Page 49 of Bullet

Chapter Seven

Bullet

As soon as she climbed from the bike, I missed the feel of her arms around me, of her hands gently rubbing my stomach. Christ, but her thighs had locked to mine like a vice.

“Thanks for dinner.” She smiled, handed me her gloves, and combed her curls from her face with her fingers.

“What now?” I asked and draped the gloves over the fuel tank and set mine on top of hers.

“I guess I’ll head inside. You probably want to hang out at the oil drum.”

“Stormy?” I hooked a finger in the belt loop of her jeans and tugged her closer. “We gotta start being honest with each other.”

“I thought we were.” She glanced around to see who might see us, but we were concealed with just the muted light coming from the windows of the MC.

“We’re dancing around the truth.” I twisted on the seat of the bike, rested one foot on the peg, one on the ground, and shifted her into the space between my thighs. Her eyes focused on mine, then seemed to map my face. But she didn’t pull away.

A light blush tinted her cheeks from the ride, and her untamed curls were wild from the wind.

“We can’t even tease each other without the conversation turning to shit.” I lowered my voice. “Are we going to pretend this isn’t going to happen between us?”

“We know that you and I wouldn’t work.”

“I keep telling myself that. Fuck, brown eyes, you’re killing me. I know I’m not what you need, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting more.” I ran my hand over her hip and into the cinch of her trim waist.

“How much more?”

“I want to be able to put my hands on you.” I trailed my fingers over the ladder of her ribs until my thumb skimmed the edge of her breast. “Since I walked into the bathroom with you in the tub, it’s been foreplay between us.”

“I’d call it sparring, warming up for the real fight.”

I swept my knuckles along her arm. “All good, kitten. I like to fight as much as I like to fuck.”

“Bullet—” She ducked her head. “What we want won’t change what’s between us.”

I could interpret her words to mean the violence in our history, or she was thinking of Bristol and Scarlett. “Right here, right now, there isn’t anythingor anyonebetween us.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“Fuck tomorrow, I have you here with me right now, and I want to know how wet your pussy is because my cock is a fucking steel pipe.”

She chewed her bottom lip. “I’m drenched.”

I groaned and pulled her closer. Her hand rested on my thigh. “Slide your fingers into your panties.”

She glanced over her shoulder.

“No one is watching.” I shifted her over until I split her legs, and she straddled my thigh. She clutched my shoulders, her fingers digging into the muscle, to steady herself. Her head tilted to the side, and heat from her pussy scorched my leg.

I grazed my nose along her neck and inhaled a cocktail of sweet sweat, lust, and flowers. A feral growl clawed up my throat. “Show me how wet you are. Touch your pussy.”

Her eyes widened, and a flutter danced in the hollow of her throat. “There are people right over there,” she said, indicating the oil drum in the distance.

“Don’t worry about anyone else. If I can’t touch you, I need you to touch yourself.” Heat surged through my groin, seeing the indecision on her face.

Her gaze darted in both directions, and a hint of a smile curved her lips. “Don’t let anyone see.”

“I’m right here.” I skated my fingers along her arm then circled her wrist. I guided her trembling hand to the edge of her jeans. “You do the same thing to me. I’m going to fuck my fist tonight.”

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