Page 4 of Mad Max

“You love him?”

I blink a few times, trying to understand his words. I know he’s speaking English, but his growl is so deep, it’s almost like he’s speaking a different dialect. I love listening to it, but it takes time for my mind to switch from being turned on by his voice to making sure I understand the words.

“Um… no?”

He glares again, which only has my eyes widening.

“I mean, I didn’t know him long. We might have dated a bit, but there wasn’t a connection. I’m actually not all that upset about finding him like that, which should probably tell you more than you wanted to know.”

I run my hand through my hair in an attempt to show normalcy, plastering a smile on my face at the end.

Did he just purr?

The thought filters through my head a second before “Good” comes out of his mouth. Then he’s on me, and I’m not stopping it.

I’m actually not doing anything. A beast is kissing me, and all I can think about is if he’s part lion based on the sound that rumbled from his chest after I spoke.

Chapter 2 – Mad Max

A

hundred and thirty-seven days. I’ve done a lot in that time since I got out. Did a lot before I went in too. But I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone more than I do this chick.

I’ve been big all my life. My size intimidates, and I use it ’cause I like to keep people away. Nothing happened to me as a kid that some shrink would want to analyze me for. I just don’t like people. I don’t like nosy fuckers either. I’m used to not getting eyes on me. I like it that way.

But she ain’t like the others. She’s not after my dick, which is usually the only reason chicks seek me out. I’m big. No hiding it. If a woman wants to climb me, I rarely turn it down. Being a member of the club always has the women coming around for a simple taste of the bad that’s connected with us.

But this one didn’t do the normal eye banter. She didn’t slide her way onto my lap like she thought she belonged there. So many others think if they sit on something, it’s a claim. Usually it just gets them bumped to the ground. If I don’t ask for a chick, I don’t want one. Sure, they can show they’re willing, but till I nod for them to continue, they need to keep the claiming shit nonexistent.

She touched my knee. Just a squeeze, then let go. It was an unrequested touch, and I didn’t want her to move her hand away. The warmth of it stayed with me long after she’d moved on to the next subject.

She might have seen me while I was locked up, but I never saw her visit the prison. That fact alone throws me. I make a point to know who’s in the room and where the exits are. That’s my job for the club. After my one mistake of not checking the room before I beat the shit out of some child rapist, I got sentenced to three and a half years.

That alone makes me want to get to know her. I have an urge to see if she’s lying. Not many can say they’ve gone unnoticed by me. But the fact that she did and noticed me? I’m hard for the girl. Her looks don’t hinder it, with her midnight hair that seems to have glints of blue in the light as it falls around her, almost like a cloak. Her skin is flawless and the color of my coffee, half cream and a shit ton of caramel.

But she looked at me. She saw me. She focused on me. Her eyes held expression, not practiced coyness or ditz training. She felt like the others were laughing at her when she went on her rant about working out, but I saw it for what it was: a middle ground she was offering me to be on her level, or her to be on mine. I connected with her on that level. I might have friends who fit in, but I never felt like I did. And I doubt this girl feels a connection right now, but she’s trying, and I can appreciate that.

Probably why I stepped in and kicked her boyfriend out. I usually make it a point to not get involved unless the club tells me to. Last time I did, I got locked up. I don’t make mistakes a second time. But I couldn’t just let her watch. My mom got cheated on numerous times when I was a kid. She said it didn’t bother her, that she was strong enough to take it, but the walls weren’t thick, and I heard the tears she cried at night. Not sure if this chick is the crying sort, but I don’t want that on my conscience.

Her not even seeming sad about it was what pushed me past any hesitation to take what I wanted. A hundred and thirty-seven days of freedom so far, and I plan to continue to take what I want ’cause I can. Not that I would force the chick, but the way her mouth is opening and she pulls on my shirt urges me onward.

She might not have known what to do when I pushed her against the same wall she’d just watched someone else have sex on, but she seems to know now.

I only came this way to take a breather from the crowd. Been out a bit now, but crowds still have me on edge. You come out of prison, especially when you’re in general population with a target on your back every day simply because you’re a big fucker and some asshole wants to make a name for themselves, and then you can talk to me about crowds.

This was unplanned, but I’m okay with taking an opportunity that’s offered up on a platter. If this chick wants me to stop, I will. But if she ain’t crying after the punk I tossed out, and her hands ain’t pushing me away, I’ll take this for what it is: a welcome invitation to keep fucking going.

Her hands move up and pull at my hair in her need to grab my shoulder, and it brings a growl to my lips. I don’t know if she did it on purpose, but I hate that shit, so I pull on her hair hard and push her head back, making it hit the wall. Her moan has me only seeing the red of her lips, and I dive in for more of a taste, nipping at her skin as she does mine.

This fucking woman is just over five feet. She’s tiny, short in frame and thin. I bet a steady breeze would blow her down. She’s smart; I can see it in her eyes and the way she assesses things. She isn’t overly emotional and doesn’t seem to give a fuck about what others think. If she did, no way would she let an ex-con have his hands on her flawless Native American skin.

Instead of running away or screaming for help, she goads me on to give her one hell of a ride. With another small moan from her lips, she clutches at my shoulder, pulling me down to meet her need once more.

I growl deep in my throat as I grab the backs of her knees and bring her up the wall to my level. My neck gets a second of ease from being bent down so low only to be squeezed tight as her arms wrap around it. She doesn’t even break stride from kissing me, and I groan into her as I push more of my weight against her. Her legs can’t wrap around me—I’m too wide—but boy, does she try. And her tiny skirt rolls back, allowing me access to get to the heat between her thighs.

I know what I want. I wonder how far she’ll let this go. Do I dare press my luck and kick this up a notch?

Fuck yeah I do.

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