“What about their president?” I demanded. “Two men are dead, Deke.”
“So they say,” he replied, leaning back in his chair. “But all the cops are saying is that two men were shot. We know their club is tearing apart at the seams. Their VP—Burke—has stepped up, but there’s no guarantee he can hold them together. At least that’s how I read it. For all we know, the Jacks took them out for their own reasons. Power struggle.”
I shook my head.
“You didn’t see his face,” I said. “It was real, Deke. He had no idea.”
“Says the girl who talked to a Devil’s Jack online for almost three months without a f**kin’ clue she was being set up. Use your brain, Em. Don’t make a fool of yourself again. Just go home and forget you ever met him.”
I stood carefully, blinking back tears, and walked out of the kitchen with as much dignity as I could manage. I agreed with Cookie—Deke needed to go away.
I didn’t like him one little bit.
TUESDAY
ME: I’m sick of being stuck in this house. They won’t let us do anything. Not even Kit is this trapped in Coeur d’Alene!!!
HUNTER: They didn’t shoot up the clubhouse in CDA and it’s farther north. Not the same thing. But I hear you—I’ll be back to town tomorrow. See you then?
ME: Definitely
HUNTER: Think I can call tonight. I never have any privacy, but I f**king miss you. Want to hear your voice. Keep thinking of that sexy mouth of yours and what it will look like wrapped around my dick.
ME: Um . . .
HUNTER: Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you first, babe . . . And after. I can’t wait to strip off all your clothes and get you naked in my bed. Might not let you out for a month.
ME: Well, when you put it like that . . . Ok :)
My phone rang at ten p.m. I’d almost given up on him calling, so when he did, I was so excited I nearly fell off my bed.
“Hey,” I said, trying not to sound too eager. “How are you?”
“Exhausted,” he said. “I’ve been down to California and back a couple times now. I hate to admit it, but I think it might be time to park the bike and break out the cage. I hate winter in Oregon.”
I laughed.
“It’s not even winter yet, and at least it’s warmer here than Coeur d’Alene,” I said. “They had the first snow last night, according to Kit. She wants to know if I’m coming home for Thanksgiving.”
“What did you say?”
“I haven’t made any plans yet,” I said carefully. There were so many things we hadn’t had time to talk about. It wasn’t like either of us had our own place. Did he want to spend the holiday together? I kept looking back over our texts to make sure I hadn’t hallucinated the whole thing. “Figured I’d see how things play out. I can’t wait to be with you again.”
“The feeling is mutual, trust me,” he muttered. “Christ, I’ve been thinking about talking to you all day, and now that I’ve finally got some privacy to do it, I’m f**kin’ exhausted. Sorry, babe.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Why don’t I talk and you can listen?”
“Sounds good.”
“I’ve been thinking about you a lot,” I said hesitantly. “About what I plan to do to you when we finally get together again. I want it to be special, so I decided to do a little research.”
“Oh really?” he asked, and while he still sounded tired, I caught a hint of something else, too. “You do this ‘research’ on another guy?”
I burst out laughing.
“Yeah, because there are so many available men in this house. Reapers don’t count, especially annoying ones. No, I decided to download a book, get some ideas.”
“Sounds interesting,” he murmured. “What kind of ideas?”
“Well, you know I don’t have tons of experience,” I said. “So I figured if I wanted to do this right—sex, I mean—it might be a good idea to read a manual. I bought the Guide to Getting It On. Interesting stuff. For example, did you know that most men are far more sensitive on the top half of their penises than the bottom half?”
“I haven’t researched the wider population, but I’m not surprised,” he said, sounding amused.
“Well, that’s why it’s so important that when I do finally get you alone, I make sure I spend a lot of time exploring the head first. I think it’s the . . . hmm, let me check my notes. The frenulum? You know, the little—”
He started laughing.
“Babe, two things. Don’t use the word ‘little’ when you talk about my dick, okay? And two, don’t use the word ‘frenulum.’ Ever. Not that anything said in that voice of yours isn’t sexy, but it’s sort of blocking the visual I’m trying to paint in my head.”
I frowned. Last time we’d had phone sex he took the lead. This was harder than I’d thought.
“Okay, well, it says I should take my time and explore that little notch on the bottom side. For example, I thought I might start by running my tongue all the way around, make sure I have a feel for the layout before doing anything else.”
“That’ll work,” he said, his voice lowering.
“I have a theory,” I said. “According to my book, some men prefer it when a woman sort of points her tongue and just uses the tip. Others like it when you really spread the tongue out, and rub the cock’s underside as you pull the head into your mouth.”