Marcus (Savage Kings MC – South Carolina Book Series 9)
Marcus: Chapter 8

“Come and get it!” Marcus shouts when he returns home with food for us.

But I don’t move from my cozy spot where I’m buried in his bed under the covers.

No, I wait until he finally appears in the bedroom doorway, looking big and bad in his tattered jeans, leather cut, and two days’ worth of dark stubble along his jaw and surround his full lips.

“Did you hear me?”

“Hear what?” I ask.

Watching me through slitted eyes, he leans his shoulder against the door frame and crosses his arms over his chest. “You really think I’m going to bring you your food in here so that you can eat it in my bed?”

“If it’s not too much trouble. It would be hard for me to sit down in a chair, you know…” I trail off with a wince, milking this “injury” for all it’s worth.

I did get up and shower while he was gone. There was even time to dry my hair and lotion my ass with aloe before I climbed back into his bed. I’m on his side since the ice did, in fact, leave a wet spot on mine.

God, I’ve slept in the man’s bed one night and I’m already claiming an entire side of it.

“Fine,” Marcus grits out. He leaves and returns with the exact breakfast I requested — an order of waffles topped with strawberries and whipped cream, the fork lying next to it on the big plate.

Being here is so much better than a hotel since it not only comes with breakfast in bed but a handy orgasm service too. I think I want to stay awhile. It’ll be easier to manipulate the Savage King into letting me prospect if I’m here all of the time for cock teasing.

“Thank you, this looks delicious,” I say as I roll to my side. Taking the plate from him, I place it in front of me on the mattress. Dipping my index finger in the mountain of cream, I pop it into my mouth to suck it off while Marcus takes a seat in an armchair in the corner.

“Aren’t you going to eat, sir?” I ask before dipping my finger in the cream again to lick it clean.

“I ate a sausage and egg biscuit at the diner while I waited for your food.”

“Oh, okay. Do you want any of this?”

“No.”

“Suit yourself.” I finally pick up the fork and start cutting into the waffles.

I eat in silence for several minutes before Marcus speaks. “You didn’t really want to be a prospect for the Kings, did you?”

“Uh-huh,” I answer around my mouthful. Swallowing it down, I add, “I do. Why?”

“Because that’s fucking ridiculous. There have never been any women in the club, and there never will be.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“Because the MC isn’t a place for women.”

“You think I can’t handle myself.”

“I know you can’t,” he remarks.

“How can you know that when we just met yesterday?” I lick another drop of whipped cream from my finger.

“I just do. Being a sexy little slut isn’t going to help you any when shit goes down.”

“Good thing I wasn’t depending on it to,” I tell him, not insulted by his name-calling. Hell, some people would probably agree that I am a slut since I sleep with guys who I feel nothing for, well…other than carnal emotions. Sometimes, I just want sex. “Although, it is nice to hear that you think I’m sexy.”

Arching one eyebrow, he says, “I’ve pulled your pants down, spanked your ass and then let you ride my face. I think I’ve made my opinion pretty obvious.”

Oh yes, he has.

“There’s more to me than you think,” I assure him.

“You can ride a motorcycle. So what? Some shithead boyfriend teach you?”

“No,” I answer. “My father did.”

“Oh,” he says, sounding surprised.

“He taught me a few other things too.”

“Yeah? Like what?

“Like look inside my jacket.” I nod my head toward the discarded leather still lying on the floor where I left it earlier.

Marcus stares at me silently as I pop a strawberry into my mouth. Finally, he gets up and goes to pick up the jacket. I can tell by the surprised look on his face that it’s heavier than he expected it to be.

Tossing the jacket on the empty side of the bed, he feels around the interior and pulls out my black, short-blade KA-BAR knife from its hidden holster.

“What the fuck?” he exclaims as he holds it up to the light.

“My father told me that, as a petite woman, I should never go anywhere unarmed. He also showed me self-defense moves and how to shoot a gun, like the Mossberg MC1 I always keep locked up in my saddlebag. I got my concealed carry permit as soon as I turned twenty-one. So, you see, I’m not as helpless as I may look.”

Marcus’s brow furrows as he stares down at me silently.

“You have a concealed carry permit?”

“Uh-huh. I’m actually a decent shot at the range too.”

“That’s it, though – you’ve never actually had to use a gun to hurt someone,” he says. “That’s why you’re not ready to be a Savage King, even if you did have a dick between your legs.”

“Did your prospects?”

“What?” he asks.

“Did those prospects you told me got shot actually use their guns to protect themselves before that happened?”

Marcus tucks my blade back into the holster and takes the jacket to hang it up on the top of the armchair. I’m not sure if he’s a neat freak who doesn’t like seeing it on the floor or if he wants it more than an arm reach away in case I try to use it on him.

“I…I don’t know if they ever used their gun before or not,” he finally answers as he sits down, or more like slumps down in the chair with his legs spread wide. “Probably not.”

“See? How are they more qualified than I am to wear the bearded skull king patch?” I ask.

“Because they can grow a fucking beard. Well, eventually I’m sure they will be able to…” Exhaling heavily, he says, “There has to be something you would rather be doing than riding a Harley with a patch on your back.”

“Nope.”

“Seriously, Teagan. It’s never going to happen.”

“Want to bet?” I ask after I take another bite of my waffle.

“There’s nothing to bet on. I’m the one who makes the decision, and I told you yesterday it’s a hell no.”

“Guess we’ll see,” I remark as I seal my lips over the last bite on my fork to pull it off and chew it slowly. “Mmm, that was delicious.”

I drop my fork on the plate, and Marcus stands up. “No, sit. I’ve got it. I can take it back to the kitchen.”

I wince more than is necessary as he takes the plate from me and carries it to the kitchen. Eventually, I’ll repay the biker for his tongue, just not yet.