Rough Justice (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #1)(62)
“Only when there is a question for which there is no right answer.” He ran his thumb back and forth over her knuckles, his anxiety fading as her warmth seeped into his palm.
“My mother used to do that,” she said. “Usually when we were watching TV or just hanging out and she was thinking about something. I always found it soothing, although I think she did it to soothe herself.”
He drank in the tidbit of information about her life, adding it to the puzzle, wondering if he would ever be able to fill in the rest. He wanted to know everything about her, from the first thing she remembered until the day they met.
“I don’t remember much of my mother.” He squeezed her hand needing her touch as he dredged up long-buried memories. “She walked out on us when I was seven. My father was an army man. Strict. Cold. Disciplined. My mom was the opposite. She was warm and passionate about the arts. She loved to sing and dance. My father cared for her deeply but he never let her see it, and I think one day it became too much. She packed her bag, kissed me on the cheek, and walked away. I never saw or heard from her again.”
Arianne’s faced creased in sympathy. “I know what it’s like to grow up without a mom, but I can’t imagine what you went through when she left you like that.”
He gritted his teeth against the pain of that loss, the bewilderment of a seven-year-old boy who had lost his mother, believing every day she was going to come home, thinking he was to blame and wishing there was something he could do to bring her back.
So goddamn helpless. Never again.
“My dad eased up on me after that.” He let go a ragged breath. “Made an effort to spend time with me because there was no one else. Didn’t keep me from getting into trouble, though. I think he worried for my entire adolescence.”
“Viper didn’t give a damn about us so long as we were available to run his drugs across town or entertain his guests, hack into computer databases and wheedle information out of people who didn’t want to give it up.”
“You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”
“Not if I’m gone.”
Jagger closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against her temple, inhaling the scent of her hair, wildflowers and autumn leaves. He didn’t want to think about her gone. He wanted her to stay. Not by force, but by choice. He wanted her to want him the way he wanted her, with a fierce inexplicable desire that consumed him.
“You aren’t leaving.” He covered her hand with his, crushing the paper into her palm.
“Because you claimed me?”
“Because I want you.”
He could feel her smile, her cheek lifting, brushing against his. “You want me?”
With a light tap, he dislodged Max, then pulled Arianne onto his lap facing him, her knees astride his hips. “You’re all I thought about when I was out riding.”
“Why do you want me?”
His arms slid around her and he pulled her close—so close, his erection ground against her hips in a pleasure-pain that almost sent him over the edge. “You make me feel calm, grounded. You make me laugh. You have courage, strength, and determination like no one I have ever met. You let nothing stand in the way of what you want. You frustrate the hell out me, and irritate me beyond belief. You aren’t afraid to challenge me, but you have the political savvy to know when not to do it. You’re a kick-ass mechanic, a fine shooter, and a hell of a pool player. And the sass that comes out of your mouth…”
Arianne blushed. “I thought you were going to say you liked my tits or my ass. You are a biker, after all.”
He cupped her soft breast in his palm and bit back a groan. “I like all of you, sweetheart: your curves, your beautiful face, your smile, and especially your hair.” He twined his hand through her silken waves and tugged her head back, baring her throat to his hungry mouth.
She moaned, arched under his touch, rocking against him until he thought he’d go mad if he couldn’t get under her clothes, touch her, feel her against him, around him. God, he wanted her so badly, he f*cking ached everywhere, inside and out. He’d never known want like this, lust driving him out of his mind.
“I want you,” she whispered. “I want this. Not because I’m yours, but because you’re mine. Even if it’s just for tonight.”
He didn’t want to hear about “just tonight.” He wanted to hear that she cared about him, that she trusted him to protect her, and that she wanted to stay. But later. Because goddamnit, after hearing she wanted him, if he didn’t have her now, he would explode.
With his free hand he unclipped her bra and shoved up her clothes, baring her to his sight. A whimper escaped her lips as he tugged harder on her hair, pulling her head back making her arch for him, offering up her breasts for his licking pleasure.
A door slammed. Laughter carried through a window. Jagger growled low in his throat. “We’d better stop.”
*
Stop? No stop. Bad stop. Whether it was the remnants of fear that something had happened to him, or the pent-up frustration of being denied, she wanted him so badly she burned inside. Leaning closer, brushing her lips over his, she murmured, “I thought I made myself clear. I want you. Here. Now.”
He hesitated then cupped her breast and ran his thumb over her nipple. “Then stop talking, ’cause I’m going to take that sweet mouth of yours, and then I’m going to give you what you want.”