Page 22 of April 5

Katrina broke through every barrier he'd set up. She'd shown him there was more he needed in life besides the club, danger, and fighting every day to retain his freedom.

He pulled to a stop behind the van parked in Wire's driveway. Toeing the kickstand, he swung his leg over the seat and stalked toward the side of the vehicle.

Every light was out at the house and in the van. It was after midnight. She probably fell asleep.

"Kat." He knocked on the side of the van loud enough to wake the dead. "Wake up."

The door slid open. Katrina stood in the opening, brushing the hair away from her eyes, wearing a pair of black panties and a tank that landed several inches above her belly button.

His cock pulsed to life the moment she recognized him standing outside. She leaped. He caught her and carried her back into the van. Her warm body took the chill of him from the ride over.

"You came." She wrapped her legs around him.

He sat on the couch, not letting her go. Framing her face with his hands, he held her close but couldn't see her in the dark.

"Where's the light?" He flung his arm to the side, trailing his hand against the van's interior.

"Here."

An overhead beam came on, filling the van with a dim light. He blinked against the glare, taking in Katrina's heavy-lidded eyes. She'd been crying. Mascara stained her face.

"I think about you." The answer to the question she left on the phone ripped from his soul. "All the fucking time, Kat. You know that."

"Why are you so mean to me?" She thrust her fingers into his hair, smoothing back the strands. "I want us to be together."

"We have tonight." He captured her mouth. "Right now."

"I want more," she said against his lips.

Greedy girl. She always wanted more. She'd taken everything from him.

He slid his hands down the front of her neck. Her skin was warm from sleep. He cupped her breasts, feeling the weight of them in his palms. This all should be his every night. Every day. It was his right. She'd given herself to him. Katrina belonged to him.

She pulled the edges of his vest apart, diving her hands underneath and tugging on his shirt.

He used his mouth to open her lips. "Give me the tip of your tongue."

She moaned, meeting his tongue. He took her into his mouth, stroking the velvet softness. She had the sweetest mouth that could start a war, but it belonged to him.

"I want—" She fought him with her tongue. "To touch all of you."

He pulled his mouth off her, shrugged out of his vest, and set his pistol on the couch. Grabbing the collar of his shirt at the back of his neck, he yanked the material until he was bare-chested.

Katrina planted both hands on his chest, kneading the front of him. He let his head fall back. His cock wanted out of his jeans. If she continued touching him, he was going to blow his load.

He hooked his thumb in the elastic of her panties and tugged her closer, rocking her on his lap. The urgency to have her escalated. His blood rolled hot.

Afraid of hurting her, he held back, letting her love on him instead. Greedily taking her attention—any bit of attention he could get.

There was nobody else he'd rather hold. She made him crazy. She made life dangerous.

Never a thrill seeker, he found himself aching for the adrenaline rush she brought with her every time they got together.

He pulled his mouth off her, breathing heavily. Ruger was right. Jagger had no right to touch her.

The hum of a motorcycle made it through the walls of the van. It would never be the right time for them or the right place. He owed Ruger.

Katrina whined, pulling his hair and trying to kiss him. The material at her hip ripped in his hands. Bare skin burned his soul. He picked her up and tossed her off before standing.

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