Salvation (6 page)

Chapter Eight

He did. Hard. His hips arched in the air as he came all over his belly and chest, yelling her name without reservation. She stroked him lighter, because he shuddered, seemed so sensitive post-orgasm. His skin was covered with a thin sheen of sweat, his breath quick, his chest dappled with his come.

She inhaled his scent, heady and masculine and her body throbbed with need. She moaned without realizing it and he turned his gaze from the mirror to her, his eyelids heavy as he murmured, “Go ahead, baby. Make yourself come.”

She slid her hands into her underwear—her sex was wet and hot, and she fingered the tight bundle of nerves until she gasped. She’d done this before, in the past year always thinking of Bishop, so having him right here made her waver. Because she wanted him to touch her, to be the one doing this.

But taking that last step...

“Lean this way. Take off your sweatshirt,” he said, still not making a move toward her, his voice commanding her to listen and do what he asked. And she did, pulled off the sweatshirt, and got half way out of her tank top before moving closer so he could suck her nipple.

“Bishop, yes.” She threw the tank top to the floor, closed her eyes and rocked against her own hand, his mouth urging her on. She pretended it was his hand on her sex, had never realized how much having her nipples played with could arouse her so quickly and thoroughly. It was like she was learning about her body’s responses for the first time instead of going through the motions. And it was fantastic.

Her body throbbed, the ache in her belly becoming tighter and tighter until the orgasm blasted through her. Her body stiffened and she cried out Bishop’s name.

Bishop, who kissed her breasts and neck and jawline as she floated along the climax’s aftermath. He was the least safe man she knew, the most dangerous, and he was holding back for her. All for her.

He’d let her keep all the power, let her revel in it. And she had.

“You’re the most non-innocent innocent I’ve ever met,” he murmured after she’d fully collapsed against him. He hadn’t pulled his sweats up and she was still in her underwear, her shirt unbuttoned but closed over her bare breasts.

Her gaze slid down his chest to his crotch. Even soft, he was big. Like him fitting inside of her seemed out of the question and still, she wanted to try.

But there was more to it than the physical act. For now, even though this hadn’t been nearly enough, it would have to be.

He traced the tattoos on her arm, a finger going over every line, as if memorizing them. Recreating. “Food’ll be here soon. Doctor too,” he said, his drawl thick.

“Zara mentioned that. Why all the checkups?”

“I’m valuable to him,” he said simply. When she rooted for her shirt, he added, “Bet there are clothes for you in the closet.”

“Really?”

“It’s a Keller thing. For certain people.”

“How do you know I’m among the chosen?”

“He’s definitely intrigued with you,” Bishop told her.

“How do you know?”

“He let you in.”

“Based, at least in part, because of my association with you.”

Bishop nodded. “For better or worse.”

“What did we do to earn that?”

“We survived.” He slid off the bed and she did the same. He headed for what she assumed was the bathroom and she went toward the closet and saw women’s clothing. And lingerie. All new, it appeared (thankfully) and in her size.

“Did you have something to do with this?” she called, held up a lacy camisole over her shoulder.

He poked his head out of the bathroom. “No, but I can’t say I’m upset about it.” He strolled over and picked up a particularly revealing black corset with cutouts where the nipples would go and looked between her and it.

“Forget it. God, that’s creepy of Keller.”

“Not from him,” Bishop said, picking up the card and handing it to her. “From Kammy. Keller’s version of an old lady.”

The card was in neat script.
Welcome to Keller’s.
Nice to finally meet Bishop’s woman.
Figured these would come in handy after the long separation.

“I guess word really does travel fast around here,” she murmured as she turned the card over in her hands.

“You have no idea.”

She grabbed a comfy looking sweatshirt and a pair of black leggings—simple clothes but they were expensive. And from a designer she remembered from the pre-Chaos days. How Keller had access to all this...

Well, she supposed the rumors about his connections were all true.

Several moments later, when she was still riffling through the clothes, there was a knock on the door. Bishop called for whoever it was to come in, and she turned in time to see a tall man in scrubs enter. Behind him was a woman pushing a cart of covered trays.

“Luna, this is Doc Morrison. And this is Rocio—when she doesn’t see me at the diner, she brings me food.”

“He needs to eat more,” Rocio told her, her accent thick but her words clear. “You too. I brought extra.”

“I think she just came to get a look at you,” Bishop told Luna with a wink and Rocio gave him a playful slap on the arm. Then she turned to Luna.

“You need anything else, mama, you call me, okay? Bishop’s got the intercom number.” She pointed to a box on the wall that looked like an alarm system as she spoke. That wasn’t anything Defiance had, and she wondered how Keller had hooked that up. Where he’d gotten the equipment.

Before Luna could do more than just thank her, Rocio was gone. She turned back to see Bishop stripped out of his clothes, down to just his boxer briefs as Doc Morrison checked him over, much in the same way the first doctor had post fight.

“How’re the ribs?” Doc Morrison asked and Bishop shrugged, which could mean anything from, “fine” to “hurts like hell.” Doc Morrison obviously spoke Bishop, shook his head and handed him a bottle of pills. “Take these for the inflammation. Two tonight, two in the morning. That should be enough to get you through the worst of it. You need to rest, hear me?”

Was he in serious pain? She noticed the dark bruising coming through now—it was hidden under his arm, up toward his armpit and it snaked around his back, the pattern a dark and ugly touch against his otherwise golden skin. “Is he okay?”

“We’re just watching his ribs. They were a bit bruised after the last fight,” Doc Morrison explained. “He doesn’t like to take much pain medicine.”

“She doesn’t like seeing me fight,” Bishop said.

“I’m sure my wife wouldn’t like it either.”

“I’ll rest, Doc,” Bishop said.

“And eat,” Doc Morrison added, before turning to her. “Do you need anything? Allergy pills? Birth control?”

Her stomach flipped a little, but his manner was so straightforward and nonjudgmental that she managed, “I’m okay for now.”

“Anything you need, just call. I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, left with a wave and a quiet close of the door behind him. Bishop went over and locked it, sat down still in just his boxer briefs and began to eat.

“Come on,” he told her, pointing to the food. He uncovered the trays and she joined him at the small table in the far corner of the room by the kitchenette area.

“I get the feeling that you’re...”

“A kept man?” he asked, without a trace of irony. “Guess there are worse things.”

“They treat you like the golden egg.”

“Did you not see me kick ass at the fight, babe?” He took a bite of the crisp bacon. “Every punch is money. I’m making Keller a fucking fortune.”

And keeping him off Defiance’s back took more than those fights
, she thought, but didn’t say it out loud. Just because Bishop shouldered the burden didn’t mean he wanted it discussed like he was some kind of saint. He was far from it, and that made him even more attractive.

“You liked watching me fight,” he added.

“I like watching you win,” she corrected. “I don’t like seeing you get hit.”

“And yet, it turned you on.”

“Shut up,” she murmured, but she couldn’t deny it. “I guess all of this is part of keeping you comfortable,” she said instead, referencing the bed, the mirrors, the lingerie with quick motions of her hands.

He shrugged, not disagreeing. “I don’t need the bells and whistles to make love to you, Luna. A sheet on the grass would work for me. Your bed in Defiance. The back of your truck, even.” He smiled at that, and she had to admit she’d pictured that scenario most often.

They ate in comfortable silence, and she filled up on the simple, delicious foods. Some kind of stew, with potatoes and meat and carrots, good bread. Wine. Rice.

She leaned back, full and sleepy. “I want a bath.”

“There’s a tub inside. And hot water,” he told her, knowing how important that was. How rare it was. “You’ve got ten minutes before it’s only warm, but it never runs cold, unless that’s what you’re looking for.”

He didn’t have to tell her twice. She was up and in the bathroom in seconds, his laugh echoing behind her.

The tub was big and decadent and she felt guilty for half a second before turning the water to fill it. There were bath salts and bubbles, and maybe these were from Kammy too, because they were all new.

She opened one that smelled like gardenias and put some in the water before she stripped down and lowered herself into the tub. She’d lived a lifetime between leaving Defiance less than twenty-four hours ago, and she wasn’t even close to being done.

This was nothing like what she’d expected, and in the back of her mind, she was worried. But she pushed that away, enjoyed the bath.

There was a big shower in the corner, and there was also a hose attached to the bath. Once done, she sprayed the rest of the bubbles off and dried herself with a thick, dark gray towel before wrapping it around herself.

Bishop was done eating, was lying on the bed, reading. She grabbed a long T-shirt and pulled it over her head before dropping the towel. At the last minute, she put on a pair of black underwear with a pretty pink bow in the front. Because who said she shouldn’t accept any presents?

* * *

Luna was having her kid-in-a-candy-store moment, and Bishop was prepared to let her, for as long as it lasted. Whether it would sink in that she was stuck here for the rest of his yearlong commitment or if it really wouldn’t matter to her was yet to be determined. She was tired, buzzed and coming off a sex, food and hot bath high that he’d never interfere with.

When he’d first gotten there, he’d trained, fought and fucked. Woke, ate in the local restaurants and began ticking off the days in his mind. He’d borrowed books from the enormous library—he had no idea where the hell Keller got all the damned books but he was grateful for something to pass the time.

It was still about training, fighting and fucking, but in between, he hung out with Keller when invited, because he wasn’t goddamned suicidal. His first invite into Keller’s came as a surprise. The second, not as much and he wondered if Keller, for all the trappings, the wealth, the hangers-on, was lonely.

Bishop had killed Keller’s son, Victor, along with several LoV members when he and Mathias rescued Jessa. It’s what got Bishop into this stint at Keller’s in the first place, and he remembered being stunned at Keller’s lack of anger when Bishop told him that he’d been the one to kill Victor. It had been luck of the draw, but he stood in front of Keller after Mathias had been sent back to Defiance and he’d told the man something Keller had already known.

“I’m not surprised you told me, Bishop,” Keller had said. “You don’t have any fear. I knew that already. But I’m most interested in why you sacrificed to take Mathias’s place. He’s the one I wanted.”

“I told you, I’m a better fighter,” Bishop had told him truthfully, although there was more to it than that. And Keller had obviously known, because he’d told Bishop, “And you need to fight more than he does.”

“Probably. Is that something I should be ashamed of?”

Keller had laughed. “Not on my account.”

And that’s when he learned that Keller’s interest in fighting was far from casual. As a kid, he trained as a professional boxer in Brooklyn, went on to do some serious prizefighting and probably could’ve gone far if he hadn’t needed to take over the family business when his father was murdered in front of a famous steakhouse when Keller was fifteen.

“So you ran your family business when you were fifteen?” Bishop had asked him.

Keller had put the barbecued steak in front of him—another thing Bishop learned was that Keller pretty much cooked all his own meals. There wasn’t a lot of trust for anyone, even the woman named Kammy who’d stuck by Keller for the past five years.

Bishop knew he could easily become just like Keller. Luna was his way out of that, and she was here.

Now, he shifted on the bed, put the western he’d been reading down to watch Luna. Her hair was damp from the bath, the T-shirt she wore was pretty sheer, which he wasn’t sure she knew, but he wasn’t going to tell her.

And she was relaxed, but not enough to completely let down her guard. She was really looking around now, seeing past the trappings of the mirrors and the comforts of the fabrics and the rugs to the actual structure. These tubes were slightly smaller than the ones in Defiance, but they were definitely Defiance made. Several companies had tried to copy the tubes and make their own designs, but they’d never been able to perfect it.

Nothing was perfect, not even when it appeared to be pretty damned close. Here, like everywhere, people were happy or they were sad or they were whatever the fuck they wanted to be. There wasn’t any “had to be” around here. You could chose to be happy or not, but hell, if you couldn’t be happy here, you had some serious problems.

At least that’s the way it appeared, until the storms and the shootings started, reminding him that everyplace had its issues. No place had ever been perfect, pre—or post-Chaos. But for now...”You heard what the doctor said—rest.”

“He told you that,” she countered.

“Can’t, until I know you are,” he told her, and she smiled, relented and climbed into bed next to him. She was asleep within five minutes, and he kept his arm around her while he continued to read, almost afraid that today had all been a dream, that she’d somehow disappear.