The Night Horde SoCal: Shadow And Soul Part 20

They let Margot stay with her for the procedure, too. On the evidence of the reactions of the nurse and a couple of other staff, it seemed like that was maybe unusual. Faith didn't care. Margot could have gone out to the waiting room and read a back issue of People. She had won.

With no other choice but to let it happen, Faith let it happen.

That night, while Faith lay in bed curled up against the cramps, Sly purring on her pillow, Margot brought her a hot water bottle and a big bowl of chocolate marshmallow ice cream with chocolate syrup and whipped cream. She left the ice cream on the desk and came over to the bed. Gently setting the hot water bottle against Faith's belly, she pulled up the comforter and then brushed her hand over Faith's head.

Sly growled quietly at her, as he always did, but she ignored him. "We fixed it, Faithy. This is better. I know you don't believe me, but it is." She left.

And Faith started to form her plan to get away.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

"Do I need to come to you?" Demon closed his eyes and hoped the answer was 'no.' He hated going into downtown L.A.

"I don't see why at this point," Finn Bennett's reedy voice filled his ear. "I'm going to guess you won't mind me saying that this is a great stroke of luck. With Tucker's mother dead, and all of the evaluations and reports done for you and Tucker, there's nothing holding this up anymore except the court schedule. I'm going to do what I can to get us on the docket soon."

"You think I can win?"

"I don't want to get your hopes up too high. Your record is a big strike against you. But the observation evals are strong, and Tucker's caseworker and the family counselor's report both recommend reunification. I'm optimistic."

Demon grinned. Things were looking up. Everywhere he looked, things were getting good. "Okay. Thanks, Finn. Keep me posted."

"I will. Take care, Michael."

Demon put his phone in his pocket and smiled at his worktable. The cops had found and identified Dakota's body. It had taken them a couple of weeks, but her death had been ruled an accidental overdose. Case closed. Now he was Tucker's only surviving kin, and people were starting to believe he was a good father. He might actually finally catch a break.

He pulled his phone back out and dialed Faith. When she answered, his c.o.c.k twitched. There was a way she sounded, answering the phone, knowing it was him, that was so...pleased that his chest ached with love. And maybe hope. Demon didn't really know what hope felt like, but maybe this was it.

"Hey, you," her voice smiled, "what's up?"

"Hey, babe. Talked to Finn. He thinks it's all gonna be over soon. He thinks I could get Tucker."

"Oh, my G.o.d! That's great!"

"It's not done yet, but it's the first time I really think we might be okay."

"I'm so happy for you, Michael. I love you. I love you both."

"We love you right back." He looked at the bike he was working on. He had about an hour left to finish it. "Hey-can you get away? I'll pick you up. Take a ride with me." When they'd been together before, hiding in the shadows, he'd never had her on his bike. Now, they'd had a few rides, and he couldn't get enough of it. Two of his most favorite things-the road, and Faith wrapped around him. They didn't get many chances, though, between Tucker and Margot. But it should be good now-the middle of the day. Bibi had Tucker, and Leo, he knew, was on shift with Margot.

But Faith hesitated. "Um...okay. But I'll come to you."

Okay, something was going on. She'd told him that Margot was having trouble settling in, and she thought it was better if Tucker wasn't around for a while, because he got her too excited. That made sense. He'd planned to make her a studio, but she'd put him off, saying the noise would get to her mom. That could make some sense, too. But today, Tucker wasn't a factor, and he wasn't coming over to bang around in the garage. It dawned on Michael that it had been days since he'd actually been at that house.

"What's goin' on, Faith?"

"Nothing. It's just easier if I come to you." There was a tiny, sharp edge to her answer. Defensiveness. Evasion.

"How's it easier? You make a trip here and then we ride? It's easier if I just pick you up on the bike."

A pause. "Actually, I forgot. Leo has a personal errand she needs to run today. I need to stick around. I'll just see you at the clubhouse later."

It was St. Patrick's Day, and the club was closing the shop early and having a midweek party. The heritage of the Night Horde was supposedly Norse, but that was the mother charter. Hoosier's personal heritage was half Scottish, half Irish. The charter he led, whatever its patch, partied on St. Pat's.

Demon, not much of a drinker, could have found more interesting things to do. Like ride into the desert with his old lady. But he wasn't going to fight about it with her on the phone. He wasn't going to dig into whatever had her skittish, either. Not on the phone.

He decided it wasn't worth making anything tense between them. Things were good, finally good. Her hesitation was probably just about Margot being a b.i.t.c.h, anyway. No point getting bunched up about that, though it would be a problem to work out when they were ready to live together.

"Okay, babe. I'll just see you later."

"Okay. I'm sorry, hon. I love you."

"Love you, too." He ended the call and put his phone away. Disappointment and a faint, lingering shade of suspicion dimmed the sheen of his good mood, but it couldn't dull it completely.

He might get his son.

Most of his brothers were well on their way to drunk and neck deep in p.u.s.s.y when Faith got to the clubhouse. The place reeked of corned beef and cabbage-not, in Demon's opinion, one of the world's best smells. But that was what Hoosier wanted: beer and corned beef. And soda bread. And Jameson.

Though Demon didn't think he'd ever actually been to Ireland, Hoosier went all out for the Irish traditions on this night of the year. He had Irish folk music blaring from the sound system, a big Irish flag over the bar, and the girls had strung plastic shamrock lights all over the Hall.

Demon thought all that was wasted on this crowd. With the exception of a greater number of hangarounds and some off-key singing along, it was just a club party. He sat at the bar and nursed a beer.

Seeing the attached Horde in the Hall with their old ladies was making him impatient for Faith. He was tired of being lonely.

Though Bibi was in club mama mode, managing the girls who hadn't gotten pulled away by patches, making sure that people were served and the food was on schedule, Hoosier, full to his eyeb.a.l.l.s with Jameson, was on her every chance he got. She complained loudly, but she was laughing, too.

Muse and Sid were sitting in a chair in the far corner of the room, making out like teenagers. Demon laughed to himself. Sid must have gotten pretty d.a.m.n drunk already. She didn't usually like to make a display like that. Muse didn't seem to be minding at all, but he wasn't getting more than R-rated. Demon figured them for the dorm soon.

Diaz had his wife, Ingrid, on one of the pinball machines. Ingrid was Finnish or Dutch or something, and her English wasn't great. She and Diaz spoke Spanish together. She didn't show up at the clubhouse often, because she worked a lot-and, anyway, she had trouble keeping up with everything going on. But she was a model and pretty comfortable being on display. She was the only old lady Demon had ever known who was perfectly happy to go to town right in the middle of everything-and didn't need tequila to get there.

Tucker was with Bart and Riley and their kids. Riley was, like, eight months pregnant or something-she looked like a tiny Goodyear blimp-so they were taking a pa.s.s on St. Pat's and had invited Tucker for a sleepover. They lived in a mansion and had every conceivable toy and game. They also had a Great Dane named Odin, and Tuck thought that dog was probably G.o.d.

Demon thought he'd like to get his son a dog of his own someday.

The most sober man in the room by a wide margin, Demon sat at the bar and watched the door, waiting, so he saw her when she walked in. Forgetting the strange roadblock in their phone call, he smiled when their eyes met. f.u.c.k, what it did inside his chest to love her and be able to feel good about it. To love her and to have her. Years of longing and guilt were all worth it because they'd brought them here: Faith Fordham walking through a packed clubhouse, her light eyes sparkling, her smile wide with love.

It was all worth it.

She was wearing faded jeans tucked into tall, black boots. The jeans were really holes surrounded by strips of denim, with bright green lace...stockings? Tights?...underneath. He didn't know what they were called, but they were hot. Her top was just a plain white, low-cut t-shirt, and she had a black denim jacket over that.

"Hi, babe."

He held her face in his hands and kissed her. When he pulled her in for a hug, metal poked at his arms, so he looked over her shoulder at the back of her jacket. Then, curious, he turned her around.

"What's this?"

She had fashioned a set of angel's wings, spanning her shoulders, on the back of her jacket. Made of probably hundreds of safety pins. He laughed. She did love to make things out of things that were something else.

He leaned close, so she could hear him over the din. "Do you ever just see a thing for what it is?"

Smiling, she shook her head and turned her mouth to his ear. "What a boring way to see the world."

It was how he saw it, just as it was. And she was right. Her way was better. Everything about her left him in awe.

He slid his hand under her shirt and felt her bare skin twitch on his palm. "It's just you and me, babe. Tuck's with Bart and Riley. How long can you stay?"

"Jose said he'd stay over." She hooked her hands on the back of his neck. "I can spend the night."

It felt like it had been forever since they'd been able to spend a night together. And they'd only been able to spend a few so far. "Let's go back to Hoosier and Bibi's."

But she shook her head. "I don't want to take the time. You have a room here, right?"

The thought of bringing Faith into his room here gave Demon pause. He'd f.u.c.ked club girls there. Not his old lady. He looked back toward the dorm, hesitating.

But she stepped closer and slid her hands under his shirt, scratching her nails over his back, and he just wanted to be with her. Right now. Wherever. Leaving his beer discarded on the bar, he took her hand and led her back.

Once they were inside, he locked the door. The wailing tones of Irish music filtered through the walls and gave a strange, rustic aura to the room. Faith was already shrugging out of her clothes. Her hair was loose and swung across her back as she took her jacket off. Following an impulse, he caught the long, dark fall in his hand and tugged her backward, to him.

She gasped and arched against him. It was the most forceful he thought he'd even been with her, excepting when he lost control, and he was on the brink of apologizing when she grabbed his other hand and pulled it around her.

Demon felt different. This night was different. For the first time, there was nothing over them-not the guilt and shame of the time before, not the awkwardness of reunion of their night in Venice Beach, not the need to be mindful of Tucker sleeping nearby. Not his past or his fear of what she would think if she knew. She knew, and she still loved him, still wanted him.

It was just them. The din of revelry around them served as insulation. In this room, they were in their own world.

And to think he'd almost talked her out of coming back here.

He pushed his hand up under her top, over the smooth, firm skin of her belly and up to her breast. Her bra was satiny, without padding, and he could feel her nipple pebble under his fingertips. He curled over her, tugging her head to the side by the hair he still had wrapped around his hand, and he pressed his mouth to her neck. She smelled like Faith, something spicy and warm, but so subtle his nose had to be almost touching her skin to be full of her scent.

She reached back, between them, and grabbed his c.o.c.k through his jeans, squeezing and rubbing until a groan wrenched out of his throat, and he clutched her tightly, feeling his control start to fray. He took a step toward the bed, needing them to get naked and horizontal, but she made an agile little twist and came out of his hold to stand before him. He let loose of her hair, and it fell over her shoulder in a silken swath.

With her eyes on his, she lifted her top up and over her head, and he saw that her bra was satin, and hot pink. She took that off and stood topless, her hands on her hips. She stopped there, as if she were waiting, and he grinned and took his kutte off, hanging it behind him on the door. His flannel shirt and t-shirt he dropped to the floor. As he bent to untie his boots, Faith stepped up to him and put her hands on his shoulders, asking him without words to stop.

Her hands slid down over his arms, tracing every contour of muscle, all the elaborate lines of his ink, and then came back up. When they returned to his chest, she moved over every inch, stopping to draw her fingers over the lines of his old kanji. He put his hand to her neck and let his thumb rest on her identical ink.

She already bore his mark, he realized. She had for years. That understanding was so potent, his nerves flared and made his hips rock. Her eyes lifted to his, and she smiled.

"I love you so much."

Words were still hard for him at times like this, even sound itself was, and it seemed like that would always be the case. So he bent down instead and kissed her, letting his tongue tell her this way instead that they shared that love. As their mouths moved together, her hands continued their gentle exploration, downward over his ribs and belly until they arrived at his waistband.

She had his belt and jeans open and was pushing everything off his hips before he registered what she was up to. He caught hold of her elbows as she was kneeling down.

"Faith."

She stopped and stood up again, her eyes steady on his. "I love you, Michael. This isn't about jealousy. It's about making this a loving thing for you. I want this, and I want you to have it the way it should be."

It made his heart pound erratically. He'd gotten head before, plenty of times. It was different, though, when it was a club girl, just a physical thing, something she had come up to him and offered. He didn't know why that had never really stirred up his demons. Maybe because his heart had never been in it. Even with Kota, even when he'd thought they were real.

He wanted Faith kept far away from anything ugly about him.

But this didn't have to be ugly. He knew in his head that was true. Maybe he could do this. Feeling his c.o.c.k lose its rigor, he swallowed. "Not on your knees."

"Fair enough." She smiled brightly. "You better strip, then, handsome, and lie down." Stepping back, she bent over and unzipped one of her boots. Demon paused and watched the way her pert little t.i.ts plumped in that position. His c.o.c.k filled back out, and then some. With a brisk shake of his head to regain some focus, he rid himself of his own boots and the remainder of his clothes, and then he lay down on the narrow double bed.

Faith let her clothes fall where they would and then joined him on the bed, on her knees at his side. She loomed over him, her hair a curtain around her face, and placed one hand lightly in the middle of his chest. "Relax, baby," she purred. "I love you." As she straddled him, she bent down and kissed him. Just as he began to put the rest of it out of his head and focus just on her, the way her tongue felt and her lips tasted, the cool caress of her hair, the hot touch of her hands, she pulled away and began to kiss her way down his body-his neck, his shoulder, his chest.

Nerves caught him, and he wrapped his hands around her slender arms. "Faith, wait."

She looked up and then leaned forward, returning to let her face hover over his. "It's okay, Michael. Let me love you this way."

"I don't want...I don't want to come in your mouth"-a memory hit him-"or all over you. I hated when I did that."

Instead of backing off, or getting frustrated, she smiled. "Then don't come. Hold off until you're inside me the way you want to come."

The combination of her sultry voice and the idea in her words made him groan, and he nodded. He didn't know how long he could go before he wasn't in charge anymore, but he took a breath and let go of her arms, and she continued her journey downward.

Unwilling to see her take him into her mouth, he kept his head on the pillow and his eyes closed. So he jumped a little when he first felt her mouth-that mouth he knew so well, he loved so much, her full, soft lips-on his c.o.c.k. She kissed his tip, then licked it, flicking her tongue sharply over the sensitive underside until his body was a ma.s.s of twitches and spasms. And then she took him deep.

Oh, Christ, she was good at it. He didn't want to see her bobbing up and down on him like...like...he couldn't even think it, but he knew he didn't want that image of her, so he squeezed his eyes shut. But her tongue moved, and her lips, and she sucked just exactly right, and he could feel the climax charging toward him. f.u.c.k, it was good.

A thought crawled out of the dark: she must have done this a lot to have become so good. He hated that thought. Hated it with a black violence that frayed his control. Without his permission, his hands grabbed her head, tangling in her hair, and he raised his head and opened his eyes, feeling...feeling...heedless and intense.

She was looking at him when he opened his eyes, and she lifted up and smiled, her mouth wet. "Okay?" When he didn't answer, she moved up his body until they were face to face. His hands in her hair followed along. "Michael. Okay?"

He nodded, though he didn't know if he was.

"Can I keep going?"

He shook his head.

Her frown was brief and slight, and then she resettled across his hips and reached between her legs to hold him steady. She sat down on him, taking him into her in the way that he really wanted. Then she put her hands around his wrists and pulled his hands from her hair, setting them instead on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

This, he could watch-his hands on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, the way her nipples hardened and swelled with this touch, the way her back bowed when his thumbs flicked over the tight points, the muscles in her stomach rolling as she rocked and swiveled her hips on him-all of that he wanted burned into his brain.

The face she made as she began to come-she wasn't surprised by it any longer. Now, she saw it approaching, and he could see it when she did. She bit her lip in concentration, and her attention left him. He loved that, so much, to watch her know that ecstasy was on its way and to go out to meet it. The sight both elevated his own pleasure and gave him the power to hold it off. He could wait forever to be sure she caught her bliss.

And then he recognized that he wasn't going to lose control. Not this time. He dropped a hand to her c.l.i.t and ma.s.saged it in tandem with his other hand still on her breast, and she cried out and sped up dramatically, riding him hard. He could feel his finish right there, waiting impatiently, tensing the muscles of his abdomen. But it was waiting. He was always able to get her over before he lost control, but this was different. This was a calm, a lack of fight. He was completely here, in this moment with her, and that was a first. No guilt, no shame, no awkwardness, no watchfulness. No beast.

He would let her go down on him again. He could get right with that. He could be normal. He felt that now.