“Fuck,” he groaned, driving his hips into mine, grinding himself punishingly. There was nowhere to run, no way to hide. I was his in that blissful crazy moment.
“More,” I begged.
Something unlocked inside him and the kiss went from wild to feral. I moaned as he bit my bottom lip, licking, kissing, thrusting his tongue deep. Our finesse and control deteriorated us into two animals battling for the upper hand.
I arched my back, pressing myself harder and harder. He rocked his hips, his erection a scorching weapon between us.
We punished each other but our bodies craved more, more, more.
I melted. I glowed. I begged.
He kissed me so hard the mirror crunched against the back of my head, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was getting him to lose the rest of his tightly reined control.
I moaned as he kissed me deeper, drawing blood as my teeth cut into my upper lip.
Metallic blood shadowed the kiss with brutal flavoring, but he didn’t stop.
He kissed me as if I were the dead girl he’d lost and he couldn’t stop the love blistering in his heart. He kissed me as if I were so endlessly precious and desired.
His body drove me higher and higher until wetness trickled down my thigh and my thoughts became nothing but sex and writhing need.
I scrambled to get closer.
Our heads moved as our kiss grew frantic.
Our legs entwined as we rode each other.
Our moans echoed as we gave ourselves over to pleasure.
I rocked, panting as my core throbbed for the part of him encased in his jeans.
I’d never been devoured this way. I would remember if I had.
In one kiss, Kill obliterated any past lovers I might’ve had and stamped his absolute mark on my soul. I didn’t care about the rest of it. I didn’t care about the complications between us. All I cared about was connecting with someone on a visceral level.
Kill pulled back, his pupils black and full of fire. “We’re leaving.”
I nodded, breathless and bruised.
“I’m going to fuck you.”
I swallowed and trembled.
“You’re mine.”
Chapter Eight
Fuck.
I’d kissed her to see.
To drink her lies and taste the truth.
I’d kissed her hoping to put an end to the blistering pain inside my heart.
To admit to myself that whatever drew me to her was false.
It didn’t work.
Her mouth intoxicated me. She made me want her more than anyone.
That was a lie.
There was someone. Someone I couldn’t think about without wanting to tear my chest open. Someone I would betray. Someone I was already betraying by permitting this woman to warp my mind.
I had to throw this imposter away.
Before it was too late.
—Kill
I’d lived trials I couldn’t remember.
I’d learned skills I couldn’t recall.
I’d lived a life that no longer existed.
Yet I knew one thing with utmost certainty.
I’d never been more alive than when Kill held my hand and marched me to his bike.
I’d never been more aware as I sat behind him and wrapped my arms around his muscular waist.
I’d never been so willing to throw everything away for more of what he conjured in my core, in my heart, in my soul.
The heat.
The throb.
The need.
He was an addiction to my painfully deprived mind.
And I was petrified.
Not because of the recklessness in which I pressed my breasts against his back, or the greed with which I took his mouth when he pulled into his garage.
No.
I was terrified that nothing else mattered to me.
Nothing else but the selfish pleasure of want.
And that was a dangerous, dangerous place to be.
One tracked. One minded.
Completely vulnerable and open for pain.
I played with my demise.
I ran straight toward my downfall.
Chapter Nine
How the fuck could I stop this?
I couldn’t stop this.
I didn’t want to stop this.
For the first time in my godforsaken life, I felt… felt something instead of the cold hatred of vengeance.
It gave me strength all while making me weak.
I wanted more.
Therefore, I had to stop.
Before she destroyed me—just like all the rest.
—Kill
We stared at each other.
Breathing hard and rough, we didn’t move to close the distance between us.
The moment we’d entered his bedroom, we’d sprung apart like magnets that went from connection to polar repulsion.
I stood hesitantly in the middle of his bedroom, unable to control my crazy overbeating heart. Kill stood braced against the door, his hands balled by his sides, his face a mask of lust and confusion.
In that second, I was a student.
About to be taught how to please a biker lord.
The bedroom shimmered with everything that sparked between us. Prisms of need bounced with the late-afternoon sunshine, the air thick with unspoken explanations.
I had so many questions.
But we somehow wordlessly agreed not to say anything. One wrong sentence would jeopardize everything that was about to happen.
Kill dragged a hand through his disheveled hair. It gleamed almost black¸ windswept and sexy from the manic bike ride home. I’d never been so eager to do something so wrong.
Was I about to commit adultery? Would my soul go to hell for being so consumed by one need—one incredibly selfish need?
Kill’s green eyes never unlocked from mine, cranking my anxiety until I trembled.
He made a half-distraught, half-throttled noise in the back of his throat as he leaned against the door; his hand gripped the handle as if he couldn’t bear to let go.
I tried to guess what was going through his head.
But I’d been lost the moment he’d kissed me in the changing room. This was all him—I wasn’t in charge; I didn’t want to be in charge. I hoped he’d slip and somehow shed light on everything that taunted me.
“Get on the bed,” he ordered, his knuckles going white around the doorknob.
I stiffened and inched toward the large mattress.
I felt as if I existed in a booby-trapped battleground. One wrong move and something would snap and kill me. I tried to swallow but had no lubrication in my throat—it had all drained below to throb between my legs.
I’d never been so turned on.
You think.
I shouldn’t be doing this!
You won’t stop.
“I won’t tell you again, sweetheart. Get on the bed.” His voice was dark and full of gravel. My eyes dropped to his jeans. He was rock hard—just like he’d been while pushing against me in the store.
God, help me.
What if I’m a virgin, not on the pill, married?
I shoved those thoughts away, moving faster toward the bed. The closer I got, the heavier Kill breathed.
I bit my lip as the bed brushed against my legs. Instantly, Kill pushed off from the door, prowling toward me.
With a powerful shrug, he discarded his leather cut, letting it puddle against the charcoal carpet. In another step, he reached down and tugged off one large boot, then the other.
His jaw twitched as he grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and ripped it over his head, hissing between his teeth as his stitches pulled, but he never stopped closing the distance between us.
A spiral of lust shot through my system as I gawked at his cut muscles, the smoothness of his skin, and the dark happy trail disappearing into his jeans. His freshly stitched scar looked red and puffy. Panic filled me at the thought of infection.
My heart r
aced to slow down the monstrous wave of animalistic need. “I should really tend to that.”
He shook his head, his eyes hooded. “You’re tending to something a lot more important.” Only a yard separated us, his body heat singeing me even from that distance.
My stomach twisted, sending sparks through my body.
“Take off the dress,” he murmured. My fingertips brushed the silver maxi he’d bought me at the store. After our kiss, he’d bundled everything into a pile, dragged me from the changing room, thrown some money at the clerk, and stolen me away on his motorbike.
With fluttering heartbeats, I gathered the material at my shoulders and shimmied out of the soft dress. It pooled around my ankles, leaving me exposed in the buttercup-yellow lingerie.
He tensed, his stomach tightening so every ridge of him stood out with chiseled male perfection.
“Christ, you’re beautiful.”
A moan built in my chest. He’d barely whispered, only breathed the words, but it made me feel like the most powerful woman alive. He didn’t look at my scars. He didn’t see the strange mix of inked beauty and burned ugliness. He just saw me.
I’m not lacking.
“Yellow suits you.” His eyes shadowed with pain.
“Come on… let me call you it, too.”
I shook my head, planting my fists on my hips. “Nope. Only he can call me that. You call me Sagittarius. My dad calls me Buttercup—that’s how it works.”
He pounced on me, wrapping his arms around my waist and plucking me effortlessly from the floor. “But you’re my sunshine. You glow in yellow. I want to—”
I squealed as his hands tickled me and the rest of the argument of my nickname dissolved in favor of kisses.
I blinked, dispelling the memory.
“What’s another word for yellow?” I breathed, willing, hoping, praying I could trip him up. What if the grave of a girl who still had his heart was false? What if she was me?
I didn’t care I spoke differently or he said the girl in his past wasn’t scarred or inked. Things changed. Life took familiarity and often turned it foreign.
There were too many coincidences. Too many pieces slotting together inside my head.
Kill froze, his large hands pausing on his belt buckle. “What?” His nostrils flared and anger—bright and blistering—stole the erotic nature of his glare.
His hands dropped from his belt. “Explain what the fuck you meant by that.”
No! I felt him withdrawing, his soul lurching faster and faster out of reach.
I shot away from the bed, darting to his side.
His eyes tightened and every muscle in his body went rigid.
“I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sorry—forget I said anything.”
He breathed hard, his chest rising with a heavy inhale. He didn’t say a word, searching my eyes.
“Please, Killian. I want you to kiss me again.”
Kiss me like you did. Forget the past.
The intensity between us sparked again like smoldering tinder. I flushed. I shivered. My body didn’t know if it should be hot or cold, embarrassed or confident.
He didn’t touch me.
Only watched.
Finally, never breaking eye contact, he undid his large belt and unzipped his jeans with steady hands. His pectoral muscles twitched as he pushed at his hips and discarded the denim with one shove.
My mouth went bone-dry. I couldn’t stop looking at the silver scars from past injuries, or the bright red one that gave him a reason to let me into his very private world. I was under no illusion that I’d been granted an exclusive pass and not one that I wanted to ruin.
“Take off your bra,” he whispered. His hand went to his cock, wrapping around the insane hardness visible in his grey boxer-briefs. A damp spot darkened the material from his excitement, and all I wanted was to see what he would give me.
Every inch of me was hyperaware, made worse by him not touching me. By making me strip, he forced me to give him everything I was, all while being exposed and on show.
My hands disappeared behind my back. My fingers fumbled at the clasp. The pretty lace bra unsnapped, sagging off my shoulders. Catching the cups, I held them for a moment against my flesh.
This was worse than stripping at the compound—that had been business. We’d be merchandise, stock—this… everything about this was pure sex. And dominance. And crazy anticipation.
“Drop it,” Kill murmured.
I obeyed, letting my arms fall to my sides, watching the bra flutter to the floor.
Suddenly, his fingers pressed against my chin, guiding my eyes up and up, until I drowned in his green gaze. “Never look away from me.”
I shook my head, unable to speak.
“Take my boxers off.”
My heart ceased to beat as I hesitantly placed my hands on his hips. He shuddered beneath my touch. My tummy somersaulted as he sucked in his bottom lip and bit hard.
I loved that I affected him.
Hooking my fingers into the elastic waistband, I tugged slowly.
His head fell back as the large length of his erection sprang free. I couldn’t stop looking at it. The huge size seemed to grow in thickness and length beneath my inspection—looking more swordlike than a piece of anatomy.
Oh, wow.
The mermaid’s red hair that swept up with the tide in his leg tattoo wrapped around the base of his fully shaved cock. Over the top of his erection, the cascading hair dwindled downward—the barest of strands inked on his balls.
“That must’ve hurt.”
His jaw clenched. “It did.”
“Why go so close to something so delicate?”
“Why did you seek the same pain by tattooing your nipple?”
I had no reply for that. “Stop deflecting. What was your reason?”
He opened his mouth, then snapped it closed. Something flashed over his face and he shook his head. “Because she died in agony. I wanted to own that part so she would know she wasn’t alone.”
The slow burn in my stomach turned to red-hot heat. “Kill—”
His hand shot up. “Stop talking.” His green eyes blazed with menace. “Promise me that under no circumstances you’ll touch me unless I let you.”
“What? Why?”
He grasped my hair, holding me firm. “Because I said so. That’s why.”
Walking me backward, he pressed a strong hand on my sternum, toppling me onto the bed. Towering over me with his erection sticking proud and strong between his legs, he looked like the god of sex and delirium.
I loved him naked. I loved his effortless power and danger.
“Prop yourself up on your elbows. I want to see you.”
My mind stuttered like a faulty television set, flickering with memories of a younger boy with narrower hips and total innocence. I couldn’t distinguish between the green-eyed boy I loved and this beast of a man standing naked before me. Were they the same? Please, let them be the same.
“Spread your legs,” he murmured.
I obeyed, my heart squeezing.
If he was my soul mate from my past—how could I have forgotten him? How could I have ever walked away from a love so all-encompassing? I hated to think I’d hurt him by either breaking up with him or disappearing.
But… I couldn’t have left him.
He thought his girl was dead. He had proof. His belief was absolute.
My hope tore into smithereens. I wasn’t her. No matter how I tried to force it. I was homesick, lovesick, but most of all mindsick for everything I didn’t know.
“Wherever your mind is, stop,” he growled, fisting his cock. His colorful tattoo jerked as his quads locked in place.
My entire attention became riveted on his harsh grip.
“I’m here.”
“You better be.”
I latched eyes with him. “There’s nowhere else I would rather be, than here—with you.”
He snorted. “So damn strange.” His hand moved up and
down, leisurely but punishing himself with pressure. He looked as if he would leave at any moment or attack and ruin me for life. He was… elusive. As if he was the one not truly here. His body was, but his mind—that was with his true love. The ghost I would never be able to compete with.
The thought made me endlessly sad. There would be no connection building—this was just sex. I had to keep that wrapped around my heart, so he didn’t shatter me when it was time for this fantasy to end.
His eyes went to my nipples—one colorful, one natural. His pace increased and his cock went ever harder. “God, I want to crawl inside you.” His gaze danced over my skin, taking in my tattoo.
His stomach rippled, tensing as my pants moved the fine hairs on his upper thighs. Bowing over me, he pulled my hips so my feet pressed against the floor then knocked away my elbows so I sprawled flat on my back.
I cried out as his hot, wet mouth captured my nipple, sucking it deep and hard.
My hands instantly flew to his hair, crushing his face against my chest.
He stormed upright, breaking my fragile hold on his long dark hair. “What did I just make you promise?”
I gulped.
Not waiting for my reply, he shook his head and stalked toward his walk-in closet. Coming back a few seconds later, he held out a gold tie. “Give me your hands.”
I blinked. A riot of thoughts went through my head, but I snatched onto the strangest one. “You’re a president of a biker gang, yet you have a tie?”
His lips twisted into a cold smile. “There’s so much you don’t know about me. Now give me your hands.”
“I want to know everything there is to know.”
He scowled. “We never get what we want. Learn to live with disappointment.”
Then he pounced. Effortlessly, he pinched my wrists together and tied the silky material around me. The second I was imprisoned, he plucked me from the end of the bed, marched me to the side of the mattress, and patted my ass. “Climb into the middle. Get on all fours.”
I looked over my shoulder. His face was unreadable, blocking all lust or clues. He wanted me—there was no doubt about that—and I wanted him—the wetness between my legs was a testament to how much I did—but he’d shut down a part of himself that I missed.
The part I’d seen very briefly last night and in the changing room today.