Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(28)

I'd start by shredding her clothes and wrapping her hair around my fist. Meg's hot, virgin skin would burn beneath my lips. My entire cock throbbed each time I thought about dragging my mouth down her body, pushing my face between her legs, jerking her into my lips, tongue, and teeth by the ass.

Had she ever ridden a man's face before with her sweet cunt? Whether she had or not, there wasn't a f*cking chance she'd ever had her * tamed with a mouth like mine.

I made women scream. I stole every molecule of air from their lungs. I caused them to pant 'til I let them attack my cock, and they f*cked me ferociously, begged for my come, lost their minds before I finally gave it up.

This chick made me imagine the nastiest shit I had in years.

Her freak virginity made me want to claim her even more. If I got a chance, I'd shake every inch of her, f*ck her over and over and over again, 'til every last trace of the dirty bastards she'd been forced to suck were gone forever.

“Skin? Did you hear me, or were you too busy playing with your drink?”

I looked up. The glass swirling lightly in my hand stopped.

Was she serious? Hell no, I wasn't listening.

Not when the pouty angel across from me turned my blood molten every time I looked at her.

“Sorry. I've been busy thinking about how we're gonna work this to get you back to your ma and pa sooner.”

Yeah, right. All I was really thinking about was hearing her call me daddy while she took every seething inch of me.

She smiled softly and shook her head. I'd put on a good front. “I said he never cared if I finished my food. Ricky, I mean. Look, I'm never going to kiss your feet for doing what you need to do. But maybe you're a little nicer than the last man who chained me up. Maybe.”

“Yeah, whatever, babe.” I'd rather have her kissing something else, but I kept that part to myself.

Reminding me of what the club had done – what I was doing to her right now – f*cking gutted me. I hid that shit too. I couldn't go soft and let her assume anything. I also couldn't handle her getting under my skin, tempting me to do something stupid to get her home sooner, something that'd screw my brothers over.

Whatever morals I had died years ago, the first time I shot a rival man in the guts and watched him flop to death on the floor. Sure, the * deserved it, but you never come back whole from putting down a human being.

That's what I'd thought, kill after kill, growing a little colder every year, just like Dad. I hadn't known what the hell wrong was 'til I plucked her outta that whorehouse. I forced myself to look at her, even though my heart was filling up with black, toxic muck.

The woman across from me didn't deserve any of this shit, however I justified it. Two wrongs never made a right, but between me and the club demanding money from her folks, we'd kept her alive.

“I won't try to run,” she said, reaching for my hand. “There's nowhere to go without you. I don't know the rest of your biker friends from the pimp or the Deadhands. I shouldn't trust anything you say, but I want to believe, Skin, that you're not like them – I know you don't want to do this. I can see it in your eyes. That means something. Just a little bit.”

Fuck. I didn't like anybody seeing past the barbed wire I put up in my cold face, least of all this wounded dove.

“Don't try to get all emotional on me, lady,” I growled. “If you think I'm soft, you'd better get your head checked. I've done plenty of shit I'll pay big for one fine day in hell. I don't worry a lot about morals, beyond what's best for keeping my own ass safe and what benefits the MC. I'm gonna help you get out of the quicksand, Meg, but that's where this ends. You don't wanna get attached. I'm not your friend. Just your ticket outta here.”

Her pale face softened. She nodded like she actually understood, fixing those glacial blue eyes on mine. I stared her down 'til she broke and blushed, then I slid out of my seat and grabbed her hand, leading her out to my bike.

We didn't say much as I drove her back to the clubhouse. She was probably getting tired now that her belly was full. I hoped it'd save me from having to deal with her anxiety tonight.

It was gonna be hell sleeping in the same room with this chick, feeling her pressed up against me. Damn if I'd let her make me feel anything else.

I had to stop thinking sex.

This * shortage wouldn't last forever. I'd find others – lots of other sluts – and by the time I did, this stolen princess would be outta my life. I'd let the Prez put her reward cash to good use while I f*cked myself completely free of her.

Women were f*ck toys, and a special few turned into old ladies. Not for me. The only pillow talk that ever interested me was the filthy kind.

The chick with her little hands pressed around my waist while we roared through the mountains needed more than that. She was too screwed up for drama-free pounding after what Ricky the shithead did to her.

I'd save her from my dick, and I'd save myself from the love and tears that I knew would come raining down.

This was just another job, another mission for the club. One more chance to get things right after we'd been staggering around drunk on too much danger and not enough cold, hard cash.

Nothing more. So help me God.

I showered like I always did with the door wide open to my little bathroom. Having a woman in the room never changed my habits, not even this broken hearted beauty.