Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(45)

I'd saved her several times. Something about that made it even more f*cked up that I wanted to ruin her, wanted to drag her away from her prissy little world forever, into the darkness with me. I wanted her in my bed forever, the bed she belonged in, where she'd wear my brand and call me her old man. And she'd f*cking love it every time.

Fuck. I shook off the twisted fantasies long enough to see the signs growing more frequent.

We were approaching Knoxville when I spied the little filling station. I made a hard turn into it. Filled up my half-depleted tank, everything I'd need for the ride home, when I had a lot less precious cargo on my bike and a whole lot more hell on my brain.

Meg never even got off to stretch. She was staring down at the pavement when I paid and got back on the bike, ready for the home stretch.

“Babe, you should be the happiest woman in the world when you get home and that gate slams shut behind you. Why the f*ck don't you look it?”

“I can't forget last night,” she said, looking up and locking eyes with me. “I'll never forget you, Skin. What we did...”

She gnawed at her bottom lip. My whole cock ached, remembering what those sweet lips felt like gliding along my flesh.

Fuck me. Of all the excuses I'd expected her to give, it wasn't that.

I reached up and palmed her face, feeling her sweet cheek on my fingers. If only for the last time.

“No regrets, yeah? I wouldn't have done shit if I knew it was gonna make you hurt more. You need to get over everything that happened and live your life, baby. It won't be easy. But you'll do it. You're one helluva woman – a survivor. Anything you do after all the shit you've suffered is gonna feel like a stroll instead of a frantic f*cking sprint to the bitter end.”

“I know,” she said softly, rubbing her face into my skin. “It's the end I'm worried about. The end of us...before we've even started. I mean, if there was an us. You know what I mean, yeah?”

My eyes narrowed. She had me by the balls, but I played dumb. Showing her any of the flames pouring through my blood right now wouldn't do a damned lick of good.

It would only make it harder to close the book on this, harder for her to heal, to forget, to move the f*ck on like she needed to.

“I know two healthy people shared a bed for a few nights and did what people do. That's it. It ain't nothing to worry about, woman, and it sure as shit ain't anything to cry over.”

Fuck if my words did any good when I felt the warm, salty wetness rolling down my finger, a single teardrop slipping out the corner of her eye.

I wiped it away and squeezed her cheek one more time, drawing my face into hers. “Give me one more kiss. One for the road.”

She did. We kissed long and hard, absorbed in this wild thing we had, oblivious to the impatient prick in the pickup behind us, waiting for my pump. I pulled her into me and really f*cking kissed her.

Hotter and harder than the night before. More intense than I'd ever kiss a woman for as long as I lived, tracing her tongue with mine for a few sweet seconds, then leading it around and around in a dance we'd both dream about 'til we jerked awake in a cold sweat.

“I'm not going to forget this,” she said, her voice a harsh whisper.

“No, you won't, but you're not gonna let it f*ck up the rest of your life. I won't let you, babe.” I grabbed her face, traced her jawline, pressed my fingers in 'til I stopped and felt her tremble. “This is the kiss that sets you free. Nothing more. Now, strap on your helmet and hold me tight. You're going home.”

I could hear the strain on her voice when we roared through Knoxville and hit the streets leading to the prime acreage tucked just outside the city's good side. She gave me directions, and I took them like a man, hating every f*cking word coming outta her mouth because they were leading us closer to the end.

The real end. Everything she feared, and everything I'd fought too damned hard not to acknowledge.

The street lights were on by the time we hit the country and rode by the big houses. She leaned into me, resting her soft face on my shoulder, whispering the last few digits to look for in my ear.

I saw them coming up on a big stone wall, glittering in gold, markers to my private hell. My bike jerked to a stop, later than I wanted because it was so f*cking hard to let her go.

“You got a way to tell them to open up, or what?”

She gave me one last squeeze and hopped off my bike, shooting me a look like I'd just talked nonsense. I knew I had a second later, when I saw the intercom built into the wall, next to those high iron bars. The gate was too tall, too sleek, too pointy for any man to climb over – not unless he was really determined.

My mind started working, figuring out how the f*ck to get through. Just in case I needed to, of course. I wasn't planning anything.

Yeah, right, I heard inwardly, the passionate side of my brain about to snap the leash held by cold logic.

“Helmet, babe!” I called after her, just as she grabbed her stuff and trotted quickly toward the gate.

She spun around and flushed. The redness on her cheeks did terrible things to the spike between my legs. Fucking great. It was all I needed to see when I was doing my damnedest not to think about how much I'd miss her sweet cunt clenched every inch of me when she lost control.

“Sorry,” she said softly, passing me the spare black helmet. “Seriously, Skin, I know this is hard, but I appreciate everything you've done for me. You'll get your money. I'll call you the second I've got it ready to go.”