Rough & Raw (Notorious Devils Book 2) by Hayley Faiman Page B

laid eyes on you over ten years ago. I gave you your first kiss, your first orgasm, and I popped your cherry Brent. Ain’t no other woman on this earth that’s made for me but you, tigritsa ,” he murmurs as his nose slides alongside mine.
    Fuck , I have no will power. None. Not when he’s close, not when he slides his hands to grab my hips and hold me. Not when his scent surrounds me and his breath fans my face. I melt close to him, pressing my chest against his and tipping my head back to look up and into his eyes.
    Fuck .
    Those eyes.
    Those beautiful, haunted eyes .
    “Okay,” I say breathlessly.
    “There’s my girl,” he murmurs before he takes his thumb and sweeps it across my bottom lip. I almost touch my tongue to it, just for a taste, but I refrain.
    One taste wouldn’t be enough.
    “Now, let’s go and get this shit done with. Fury and LeeLee are going to take the kids out for some food then we’ll all crash before an exciting day at the fuckin’ zoo tomorrow,” Bates grumbles. For some reason, picturing him and Fury at the zoo makes me giggle.
    They’ll be at one with their animal brethren.
    “C’mon,” Bates mutters, throwing his arm over my shoulders as we walk toward the big glass doors of the attorney’s office.
    Walking inside of the building makes me all too aware that I am not dressed properly. Scotty would be furious if he knew I was out in public, let alone walking into a meeting wearing shorts and a tank top. I should care, I really should, but I don’t. I’m a mess from the inside out. I don’t have to pretend to be anything I’m not anymore.
    Maybe I’ll just allow myself to be a mess for a while.
    We walk up to the receptionist’s counter and the perfectly coifed woman behind it widens her eyes in surprise. She must not see bikers and disheveled homeless looking women in here too often. She opens her mouth to speak, but Bates is faster.
    “Here to see Stan Jones,” he grunts. She presses her red painted lips together with suspicion.
    “Do you have an appointment with Mr. Jones?” she asks.
    “Nope. But Brentlee Johnson does,” he says.
    “Brentlee Corbin,” I correct before I hear him grunt next to me.
    “I’ll call Mr. Jones and let him know you’re here,” she murmurs, picking up her phone.
    I step back from the desk and walk over to the reception area. I can’t sit down, I’ve been sitting in the car for hours, but I can’t stand still either. So I pace.
    “Mr. Jones will see you now,” the receptionist calls out. Bates stands quickly, wrapping his hand around mine.
    “Calm down, tigritsa ,” he rasps against my neck before placing a gentle kiss there.
    We walk toward the elevator and I hold my breath all the way up to the fifth floor. Once the doors open I see — Family Law — printed in bold letters on the wall. I never thought my life would come down to this. Hiding from an abusive piece of shit and visiting an attorney halfway across the state in secret.
    An older, clean cut gentleman with a neatly pressed suit is waiting as soon as we turn the corner. He has gray hair and kind, rich brown eyes. I watch as he smiles and brings his hand out to greet us.
    “Bates Lukin and Brentlee Corbin, I presume?”
    “Yes,” I say shakily, taking his hand.
    “Yup,” Bates grunts, lifting his chin. Mr. Jones just smiles before waving us back to his office.
    “Please, sit. Is there anything I can get you to drink before we get started?” he asks. I am taken aback by his kindness.
    The only attorneys I know are Scotty, his father, and their colleagues. Not one of them is approachable or kind. They are all intimidating, mean assholes with serious inferiority complexes. They also don’t think women have brains or rights. None of them .
    “No, thank you,” I answer for both of us and sit down.
    I want this meeting over with. I want the truth quick, fast, and in a hurry. Like a band aide. Just rip the fucker off.
    “Tell me the situation. I have to know it all