her with reasons we belong together.
“And…” I continue, once I pull away from Joslin with a pounding heart. “I will kill anyone who tries to hurt you and do anything to protect you.”
“I have no proof of that.”
My chest tightens. She could have proof. If I told her the truth about running into her mother when I ransacked her ex-husband’s house. She’s been suspicious of how I procured the documents, but one of the talents you gain in federal prison is the ability to change the subject pretty damn quick.
When my fellow white boys in prison started up their typical raucous and inflammatory discussions about race, it was a matter of survival to switch the subject to something more agreeable like football or basketball. I sided with my skin folk behind bars, taking the right side when fights came down along racial lines, but I cared more about making hooch than inventing new slurs for black people.
“You do have proof,” I tell her, my heart leaping into my throat. The truth. I always thought I would keep every detail of my work away from Joslin, but I can’t help it. I want her to marry me and if I want that, I’ll have to give her a reason to trust me. A reason to gamble her future on a strange man with a dark past.
“Do I?”
“I met your mother, Joslin.”
Betrayal registers on her face. I could have mentioned that the second I walked in the door. At any point when she asked me where I got the files. I chose to lie.
“Did you kill her?”
She asks the question without hesitation and without any emotion, which I didn’t expect. Like it’s the first thought on her mind. It’s hard to suppress my anger.
“No. I didn’t kill your mother.”
Does she really think that fucking low of me? I know I look all fucked up and I have every last emotional scar from my past woven into every fucking thing I do, but I thought Joslin saw past that just a little.
“I just… Why didn’t you tell me then?”
“I told her I wanted to see your obituary first. She had to report you dead.”
“Why?”
Joslin’s eyes scan my face as if she can read the reason from the smallest movements in my facial muscles. I sense her curiosity, but no anger. If I didn’t know she already killed a man, I would think this woman is incapable of anger. Can’t kill your husband without being angry at him.
“I want you safe,” I tell her. “If you felt it necessary to escape and disappear off the face of the earth, I trust you had a good reason.”
Her chest settles with appreciation for my response. I’m just happy I didn’t screw up my answer this time.
“You had a good reason for not telling me,” she says.
I have to fight getting closer to her or just dragging her off to bed before I have her complete confirmation that this shit ends with a ring on Joslin’s finger. We can get to know each other later. Shit, the point of marriage is spending your entire damn lifetime with the person.
“Yes,” I tell her. “I want to prove that you can trust me, church girl.”
She looks at me with confusion. I still don’t have an answer from her and it burns me. I want her to just say… yes. I want to grab her cheeks and force it out of her. But that won’t work. Not in the long term. She has to want it.
“What about the documents?”
“I’ll look at the documents once you agree to marry me. I gave you the proof you wanted. I will protect you. I will stay by your side. I will eat your pussy until you come every night you want it… as long as we both shall live. And I have no shame about saying those words in front of a pastor.”
“You could leave out the part about my pussy,” Joslin says, her nose wrinkling in disapproval as her body betrays her ethics by pressing against me. My dick is about ready to burst.
“Whatever you want, church girl.”