Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(32)
Skin hadn't beaten me up. He hadn't taken advantage, even though we shared the same bed. But he was just like them, deep down inside, an outlaw and a devil who wouldn't hesitate to f*ck me with his hand around my throat if I gave him half a chance – or pissed him off just enough.
I tried to look away, dampening the sexy thoughts. Naturally, I couldn't. I didn't have a prayer with this naked, gorgeous giant only feet away, cleaning himself behind a thin wall of glass.
I watched him. I took him in slowly, running my eyes across him, every magnificent inch.
His huge, powerful body flexed in the shower, dark inked muscles ebbing and flowing like shadows as he scrubbed himself clean.
It was a cruel repeat of last night, except worse, because the tension was off the charts. Once, he peeked up over the short glass shower door. We locked eyes and my heart nearly froze from the embarrassment.
God. If he walked out of there and said anything about me looking at him, admiring his stupid sexy body, I swore I'd go to pieces.
I couldn't deal with this. We couldn't go on, sharing this cramped little room and enough sexual tension to blow up half the state.
Maybe it was my fault for giving him so much crap about keeping this cold and professional. Now, I was the one having trouble with those boundaries.
His body drew me straight into the flames when he pulled the door open and stepped out dripping wet, reaching for his towel. His huge thighs bulged, dark flames rippling on their sides. His entire body coursed like a canvass for pointing straight toward the huge, unthinkable part between his legs, the pulsing hard-on I'd felt when I first woke up in bed cuddled next to him, tight against my ass, crying out to f*ck me.
I pinched my eyes shut, desperately fighting to smolder the flames of sick fascination for this man. We were cruising for a head-on collision before he was finally out of my life. No denying it.
He'd either f*ck me first, or completely destroy me.
I looked down at the last few scraps of my food and suppressed a shudder. He walked in front of me with nothing but the towel around his waist a second later, giving me the stink eye.
“What? I'm almost finished – see?” Pursing my lips, I lifted up the empty tray. “Please don't give me any shit about eating every little bite again tonight. I'm really not in the mood.”
With a snort, he ripped it out of my hand and walked it out to the trash. When he returned a second later, his dark brown eyes glowed amusement, a surprising change from the stern, frustrated sparks twinkling there before.
“Yeah, I actually believe you,” he said coolly, staring down at me like a hawk eyeing its prey. “You got any f*cking clue how hard it is to keep this professional when you're looking at me with a hunger for something else?”
Crap! I tried to hold every nerve in my body still, tried to keep my cheeks from burning scarlet red.
If only it were so easy. I forced myself to look at him, forcing out the words.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Bullshit, you don't. I'd have a hard time admitting I'm obsessed too, babe. That's why I'm laying it out there – we can admit it without making this shit awkward. Just because we both wanna hit the sheets and f*ck each other stupid all night doesn't mean we have to. We can ignore the urge. We can keep it professional.” The extra stress he put on that word tempted me to leap up and slap him across the face. “Unless, you know, you think you're ready to have a man you want to f*ck. A man who's gonna use you in all the right ways without treating you like a cheap f*cking whore.”
He took another step forward, closing the tiny space between us. My eyes darted to the bulge rising beneath his towel. I thought about the huge, throbbing, rock hard cock I'd seen behind the fogged glass, every savage inch he'd stroked, probably thinking about me.
Skin's hand shot out, grabbed my chin, and twisted my face until I couldn't look away. “Look at me, babe. I'm telling you, I am not the f*cking enemy. Believe it or not, I'd rather have you work with me to get you home sooner than drop this towel and feel your hot little mouth pulling my cock across your tongue.”
Instant tremors. His words melted me from the bottom up, and my thighs pinched together, trying to stem the torrid wet heat. The * knew my * ached for him – and he was getting off on it, teasing me like no tomorrow, acting like I was the one making this so damned difficult.
Bastard! I still hated him, but the truth was undeniable – I wanted him so much it brought me to my knees.
I twisted my head, jerking away from him. Then I stood up and pushed past him, heading for the other side of the room, before he could give me more crap.
“What the f*ck?” he smiled knowingly when our eyes met again. “What's the deal, baby? We're just having a little heart-to-heart. I'm trying to lay it all out there, be straight with you.”
“You're a pig,” I snapped, shooting my eyes away so they wouldn't betray me for the thousandth time. “I don't understand what kind of sick game you're playing, Skin, but I want none of it. I just want to go home. Seriously. Give me another day. I'll have something for you, and then I'll be out of your hair forever.”
The thin smile on his lips faded. His huge arms shot up and he folded them across the skull with the smoking pistols tattooed on his superhuman chest, leaving me one last glimpse of those hills and valleys he called a torso, a rugged landscape carved by testosterone and violence.