Page 59 of Bullet

His warm words of praise melted into me like the butter on my toast. He slid back into his chair. I couldn’t look at his strong, tatted fingers, or the rings glinting in the morning sun without my tummy tumbling. He piled spicy eggs on his toast and took a big bite.

I nibbled on a slice of crispy bacon. “How long have you lived here?”

“I moved in when I was twenty-two. First place I ever lived that felt like home.” He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of coffee. “I’ve given you my entire family history.”

With him, I was a contradiction of emotions. I did want to know more, but the more I glimpsed of the complicated man, the more I liked him. And I already liked him too much.

“If it’s a story like Cinder, I might not have a matching memory to share. I grew up in a middle-class neighborhood. It was just me, my mom, and my dad. No pets because my mom didn’t want to clean up after them. It’s probably a good thing I’m an only child. Mom hates messes.”

He paused before munching his last piece of bacon. “No brothers or sisters?”

“Not for lack of trying. My mom had a lot of miscarriages.” I licked bacon grease from my fingertips. “Other than that, I had a normal childhood, lived with my parents, school, dance, friends.” Then everything changed. “Then I met Emerson.”

Bullet shook a cigarette from his pack, tucked it between his lips, and lit the tip. “How come you haven’t gone home? I’m sure your mom is worried about you.”

I scooted away from the table, grabbed the coffee, and refilled our cups. I couldn’t think of my mom without my throat tightening. “When I met Emerson, my dad wasn’t happy about the relationship, but I think my mom loved him more than I ever did. After my dad died, Emerson took care of everything. I’m sure he’s contacted her, which is why I haven’t. Her loyalty isn’t to me.”

I gathered the plates off the table and carried them to the sink. I looked out over the solitude of the backyard. The shelter of the trees, the isolation, the peacefulness. This was what I wanted. Someplace just for me.

“This place belonged to my dad’s parents. My grandpa built the barn, and this kitchen is just like my grandma left it.”

Bullet exhaled a stream of smoke from his nostrils. God, he was beautiful, and somehow, he belonged in his surroundings. In the MC, he was tough and gritty, wearing a cut to declare his loyalty to his club, but he belonged here, too. Quiet, clean, comfortable. Like the soft denim clinging to his muscular thighs.

“They were good people, but my mom had come between them and my dad. Last time they saw me was at my dad’s funeral. It was sad really because I didn’t have a memory of them.” He rolled the cherry of his cigarette in the ashtray and chuckled. “My mom found fault with most people. Once she was gone, theyreached out. They wanted to meet. They were older, and I guess they looked past the tattoos and bad attitude because they treated me good.”

He stubbed out his cigarette, came up beside me, and grabbed the tea towel off the counter.

“I got to know my dad a lot better through them.” I washed and he dried, putting the dishes away as he talked. “Gramps died about a year later. I guess she couldn’t live without him. She died three months after he did. I’ve been out here ever since.”

I folded the dishcloth and stared out the window over the sink. “I could live here,” I whispered. “And just pretend nothing else mattered.”

Bullet tossed the tea towel onto the counter, curved his palm around the nape of my neck, and lifted my face.

Emotions welled in my throat, and my heart raced. I was so tired of battling with my conscience. I craved his touch and yearned for the brutal passion of his kiss. I understood he’d never be mine, but in this moment, I didn’t care.

I ghosted a kiss over his lips. A feathering touch of my mouth on his was my invitation to take whatever he wanted from me because I didn’t have the strength to fight against the gravitation pulling me to him.

A soft sigh slipped from my slightly parted lips. And then his tongue was in my mouth. Dark yet sweet, he pulled me in, his palm sliding to my ass and pressing me against the edge of the counter.

I rose onto my tiptoes, slanting my lips to his, swirling my tongue with his, and drinking in the taste of him.

“I’ll corrupt you, Stormy. Tell me to stop.”

“I’m already corrupted. You can’t break someone who is already broken. Don’t stop.”

His low growl rumbled into me, and both hands were on my hips, lifting me onto the counter. He shifted between my thighs. I was done fighting this. I’d touched myself, wrestling with my feelings for a stranger with gray eyes.

The memory of him had haunted me, but he was so much more. He’d planted himself so deep in my psyche he’d become a part of every thought, every emotion, every need.

I didn’t want promises, but I desperately needed him now. I wrapped my legs around him and devoured his mouth. His hand was under my shirt, his palm on my breast, and my nipple hard and prodding against the roughness of his touch.

I jerked open the snap of his jeans, the zipper growled as it lowered, and then my hand was inside his jeans.

We both stilled, our foreheads touching, as I measured the length and thickness of him with my fingers. Inside, I trembled. I stroked him slowly, the velvety skin slick beneath my fingertips. Our breaths blended, both silent, unwilling to rush the moment.

“I want you in my bed, kitten.” He gripped my hip, slid his hand under me, and filled his palm with my ass. His mouth slathered kisses along my neck. “I’m going to come with your hand. Squeeze me hard.”

I glanced down at the open wedge of his jeans. His cock filled my palm. Pearly pre-cum leaked from the slit, and the pierced head darkened. I ran my thumb across the drops, gathering the slippery fluid, then released him and brought the essence of his arousal to my tongue.

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