Page 16 of Poisonous Savage

Ihelped her onto the back of the bike, my hands lingering on her waist just a second too long.Herskin was warm,soft, making my cock hard.Shegasped a quiet little sound that filled the silence between us.

"Wrapyour arms around me,"Iinstructed, the words more growl than speech.

Shedid as told, her arms sliding around my torso, her body pressin' close to mine.Feltlike a fucking bolt of lightning struck me, her touch seared through leather and denim.Fora moment,Iwondered what those little hands would look like around my dick.

"Ready?"Ididn't wait for her answer.Therewas no goin' back now.

Ikicked the bike to life, the engine's roar drowning out the screamin' of my thoughts.Everythingelse faded away—it was just the road, the bike, and the woman clinging to me like she belonged there.

Theworld blurred past a streak of shadows and streetlights.Igunned the throttle,Rosalind'sgrip on me tightening with every turn we took.Thewind clawed at her curls, flinging 'em like dark whips in the night air.Astrand landed in my mouth, andIsuppressed a grin asIspat it out.Herbody melded to mine, every curve and angle locking into place against my back.Shewas a natural.

Notalking, no fucking up the moment with words—just two bodies rushing throughthe night, chasing something that felt like freedom but smelled like trouble.

Thelights of my mama's neighborhood flickered into view, signaling our arrival.Ieased off the throttle, letting the beast beneath us quiet down to a purring idle as we coasted to the curb.

"Homesweet home,"Imuttered under my breath, killing the engine.

Herhands lingered on me for a heartbeat longer before slipping away, leaving me feeling empty.Ihelped her off, watching as she righted herself, her legs unsteady from the ride or the adrenaline—it didn't matter which.

Themodest house stood silent, an island of calm in the chaos of my life.Asoft glow spilled from the windows, the scent of something homemade drifting out to wrap around us like an invitation.Itwas a tradition.EveryThursday, mama made my favorite, and we ate.IfiguredRosiecould use something to show her we aren't all the boogeymen.

"Smellsgood, huh?"Isaid though it was more for myself.

Shenodded, eyes wide, taking in the small abode, no doubt pondering whyIbrought her here.Iwatched her, saw the wariness and wonder battling behind those eyes.

"Comeon,"Igrunted, leading her up the path.

Istepped inside; the warmth hit me immediately.Thearoma hit harder here, rich and savory, a promise of normalcy.Mamahadn't heard us enter.Shewas a bit hard of hearing, butI'dhave to ride her ass again to either get a dog or lock the damn door.Itwouldn't take a genius to figure out that she was here... if someone wanted revenge on me...

"Didn'tfigure you for a foodie," she murmured.

Igrunted, shuffling my feet, uncomfortable with the domesticity of it all. "Ain'tabout the food.It'sabout... somethin' else."

"Somethinglike what?" she asked, her tone soft as the breeze that carried it.

"Quiet,"Isaid simply. "Peace."

Hereyes lingered on mine, searching for the truth in the rough edges of my soul.Shefound whatever she was lookin' for 'cause her lips twitched into a ghost of a smile, brightening the room more than any damn light could.Damn,Imade her smile.

"Let'ssee if it tastes as good as it smells,"Isaid, steering her toward the kitchen, where the real test waited.

Butat that moment, watching her step into my childhood, the tension in my chest loosened just a fraction, andIthought maybe, just maybe, she'd choose me.Maybe.

Pushedopen the kitchen door, the hinges creaking like an old man's bones.Mastood there, all smiles and warm eyes, a damn welcoming beacon in this shithole world.Shecaught sight ofRosalind, and her arms were open beforeIcould spit out an introduction.Imay or may not have toldMaa bit about her.

"Rosalind, meetMa,"Isaid, my voice rough as gravel.

Mapulled her into a hug, enveloping her in a puff of flour and spices. "Welcome, dear," she said, her grip strong yet gentle, the kind that didn't let go easy.Rosieshot a look at me, quizzical, wondering what the hellIwas pulling.

Weshuffled to the table, the wood groaning under the weight of dishes piled high with food that'd make a king weep.Satdown, the chair protesting under my bulk.WatchedRosalindtake her seat, her hands fluttering against the fabric of her dress.Fuckingcute, if you ask me.

"Looksdamn good,Mama."Towhich she grunted in response.Mawasn't one for much talking.Sheused food as her language.Howdo you thinkIgot to be almost 270 pounds?

Wedug in, forks scraping against plates.Iglanced atRosalindand saw her try a mouthful, her eyes lighting up before they squeezed shut, her lips upturned.

"Delicious," she murmured, almost to herself, a smile tugging at her lips.

Iwatched her eat, something churning deep in my gut that wasn't hunger.Shewas sunshine, yeah, but here inMa'skitchen, she looked like she belonged.Afamily portrait.Natural.

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