Chaos Bound (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #4)(32)

The hell he didn’t. He could read the longing on her face; he could hear it in her voice. It was the same longing that had gripped him since he met her. The old Holt would have let her walk out the door because it’s what she wanted to do, and who was he to rock the boat? He didn’t know where that Holt had gone, but the man he was now was not letting her get away.

Without taking his gaze off her, he ripped the bag from her fingers and tossed it on the couch. Then he cupped her face between his hands and covered her mouth with his.

Ah God. Her lips were as soft as he imagined, her mouth as lush. Her lips parted on a sigh, and he touched her with his tongue. She tasted of honey and coffee, warm and sweet. He wanted her, wanted this woman with the broken soul, wanted to fix her, show her the beauty of trust and surrender, open her up and fill her with joy. Yeah, he wanted to f*ck her bad.

“Holt.” She pulled back, her chest heaving. “I don’t want this. I just broke up with Maurice. We were together two years. It just feels … wrong.”

Didn’t feel wrong to him. In fact, nothing had ever felt so right. He slid an arm around her waist and crushed her against him, the way he’d seen Jagger and Cade do with their women, the way he’d seen Tank with Connie. Dominant. Controlling. And damn it felt good. Taking what he wanted. Being in charge.

And yet at the back of his mind, he was assessing her responses, the way she leaned into him, her soft sigh, the flutter of her lashes, and the little hints that told him she was on board and that he wasn’t stepping over the line. He had a strong feeling Viper had crossed that line, and if he caught her, he would cross it again.

Naiya leaned in, melted against him. Pleasure rippled through his body, and his cock hardened in an instant. He dipped his head, drank her down, delighting when she moaned and tangled her tongue with his.

She broke away again, her lips plump and swollen from his kiss. “I should go … I was just leaving…”

Deeper. Rougher. He slid one hand through her hair, tugged her head back, and held her still as he fed off her hidden desire. Her hands came up, pressed against his chest. Holt tensed, thinking she would push him away. Instead, her arms wrapped around his neck and she pulled him closer, straining upward as she kissed him back with a passion that belied her words. She wasn’t leaving. Not now.

Not ever.

Holt backed up to the couch, pulled her down with him until she straddled his lap, her knees on either side of his hips, the curve of her sex pressed tight against his aching shaft. One hand on her nape, holding her to him, the other around her waist, he plundered her mouth, brutalizing her lips as his need spilled out in a deep groan. His cock strained painfully against his fly, and his fingers tightened against her ass, her jeans rough against his fingers as he rocked his hips, grinding against her *.

“Oh God, Holt. You’re so hard,” she breathed. “So rough. I like it. I want more. Give me more.”

His control began to slip, his kisses became deeper, harder, his hands on her body tighter, clutching. Rough. Wild. Good for the skanky bitches he met at the clubs, or the club whores who knew what he liked and were happy to give it. Not good for a woman whom he was beginning to suspect didn’t know what the hell kind of box she’d just opened.

Fuck me.

“Darlin’,” he gritted his teeth, released his grip on her body. “Last chance. Unless you want to take this further, you’d better get off my lap. It’s been a long f*cking time…”

“Not as long as me.” She pulled away, her face flushed, lips pink and swollen. “Maurice and I were waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” He cupped her breast in his palm, gently squeezed the soft weight, brushed his thumb over her nipple peaked beneath her clothes. She moaned and leaned forward, pressing her breast into his hand. What man could lie beside this woman night after night and not want to f*ck her multiple times?

“I guess … for things to be right. Serious. But they never were, and after awhile it just stopped being an issue.”

“Sex isn’t an issue, darlin’. Not for a man. And not if he’s got a beautiful, curvy woman like you lying beside him in the bed. Only issue is how many times he’s gonna make you come and how loud he’s gonna make you scream.”

A smile tugged her lips. “More compliments.”

He slid his hand under her shirt and flicked the catch of her bra. “Not saying it to be nice. Saying it so you know how this is gonna play out, if that’s what you want.”

Her breath caught when he pushed her bra up and stroked a finger along the curve of her breast. So soft. So warm.

“I don’t know if this is what I want. I just broke up with Maurice. You’re a biker. And you’re injured. Maybe it’s not right.”

He brushed his lips over hers. “Then why are you still sitting on my lap?”

*

The roar of a motorcycle shattered the silence.

Naiya slid off Holt’s lap, her heart pounding now for a different reason. Holt ran for the window. “Jesus H Christ. How the f*ck do they keep finding us?” He saw her reach for her bag and shook his head. “Leave it, darlin’. We gotta run.”

“We’ll have no clothes, no food. And your cut…” Heart racing, Naiya grabbed the backpack and shoved Holt’s cut inside. Then she raced to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water and a few apples. As an afterthought, she grabbed a kitchen knife. Not that she would ever stab anyone, but it was good to be prepared.