Page 128 of That Girl is Trouble

My mouth waters at the thought of food. Real food. Not the cafeteria slop I’ve been choking down since my sentencing. Burgers. Tacos. Pulled-fucking-pork sandwiches. “Sounds fucking perfect. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Graves nods, jerking his head towards Preacher’s truck. “You and Kitty hop in with Preach. We’ll meet you there.”

Triss arches a brow at me one more time, but a ghost of a smile plays on her lips, and she squeezes my arm. “Happy you’re out, Axe. We’ve been missing you.”

I sigh and pull her into a hug. She tenses at first, but then returns it and lets out a small laugh.

“Thanks for getting me out early,” I murmur. “The club owes you big.”

She shakes her head as I release her and grabs her helmet from the back of Jack’s bike. “My invoice is already in your inbox,” she says. “And do everyone a favour. Try to stay out of trouble. You’re on conditional release, Axe. No bullshit, all right? You meet with your parole officer on Wednesday.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Not my first rodeo.”

“Hopefully your last,” she scolds as she zips up her leather jacket.

Once she’s notched in behind Jack on his bike, he kicks his beast of a machine to life. I swear I can feel the rumble in my goddamn soul. I missed that too. Speeding down the highway, wind in my face, the thunder of my bike rattling my bones. Soon as we’re back in South Bay, I’m gonna crush a big burger, fuck my woman, and then burn my tires on the pavement until the damn sun goes down.

Kat clasps my hand, throwing me another deep grin, and pulls me to Preacher’s truck. Preach greets me with a smile and a slap on the back, but as usual, he stays mostly silent.

We pile into the truck, Kat taking the middle and Preacher and me on either side. I’m barely in my seat before Kat’s straddling me. My hands find her hips as she pulls me into another kiss. I have no idea how the hell we’re gonna make it home when she feels this fucking good.

“What are you gonna order?” she asks against my lips.

“Burger. The works.”

“Fries?”

“Obviously.”

She traces kisses down my neck. “Milkshake?”

“You don’t go to Mick’s Diner without getting one.”

“What flavour?”

I grin. “What do you think?”

She laughs. “Cherry.”

I pull her bottom lip between my teeth, the taste of her cherry lip gloss heavy on my tongue.

Preacher sighs as he starts up the engine. “You two going to be like this the whole ride?”

“No. Kat’s gonna put on her seat belt.”

She snorts. “Not a chance.”

“Kat—”

“Shut up, Donovan.”

I can’t argue because she’s kissing me again, and I can’t stop fucking touching her, so I let her stay where she is when the truck starts moving.

With her mouth glued to mine, she glides her fingers along my neck, to my shoulders, over my grey T-shirt, and down to my stomach. She works them under my shirt and pauses when her skin meets mine. I thread my fingers through her hair and deepen our kiss, prompting her hands to move again, to explore like they used to, to map out the lines of my ink, the divots of my muscles, the gash scarred across my stomach, the wound on my shoulder from the bullet that tore through me.

She circles her finger around the puckered mark but doesn’t linger. Instead, she moves back down to my waist and hips and then across the rippled plane of my abdomen.

Kat smiles, as if she feels the extra muscle I tacked on during my stint. Or maybe she’s smiling because my dick is rock fucking hard. Fuck, it’s taking all my control not to grind it against her and dry fuck her until she comes on my lap.

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