Page 11 of The Gift
For the first time tonight her age shows. She feels like Iam pushing her away, but I’m not. I will talk about absolutely anything except Riot. But I brought him up first so I should just tell her.
“He was the vice president of the Iron Disciple MC. A true sociopath. He hurt people at will and used family members to gain leverage over people he felt had wronged him,” I explain. “He killed my mother when she tried to leave. I was raised in the club, taught that everything they did was right. I had my own ideas of right and wrong though. And then he blew a woman up in front of her husband and kid. It was the final straw for me.”
She gasps, her hand covering her mouth as tears cling to her lashes.
“He believed the Gypsy Bastards killed his brother. He wasn’t wrong, but instead of going after the man who pulled the trigger, he wanted to decimate the entire club. I went to them and told them what was coming.”
“And they believed you?” she asks, shocked.
“Not at first, but they came around,” I reply with a chuckle.
“I assumed so. You do wear their patch on your cut.”
“My father thought they had taken me hostage and arranged to get me back. We faked my death and when he attacked, Sparrow—the man whose wife he killed—was able to get his revenge. He slit my father’s throat, and I watched him bleed out.”
I would never offer up this kind of information to any woman. It’s too much leverage. But it’s different with Allegra. With her relationship to the Cammareri brothers, I know she isn’t ignorant to the violence that is the basis of our world. Also, for some reason, I want her to know me in a way that very few other people do.
“I know I’m supposed to say I’m sorry, but I don’t think I am.” Her brow furrows in confusion.
“Don’t worry. He got exactly what he deserved.”
She straddles my lap and kisses me deeply. For long moments we do nothing but enjoy languidly kissing one another.
“I think we’re done talking about the heavy shit,” she says after pulling away with a smile.
“What would you like to do then?”
“Well,” she says, drawing out the word. “I gave you a gift for Christmas, I think you owe me one.”
I laugh at the way she talks about us fucking each other’s brains out. About the fact that I took her virginity mere hours ago.
“And what do you want for Christmas?” I ask.
“Shower sex.” Her answer is immediate. “I’ve seen it in pornos, and it always looks like fun.”
“You watch porn?”
“Yesterday I was a twenty-two-year-old virgin running a brothel. Of course I watch porn.”
I file that information for later. Standing, I carry her through the suite to the bathroom, dropping her on the counter. I adjust the water until it is just the right temperature before returning to her. In silence, I remove my t-shirt from her body before lifting her and carrying her back into the shower.
I lower her body down mine until we are both standing beneath the spray. Grabbing a loofa, I soap it up before I wash her body. I take care to be gentle with her until I am sure every inch of her skin is clean, and then I proceed to wash her hair.
It’s the most intimate thing I have ever done in my life, and I have no idea why I would do this to her, for her. We haven’t spent more than six hours together and already this woman is worming her way under my skin.
“Bishop?” she asks softly.
“Yeah?”
“What are we doing?”
“I don’t know.” I reply honestly.
She turns to face me, placing a soft kiss on my jaw. “We don’t need to figure anything out tonight. We don’t even know if there is anything to figure out.”
“Do you want to leave?”
“No,” she says quietly. “I want you to make me forget why I hate Christmas.”