Page 57 of Bullet

Stormy

Bullet found me a helmet. I smiled, and he grumbled as he buckled the chin strap. Then I climbed on behind him, wrapped my arms around him, and held tight as he rode us out of the MC.

Once we hit the old two-lane highway, we headed out of the city, cruised past the suburbs, and into the sticks. Clusters of trees lined the road. Dirt and gravel led to ranch-style houses.

After turning off the highway, we followed a frontage road about a half mile, then turned left. He slowed, pulled into the wide driveway, and killed the engine.

I climbed off the bike and stood still as he unbuckled the helmet.

“This is nice.”

Bullet lived in an older two-story house. The asymmetrical architecture was sort of a cross between a Victorian cottage and something from the old west. Rustic but posh with bay windows and a gabled roof.

The covered, screened-in porch wrapped two sides of the house and appeared to go around to the back. A huge barn sat in the distance. And a mix ofchain-link and wood fencing stretched the west side of the property, and a concrete barrier marked the right. The back of the property bumped up against a dense forest of trees and scrub.

Bullet linked our fingers, led me up the wooden steps, and around the side of the house to the back door. The screen door squeaked as it opened and slammed closed with a clap.

He released my hand and tossed his motorcycle key onto the scarred and nicked wood table in the center of the rustic kitchen. The room was small and quaint. A coffeepot sat on the counter along with a toaster, and a few dishes turned upside down to dry on a tea towel.

“I’m going to grab a shower. If you’re hungry, there’s toast, or there might be an orange in the fridge. You’ll want to do the smell test on anything you eat. I haven’t been home in a couple of days.”

Somehow, he’d turned my thoughts filthy by osmosis. I’d spent one night in bed with him.

A flush heated my cheeks remembering the way he’d breathed me in, the feel of his tongue against mine, the way his hands had gripped me, holding me hostage for the assault of his mouth on my body.

I leaned my head back and groaned. There was no way I was going to be able to resist him. Those kisses had me wondering why I should even try. Bristol wouldn’t care. She shared him with his otherkittens.

I could spend the next week with him, and once the danger from Emerson was eliminated, I’d walk.Not that leaving wouldn’t hurt. My heart had become invested that night in the warehouse.

But I wanted to be his only kitten. I’d want forever, and he’d already said he only lived for today.

There were two slices of bread left of a loaf. Canned veggies lined one shelf in the pantry next to the coffee and filters. As the coffee brewed, I opened cupboards, found a box of mac and cheese, packages of ramen, and an unopened package of cookies.

Inside the fridge, he had eggs and a package of bacon that still had a few days before it expired. I could make enough for both of us, but he never said whether he was hungry or not.

The hallway bisected the house. To the right there was an under-the-stairs storage, and an open door on the right. But the room didn’t look lived in. There was a king-sized bed with an old, wooden headboard and a vintage dresser. No knickknacks or personal items anywhere.

I followed the sound of the shower, continuing down the hall to the last door before the hall opened up to a cozy living room. Steam seeped through the crack, and Bullet’s low groan blended with the echo of water in an enclosed space.

I gently knocked on the door, the impact making the gap wider. More steam billowed into the hallway. “Bullet?”

Turning my ear to the opening, I listened.

Why was my heart racing? And why were these damn butterflies making me nervous?

A low growl sounded from behind the door, deep and dark and filling my mind with the memory of him in Bristol’s bathroom. I rested my forehead onthe doorjamb. The spicy clean scent of his shampoo lingered on the steam.

“Bullet?” I knocked again. “Are you hungry?” Maybe I should just make the food. If he was hungry, he’d eat.

“Stormy?”

He said more but his voice was muffled. I think he said come in, so I pushed open the door and froze.

Oh shit.

Bullet stood behind a lightly frosted shower door, and even though it wasn’t transparent, the silhouette of his form was clearly defined. One hand rested on the shower wall, his head slightly bowed, and his other hand hovered near his groin. The slow movements conjured indecent thoughts of him naked, aroused, with water sluicing over his taut muscles as he pleasured himself.

As if sensing my presence, he turned his head. Even through the frosted glass, I felt his stare…everywhere. In the sharp electric pulse connecting my sensitive nipples and my over-stimulated clit. In the shiver along my spine, and in the moist heat of the steam clinging to my flesh. God, in the wetness between my legs.

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