Page 9 of The Biker's Last Rodeo
I pull from her tight little core, drop my hand from her throat, and step back half a pace, just enough to clear my head, to breathe, but my fingers flex and my body aches for hers.
She watches me, eyes narrowing with a sweet, playful smile. “What? Is it the virgin thing? You don’t like that I’m pure, untouched, brand-new territory?”
I don’t answer right away. I’m too busy recalculating, rewinding, rethinking every move I’ve made since I first saw her following me through a little cantina outside of Amarillo. She was wearing cut-off shorts and a white tank top with a baseball cap turned back. Girl thought she was slick, but I knew she was there the whole time.
I drag a hand down my face, jaw tight, cock knocking against my zipper. I can’t remember the last time I was this hard. Maybe never.
I’m pretty sure that goes to show how fucking sick I am. The thought of her tight, little pussy shouldn’t turn me on. If anything, it should be a reality check as to how young she is, how fucked up I am, and how desperately I need to get a grip.
This should be the line in the sand. The solid reason I needed to back off and walk away. Instead, the thought of beingher first hits me like gasoline on a fire built by neanderthals. Crude, debilitating, and completely out of control.
I need to walk away but all I’m thinking about is how soft she’d be. How tight. How she’d cling to me. How she’d squirm beneath my weight.
Damn it!
I grit my teeth and take a step back, fists clenched at my sides.
“Oh, come on, cowboy! You’re not wimping out, are you?” Her tone is light and playful, though I wonder if she knows how rough I can really be.
“You’re playing with fire again, bunny.” I growl out the words trying not to unravel. “You keep running your mouth, you’re going to be tied up here all night.” Now, the tie is for her own safety. The wild animals that lurk aren’t as dangerous as me. They may take a bite or two, but I’ll completely fucking wreck her. “You know what happens out here after dark?”
That playful grin keeps dancing on her pretty face like this whole thing is a game. Like she’s taunting me. Like she’s daring me to cross a line. “Let me see… wolves, bears, hungry raccoons out for revenge.Not as scary as someone’s virginity… I guess.”
That mouth.
I step toward her, my hand on her throat again, my gaze stuck on hers. “I’m not scared. I’m trying not to wreck you.”
“Ah, makes sense.” She tilts her head back and blows a strand of hair out of her mouth, her pretty pink sundress now tucked into the front of her white cotton panties. “Probably for the best considering you’re a contract killer. I mean, I’m not here so you can fuck me. I’m here because you’re hell bent on killing a man, and I’m hell bent on a story.” Her eyes roll to the side. “I gotta ask, though, what’s the real reason you don’t let all this go? I mean, your parents deserve a peaceful rest, don’t they?”
“Peaceful rest? There’s nothing peaceful about murder.”
“I’m just saying, maybe the hunt isn’t bringing you as much justice as you planned. Maybe it’s just keeping you angry.”
I step closer, watching her eyes track mine, slow and steady, which only makes my pulse tick harder. “Yeah? You seem to know an awful lot about me, don’t you, bunny? Hoppin’ around, diggin’ up all the dirt you can.” I shift closer to her, voice low as I say, “You don’t know that I did my homework, too.”
Her brows narrow. “What are you talking about?”
I let the silence stretch a beat. Then I lean in, just enough for her to feel the heat rolling off me as I tug her dress back into place. “I know you were left at that diner. Four years old, right? Just a backpack and a note.”
Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t respond.
“You don’t ever wish you could find the people who did that to you?” My tone is lower and blunter than it needs to be.
She stares at me, eyes wide, lips parted, but still no sound. I don’t rush her. I let it settle.
“That note,” I murmur, softer now, “it shaped every wall you built after, didn’t it?”
I’m not trying to hurt her. I want her to see how pain shapes us, how similar we are.
She swallows hard, looking away like she’s trying to stuff the emotion back down where it belongs. “How do you know that?” she finally says, voice jagged.
“You’ve been following me for months. You think I’d let someone trail me and not do my homework? There’s nothing Idon’tknow about you.”
There’s a silence that confirms everything I need to know.
“You’re sick.” She spits it with a defiant spark in her voice, like maybe she likes this scene she didn’t see coming.
“I’m sure I’m a little sick,” I laugh. “We all are. Mine shook loose because of the careless asshole that killed my parents. You… you were left alone, homeless, helpless, at four years old.You deserve to be sick, too. You deserve answers. You deserve control.”
