Page 31 of Driving Whiskey Wild
“Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop,” she begged, but she needn’t have worried.
He was so lost in the moment, he buried his face in her neck and sank his teeth into her skin, sending her careening once again. Indiscernible sounds flew from her lungs, as unstoppable as their emotions. Their flesh was slick and heated, their breathing choppy and hindered. Bullet intensified his efforts, and suddenly he released her bottom and his arms pushed beneath her back, cradling her so tightly against him that she felt his heart thundering against hers. Her skin was on fire. Her body tingled from head to toe, like a thousand needles prickling at once, as another orgasm built up inside her. Bullet sealed his mouth over hers, their bodies moving in exquisite harmony. The heat of his desire seared down the length of her as his entire body tensed up, and he thrust deeper, grinding out her name as they found their mutual release.
As Bullet took care of the condom, Finlay got her first look at his bare back, and a sinking feeling moved through her stomach. While the front of his torso was covered with multiple images and scenes, his back was one giant mask of darkness. The face she’d seen tattooed on the hulking figure standing guard at the cave on his sternum looked back at her. Dark voids—sunglasses—covered both shoulder blades, sightlessly staring back at her below coiled and pointed brows. A skeletal nose and jaw and a mouth full of jagged fangs were surrounded by the kind of decorative swirls she’d seen on iron rails. Crosses, Jewish stars, and other religious symbols covered the backs of his arms and elbows.
When he climbed back into bed, gathering Finlay in his arms, the world came back into focus. His body was as tightly wound as a mattress coil, and her full heart chipped away. She didn’t want to bring up the image that was more terrifying than the others, but she couldn’t help herself, even though she knew it would take a lifetime to fully understand the man beneath the ink.
“Your back?” she whispered. “It scares me.”
He kissed her forehead, holding her tighter. “Don’t let it. It’s the Dark Knights emblem. It’s such a big part of me…When I was young, it was my strength and my undoing. Now it’s only strength, baby.”
She breathed a little easier. “And your elbows and arms?”
An unexpected smile lifted his lips. “There’s so much baseless hate in the world. I wear all the symbols proudly and will protect the people who follow them equally. It’s just a way for me to honor the human race. It’s like getting in haters’ faces and saying, ‘Go ahead, try to fuck with someone around me.’”
“You’re amazing,” she whispered, curling into his warmth, wishing they could stay like that until morning, though she knew he would eventually have to leave.
“No. Just doing the right thing.”
He seemed to always do the right thing, which made her wonder more about his teenage years, when he’d been so confused about toeing the line with his family and the motorcycle club. But he seemed at peace with that line now, and she was glad for it.
“I hate that I can’t stay the night,” he said, and kissed her forehead. She closed her eyes, knowing he was just as unhappy about his having to leave as she was.
“Do you think Tink would be okay for just one night?” she asked, and immediately regretted it. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean that. I don’t want you to leave her alone. I know how much you two need each other.”
“That’s only part of it, babe.” He crushed her to him and put his thigh over her hip, cocooning her against his solid frame.
“Nightmares?” she asked softly.
He didn’t respond, which made her want to be with him even more. But how could she ever ask him to leave Tinkerbell for a night? To some people a dog was simply a pet, but it was clear that Tinkerbell was as integral a part of Bullet’s healing as the scars were daily reminders.
They lay together for a long while, each lost in their own thoughts in the silence of her bedroom. When they finally, reluctantly, gave in to the end of their evening, Bullet stood on her front porch with her face in his hands and a tortured look in his eyes and said, “You deserve more than a broken soldier, but I can’t give you up. I know that’s selfish, but I can’t, Fins. Not even after only a few days.”
“My mother used to say that the best parts of cobbler weren’t the big pieces that everyone gobbled down, but the broken ones left behind. Those were drenched in sweetness, but only some people were lucky enough to realize it. I realize it, Bullet. I want only you.”
He pressed his lips to hers with a disbelieving expression and said, “Lock up tight tonight, lollipop.”
Finlay watched the taillights of his truck disappear in the darkness, wishing things could be different. And as she locked the door and followed the scent he’d left in his wake back to her bedroom, she wondered if it was possible for her heart to feel full and torn at the same time.
She’d been broken, too. She hadn’t thought she was capable of feeling anything toward a man after losing Aaron. But as she crawled back into bed, resting her head on the pillow where Bullet had just lain, she realized she hadn’t been broken after all. She simply hadn’t been with the right person until now. She closed her eyes, images of Bullet swimming in her mind, and wondered if he wasn’t quite as broken as he thought, either.
Chapter Twelve
AFTER A QUICK call to Penny, Finlay packed up the doggy treats she’d made at the crack of dawn Sunday morning and followed the directions on the GPS down a long, windy rural road not far from Whiskey Bro’s to a narrow driveway. Long, unkempt grass gave the property an abandoned feel. An old, dilapidated red barn came into focus, and the overgrown meadows disappeared, as if swallowed up by gorgeous rock gardens interspersed with trees and lush bushes, fall flowers, and greenery. The gardens, though beautiful, contrasted with the disrepair of the chipped and weathered red barn. A peaked metal roof hung over the edge of the building, as if it belonged to a larger structure and had been mistakenly put on this one. A newish double window was centered above two rustic garage doors, framed with unpainted wood. The garage doors were the old type, like she’d seen in Western movies, comprised of vertical weathered wood planks. Two planks formed an X on each door, giving them an off-limits aura. Beside the right garage door was what appeared to be a scuffed and marred front door, above which was a lower-pitched roof that slanted toward the ground, ending at the same height as the door. A single lightbulb hung from a black iron fixture beside the door.
Finlay put her Suburban in park and looked down at the GPS, wondering if Penny had given her the wrong address. The deep woof of a dog sent her heart into her throat. She gasped, and the phone tumbled to the floor. Clinging to the steering wheel, she peered out her windows. This is definitely the right house. Thank goodness she sat up high in the van. She did not want to be eye-to-eye with the rottweiler pacing beside the driver’s door. Finlay had forgotten how big Bullet’s dog was, though Dixie had since told her Tinkerbell was only a puppy. Liar. Cujo had a head the size of a watermelon and beady dark eyes.
She fished around at her feet for her phone as she reprimanded herself. “It’s just a dog. Bullet’s dog.” She felt the phone between her fingertips. “He sleeps with her, for goodness’ sakes. How vicious can she be?”
“Woof!”
She shrieked, sending the phone flying again, and pressed her forehead to the steering wheel, fighting the urge to flee. The sound of motorcycles roared up the driveway, and she shot a look in her rearview mirror, catching sight of two motorcycles.
Flipping perfect.
UNABLE TO SLEEP past sunrise, which had always been pretty much the norm for Bullet, he was dicking around with one of his bikes in the garage when he heard motorcycles approaching. Tinkerbell woofed again. Bullet wiped his hands on a rag, raised the garage door, and stopped cold at the sight of Finlay’s pink chick mobile in the driveway. His brothers’ bikes sped up the driveway behind her. It was the perfect day for a ride, and he itched to feel the raw power between his legs, the gust of the world rushing by, and the exhilaration of his entire being on high alert in a numbing combination of anxiety and thrill. The only thing that had ever come close to mirroring that all-consuming pleasure was last night when he was buried deep inside Finlay.
He strode across the driveway toward her van, and her gorgeous, panicked face came into focus. A single sharp whistle and hand motion sent Tinkerbell down on her belly, panting excitedly about a new person to play with.
Fat chance, girl.
As Bear and Bones climbed off their bikes and whipped off their helmets, their cocky smiles eased the knot that had formed in his chest as he’d paced the floor for hours last night, keeping him and Tinkerbell awake.
Bear helped Crystal off the back of his bike and said, “You look like hell,” to Bullet before dropping to his knees and loving up Tinkerbell.
Bullet gritted his teeth against the memory of how much it had sucked to leave Finlay last night and tried to calm the crazy shit going on in his stomach as he approached the van. Finlay white-knuckled the steering wheel with both hands, her eyes as wide as saucers.
