He chuckles. “Yeah, got ya. I’ll go back to being an ass.”

My lips twitch again, and he stares down at them. “I’ll get that smile, sugar. Now, have you eaten?”

I feel my eyes widen and he snorts, shrugging off his leather jacket.

“What? Don’t think a biker can cook?”

I put my hands up in defense. “Hey, I didn’t say that.”

“No, spose’ you didn’t. Now, have you eaten?”

I shake my head, eating isn’t something I do a lot of. Habit I guess. That’s what happens when you don’t have a great deal of food offered during your life.

“Right, we’re goin’ to cook somethin’ up, then I’m goin’ to fuck you until you’re screamin’ my name.”

My brows shoot up. “I love how you assume you’re that good.”

He leans in close, sliding his tongue across my bottom lip. “I am that good, sugar, and you know it.”

I bite his tongue. He grunts, wraps his arms around my waist and presses against me. He tilts his head, pushes forward, and turns his licking into a deep kiss that has my entire body sparking to life. I hook my fingers through the loops on his jeans and pull his hips against my pelvis, enjoying the feeling of his hard cock riding against me.

“I may have a few tricks up my sleeve to make you squeal,” I murmur, sliding my hand around to rub against his cock.

He makes a purring sound and leans down to nip my earlobe. “Bring it on. Ain’t nothin’ you do, is gonna make me squeal.”

I grin at him. “Is that a challenge, biker?”

He slaps my ass and then lets me go. “It most certainly is a challenge.”

“Well consider it accepted!” I call after him as he makes his way into the large kitchen.

“Well consider me fuckin’ thrilled.”

I am beaming inside as I follow him into the large kitchen with white counter tops and stainless steel appliances. I grip the counter and lift myself until I’m sitting on it. I watch Cade dig through the fridge to come out with a mass of ingredients. Many men say they can cook. Whether it actually tastes good or not, is to be decided upon serving. My guess, Cade can cook.

“You just gonna sit there and watch?” he says, throwing some steak down onto a cutting board.

“It’s proper manners to cook for a lady, you know.”

“Ain’t got manners, and there ain’t no lady here.”

I thump his shoulder and he chuckles.

“So, is this your common wooing technique?”

He looks up at me mid-way through trimming the fat off the steak.

“One, sugar, I don’t woo women. I don’t have to. Two, do I look like the type to woo, even if I had to? Three, you’re the first girl I’ve cooked for in at least five years.”

“How old are you, gramps?”

He shakes his head, but I can see a ghost of a smile playing around his mouth. “I’m twenty-nine.”

I feel my expression change to one of shock. I knew Cade was older than me, but I didn’t realize he was eight years old than me.

“Too old for you?” he murmurs when he notices my expression.

“No, why would you think that?”

“You’re giving me a horrified expression.”

Change of subject, Addison.

“I just think you’re young to be a vice president of a MC club. That’s a big thing.”

He shrugs. “Not for me.”

“Why’d you join?”

He pulls out a potato and begins peeling it. “Jack’s helped me. I was in a bad place and he pulled me from it. We got close, he trusted me, so he gave me the role two years ago.”

“My dad is the reason?”

He nods, giving me a quick glance. “Shocked by that?”

“A little, but I guess I can understand it.”

“He changed my world. He dragged me from a shitty place.”

I cross my legs, press my palms to the counter and lean forward. “What sort of bad place?”

“Drugs, sex, crime…guilt.”

“Guilt?”

He stiffens a touch, and I notice it. What is Cade hiding? What did he do that would make him feel enough guilt that he can’t even say the word without stiffening? Is that why he’s so determined to be with me? Can he see himself in me? Or is he trying to fix me because he couldn’t fix himself? Humans are like that sometimes, they seek something to put back together when they’re broken and can’t fix themselves. I guess it’s just a comfort; it makes us feel better, like we haven’t completely lost ourselves – we like to believe there’s still a part in there, that can be saved.

“That’s a story I ain’t willin’ to tell.”

I nod, completely understanding. I am not ready to tell my story either. And boy, do I have a story to tell.

“I understand that.”

He stops peeling the potato and looks up. “That ain’t the reaction I expected.”

“What reaction did you think you would get?”

“Most girls roll their eyes and pout, or try to soothe me with words that mean sweet fuck all to me.”

I shrug, meeting his gaze. “I’ve been in a place I don’t really want to share with the world. I know what it’s like to have a story you don’t want to tell. Not all stories have to be told, you know, sometimes…sometimes they are better left closed.”