Own the Wind (Chaos #1)(35)

Going the distance with a biker. With Shy.

The options were, one, give up and let them roll right over you.

I didn’t think that was me, or I hoped it wasn’t.

The next was become a biker bitch, like my mom had become. Mom was just a bitch, so it was bound to happen that she’d let her bitch light shine through. But sometimes when the boys were the boys, bossy biker badasses, instead of setting the boundaries right off, I’d seen women go over the top with attitude, butting up against their man all the time and not talking to him so they did nothing but fight. Loudly. Publicly. Nastily.

I didn’t want that either.

Not at all.

The last option was the way Tyra was with Dad. I didn’t know how she balanced it, but they were who they were and somehow that clicked. She didn’t let him roll all over her even though he had a dominant personality, the kind that pushed out all other personalities unless you were able to hold your own against him. Still, Tyra had to find that middle ground where she gave Dad what he needed to be, well… Dad. A little over, he’d butt heads with you and the results wouldn’t be pretty. A little under, he’d take advantage and then lose interest, especially in women, because as much as Dad was about control, he didn’t want to control his woman. He liked a challenge. Just not too much of a challenge.

They worked.

Spectacularly.

That said, sometimes things got intense, the balancing act went out the window, it was anything goes, and Tyra didn’t take a lot of shit from him.

I’d never forget that night years ago when she came to my rescue after my ex-too-old-for-me boyfriend hit me and then my ex nearly busted Tyra’s head in with a baseball bat. Dad had lost it on her, that she’d put herself in that situation, and I still remember hearing them fighting.

At the time, I was devastated, them fighting over me like that. After it all was good again, I admired her for yelling right back and not taking his crap.

That was what I wanted for me if I was going to hitch my wagon to Shy’s biker stud.

So before I blew it and started something with Shy after all our history and it being my first relationship after Jason (who was, it was important to note, my only other real relationship), we had to talk. Get a few things straight.

Depending on Shy’s answers I’d know if I had my head together or if I needed time and space to find that.

I took a deep breath, determined to talk it all out with him without losing my head, my patience, my temper, or myself, but I didn’t even raise my hand to knock when the door flew open.

All of a sudden I had an arm hooked around my waist, I was in his apartment, and Shy’s booted foot was kicking the door closed.

The next thing I knew, I had lips on mine and a tongue in my mouth.

With that, I didn’t know anything else. I didn’t want to know anything else. The only thing I wanted to know was Shy.

He was just that good. So good, when he kissed me, the world melted away.

His mouth broke from mine and my thoughts came back, kind of.

“Shy, we need to talk,” I breathed, my pulse racing, my skin warm, my breath coming fast, my arms locked around him, the fingers of one hand in his hair, just like the first time.

Exactly like the first time.

Suddenly, my shirt was gone.

My breath, already fast, left me totally, and my ni**les started tingling.

Shy’s hands slid up my sides and those tingles went into overdrive.

“Got your head sorted, sugar?” he asked, his green eyes intense, hot and locked to mine, his body herding me backward.

“Yes,” I answered. “But we have to talk.”

His hands left my sides but he kept herding me at the same time he whipped off his tee.

My thoughts flew out the window.

“We’ll talk later,” he murmured, his hands settling on my waist.

I got a second to take in his lean, muscled chest and the scrolled, elaborate tattoo that adorned his upper left pectoral that said forebodingly, “Love dies,” before I was falling backward.

I landed on the bed.

Shy landed on me.

Before I could get my wits about me, Shy’s lips were back on mine, his tongue was in my mouth, and his hands were moving on me.

His hands felt good. His mouth felt good. And he tasted great.

I wanted more of him. No, strike that, I needed more of him. I put my hands to his body, and the feel of all that smooth skin, soft to the touch, hard underneath rocked through me so thoroughly it felt like it started in my hair and ended at my toenails.

And that was so huge I needed even more.

So I took it, arching up, pushing him to his back and climbing on. I put my mouth to him, his neck, his throat, collarbone, chest, ni**les, my lips moving, my tongue tasting, as my hands roamed. While I was exploring, Shy’s fingers went to the hook of my bra and, with a flick, it came loose.

I only stopped long enough to lift up, pull it off, and toss it aside.

Then I went right back.

I didn’t take my time. I was desperate, needing to get in as much as I could as fast as I could like he’d go up in a puff of smoke any second.

I got down to the waistband of his jeans, my tongue licking a line along the edge as my fingers undid the buttons, when Shy suddenly hauled me up his body, took my mouth in another devastating, wet, hard, hot kiss, and rolled me to my back.

Within seconds, my jeans were undone, he broke the kiss, and then they were gone. The sensation of the fabric sliding down my legs caused another bolt of desire and hunger to shoot through me.