Burned (Devil's Blaze MC, #2)(38)

“I like it when you say my name, Katie,” he says as his hands travel over my arms and come to a rest on my hips. I have to force myself to take a breath as he moves to my waist and unbuttons my pants. My hands go to cover his as I halfheartedly try to stop him.

“Hunter…”

His lips come down and gently grazes mine, drinking from them in the softest kiss I’ve ever had in my life.

“Let me take care of you, Katie.”

“But—”

“Katie, I can’t explain what happened the night Beth had the baby, but I know that whatever happened, Skull wasn’t part of it. I’m asking you to trust me. Let me show you that my brothers are not the Big Bad here. That I’m not. Trust me, Katie,” he says, pushing my pants down off my hips.

His words hit me hard. I can’t trust him. I don’t think any woman with my history could ever trust a man. Torch makes me want to, though, and that’s more than I’ve ever felt. He doesn’t know that I’ve already called Beth. I arranged to meet her in Tennessee in one week. I used the trucker’s phone, then threw it over a guardrail when I abandoned the truck. Just talking to Beth allowed me to breathe and regroup.

It also gives me a few days to give in to what my body wants.

I’m not sure what’s changed between us, or when it did, but the softness he’s showing me is something I didn’t know I wanted, but it’s something I crave… apparently. I want more of it. I think I need it. I study him for a minute. Then, in answer, I pull my shirt off and wait.





“Jesus, f*ck,” he whispers before crouching down to rid me of my pants.

“What?” I ask, nervous and worried I did something wrong.

“Just hoping I can hold it together long enough to let you soak in the tub,” he says.

“Well, that’s… disappointing.”

“Stop it, woman. You need to soak that leg.”

He pulls my body close to him, his hands grip my hips, and he places a kiss on my *. His body vibrates as he breathes in deeply.

“What are you doing? Did you just… smell me?” I ask, suddenly wishing I had put on panties this morning.

“There’s not a better aroma in the world than the smell of my Katie aroused,” he says.

I don’t respond. I can’t. Does he even realize he called me his? Why do I like that? Why does that make me happy? Crap.

“Stop it. You’re weirding me out,” I tell him. By “weirding me out”, I mean he’s totally weakening my defense system. I’ve already softened towards him; I can’t weaken even more.

He stands up. Right back in its place is that easy, cocky grin I’m so used to seeing on him.

“Really?” he asks. “Because I think I’m making you wet.”

He’s not wrong. Before I can respond, he pulls me up in his arms and carries me off to the bathroom. He lets me down, unlatches my bra, then tosses it to the ground. The tub is small, but larger than others I’ve seen in motel rooms, especially for the dive this one is. I sit down. Torch slides in across from me minutes later. This is a new experience for me. I’ve never bathed with a man before, unless you count the shower with Torch that first night. This seems more intimate, though. Apparently not intimate enough for him; he situates my legs so that they overlap his, then pulls my hips so we’re mere inches apart.

“That’s better.”

“Is it?” I ask, confused and distracted by the sight of this man devouring me with his eyes. Me.

“Now, I can take care of you,” he says with a grin.

“You could have done that in the bedroom,” I tell him, not really kidding.

“I meant wash you, dirty girl,” he says taking the soap and lathering it between his hands. For some reason, my eyes are glued on his every movement. Watching how the soap slides between his hands, the white foam emerging between his fingers, I soon find out that’s nothing compared to the way it feels when his slick hands caresses my body with the soap. He starts with my neck, leaving magic in his wake as his fingers tease and torture every inch of what might be the most erogenous zone on my body.

I hold my breath, waiting for him to move on to my breasts. He doesn’t, though. Instead, he goes down my shoulder, then my arm, and finally arrives at my hands. He uses his thumbs to massage the palms of my hands.

My eyes close in pleasure. “That feels so good,” I whisper.

“I have been told I have magic fingers,” he says. I’m not watching him, but I can hear the smile he’s wearing on his face right now.

“Please, do not tell me about the millions of women who have stroked your ego,” I tell him, half-joking. For the first time I can remember, it bothers me to hear about the women this man has had before me.

“You make me forget them all,” he says softly.

The importance of what he just said makes me open my eyes. He doesn’t look up, though. I’m not sure he’s aware he said that out loud. His hands move down to my leg, the one that’s been hurting so bad I could barely walk. He begins to massage it, and I can’t stop the groan that escapes as he kneads the flesh there.

“How did you get the scars, Katydid?” he asks, his finger brushing against the faint scars and following their line down. They aren’t as bad as they used to be, and definitely not as bad as they could have been. Still, they make me uncomfortable. I’m not use to putting myself out there with a man.