Chaos series by Kristen Ashley (Page 86)

He was insane.

“What about the kids?”

“They love you. They love me. You’re in my bed every night when they’re there. Doesn’t make a difference you have your clothes in my closet. Molly will be pissed she didn’t get a dress but she’ll get over it. Cody will be relieved he doesn’t have to wear some monkey suit.”

This was true. Molly and Cody had totally accepted the easing Lanie into their lives gig and Cody would lose his little badass biker-in-the-making mind if he had to put on a suit.

“Hopper, I don’t—”

“Don’t care what you don’t,” he cut me off to say. “Got donuts in the backseat. Snacks. Packed you a bag. Got a full tank of gas. And you got a lot of time to come to terms you’re takin’ my name. You don’t, I’m haulin’ your ass out connected to me to pump gas and you gotta use the men’s restroom ’cause I sure as f**k am not walkin’ into the ladies’.”

My eyes got wide. “You packed me a bag?”

He smiled. “Sure I missed something, seein’ as the bag I packed for you doesn’t weigh as much as normal. But if I did, we can pick it up in Vegas.”

I hated it when he was amusing when I was ticked off.

“I’m moving in and we’re living happily ever after, Hop. I’m also keeping the ring because it’s gorgeous. But we are not getting married.”

“Yeah we are.”

“No we aren’t.”

He turned back to the wheel, put the truck in drive and moved back onto the road muttering, “We’ll see.”

“We’re not!” I shouted, yanking on my wrist cuffed to his.

He caught my hand and pressed it to his thigh. “Don’t want my bride on her wedding day havin’ bruises on her wrist.”

Argh!

I went silent.

Hop drove.

I stewed.

We were heading into the mountains when I stated, “This isn’t going to work if both of us pull dramas, Hopper Kincaid. You’re supposed to be the mellow one.”

“Rethinkin’ that ’cause this is fun,” he replied. “Now, get me a donut, babe.”

I growled and noticed Hopper grinned.

But I was hungry and, if I had the donuts, I could throw one at him.

With difficulty, since my wrist was cuffed to Hop’s, I twisted to the backseat and got the donuts. I also didn’t throw one at him because the minute I opened them, their sugary, doughy goodness wafted out and it would be a crime to waste even one.

I handed Hop his and started snarfing mine.

“Babe?” Hop called.

“As of now, I’m not talking to you,” I announced with a mouth full of donut.

“Love you more than life.”

God.

He just kept killing me.

I went back to silently stewing.

But after what he said, my heart wasn’t in it.

* * *

That night, the Flamingo Hotel, Vegas…

“Oh my God,” I breathed, digging my heels into Hop’s back. My wrists, cuffed to the bed, jerked and suddenly Hop’s mouth wasn’t between my legs.

He’d shifted and I felt him kiss the sensitive skin where my leg met my pelvis and my head shot up to look down at him.

He’d lifted up on his forearms, my legs still over his shoulders, and I got a good look at the new tattoo that was inked in his skin over his heart. Something he caome home with as a surprise a couple of months ago.

It was a shield, its outline made of a kickass length of chain, its inside in beautiful script that said For my Lanie.

I loved that tattoo almost as much as I loved my shield.

But right then, I couldn’t think about how much I loved his tattoo.

“Don’t stop,” I begged.

“You gonna marry me?” he asked.

Totally killing me.

“Yes,” I stated instantly, and he smiled a sexy smile.

“You sayin’ that ’cause you wanna come or are you gonna marry me ’cause you want my name?”

“Both.”

“Promise that, Lanie.”

I held his eyes even as I squirmed. “Promise, Hop.”

“You love me?”

“Until I die.”

His face got soft but his lips ordered, “Say it.”

Again. Killing me.

“Hop, please—”

“Say it, baby.”

“Say what?”

“You want my name.”

“Uncuff me.”

“No. Say it.”

“I want to touch you,” I told him quietly and I did. I definitely wanted to touch him when I told him I wanted his name.

“Burying my face back in that pu**y then f**kin’ it, all with you at my mercy, babe. You can touch me later. Say what I want to hear now.”

I dropped my head back to the bed and looked at the ceiling as I let the heat his words caused flash through my body. At the same time, I quickly sorted through my thoughts.

He was mine, I was his, he wanted this.

And I wanted him to have everything he wanted.

So I could let go of this one last thing and give it to him.

At the same time, having it myself.

When I had it together, I lifted up again and locked eyes with my man.

“I want to be your wife. I want your name. I want the name our son is going to have. I want to get married.”

His face got dark, his eyes hot, but his lips curved before he corrected, “Daughter.”

“Son.”

He shook his head then I watched him dip his face between my legs.

Yes.

My heels dug into his back.

Hop slid his hands under my behind and he pulled me deeper into his mouth.

Keep hold of happy.

I was.

Every second.

Even if I had to do it with just my legs.

* * *

The next night…

“We need to have dinner as soon as possible,” I told Tyra, my phone to my ear, my cheek to Hop’s chest, my na**d body entwined with his in our bed at the Flamingo in Vegas.

We’d been married by a fake Liberace.

We both wore jeans.

We found Hop’s wedding band in an outpost on the way (though we did this shopping while I was under fake duress). It was wide, silver, with a thick ebony band in the middle. It didn’t look like a traditional wedding ring but it did look like a biker one.

Perfect for Hop.

He bought me a bouquet of red roses at fake Liberace’s wedding chapel.

And when Liberace told Hop he could kiss the bride, Hop dipped me in an arched-back make-out session to end all make-out sessions. When he was done, he pulled me straight, crouched in front of me, wrapped his arms around my thighs, lifted me up and roared, “This is my woman!”