Crash (Brazen Bulls MC #1)(52)

“Yeah.”

Her finger moved and traced another scar, finding it immediately, as if she’d memorized the texture of his flesh. “And this one, too.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Same time, or different?”

“Different.”

She found another scar. “This one?”

“Knife.” If she was going to catalogue all his scars one by one, it would be daylight before she was done. And some scars, he wasn’t ready to tell her about.

“This one, too?” Her finger traced up the long scar in the middle of his belly.

That one made him chuckle. “Nah. Scalpel. Hernia.”

The scar was thick and uneven, the nastiest one on his body. It made her lift her head and focus on him. “That’s a surgical scar?”

“Might’ve gotten into a scrape while the staples were still in. Might’ve pulled a few.”

“Stupid.” She shook her head.

“That’s the second time tonight you’ve called me stupid. Don’t much like it.”

She reached up and lightly brushed her fingers over his new wound. “If the scar fits. How’d you get a hernia?”

“Pickin’ up somethin’ too heavy.”

“What was it?”

“A car.”

“What?” Surprise was clear in her short laugh.

“Guy on the side of the road had his little cage up on one of those cheap-ass jacks they give you. He had the back wheel off and was underneath, tryin’ to tie his muffler back up. Had the car parked off the shoulder, and it was leanin’ way wrong. I stopped to help, get him out from under, but the jack gave before I could. Didn’t think about what I was doin’, just grabbed the wheel well and gave it a heave. Guy rolled free, and I dropped it. He had a couple of busted ribs, and I had a hernia.”

He’d been riding alone, and his brothers had thought he was telling a tall tale until the guy he’d helped had shown up at the station to thank him awhile later.

“You picked up a car.” She crossed her arms on his chest and looked up at him in wonder. He liked this—the shift of her thoughts and, with it, her mood.

“Well, I didn’t hoist it up onto my back or nothin’. Just held it a few inches off the ground for a few seconds.”

“You’re a hero.”

He laughed that absurdity off. “No way. I just do what needs doin’.”

“Seems to me that’s what a hero is.” She tipped her head and kissed his chest.

Cupping his hands around her face, Rad made her look him in the eye again. “I’m no hero, Willa. You try to see me like that, and you’ll be disappointed right quick. I try to do more good than bad, and I try to keep my bad where it belongs, but make no mistake. I’m an outlaw, and I’ll never be anything else.”

Her eyes squinted in that way that made him feel like a bug under a glass, but she didn’t say more. Instead, she bent her head and kissed his chest again, this time lingering. He felt her tongue against his skin, and he realized that she had kissed a bullet scar.

Shifting over him, she moved to the other, similar scar. Then to the mark of a hunting knife sliding between his ribs. She tasted every scar on his chest and belly, even those she hadn’t asked about, and those he wouldn’t have told her about if she had. Her body slid over his, her bare breasts gliding across his belly, as she moved to reach every mark, and she never missed her aim. She had, indeed, memorized his scars.

Rad wove his fingers into her hair and held her head, letting his eyes close. He hadn’t expected this development, but he craved it. To be inside her, to feel the perfect pleasure of her and to give her the same bliss, that would restore the balance in the tiny world between them.

He pulled lightly on her head, wanting to draw her up, wanting his mouth on her mouth, wanting to roll her body under his and take it. But she leaned back, out of his reach.

“What’re you doin’, baby?”

Hovering above his midsection, she smiled. Her eyes twinkled in the eerie light of the room, but Rad didn’t see joy in her face. He saw need and fatigue, and he saw intimacy. Trust.

“I need to be in control. I need to make something good happen.” She licked the length of his ugliest scar, straight down the center of his belly. Her tongue swirled in his navel and continued its progress downward until her mouth was on him. She sucked him as deep as she could, her hand wrapping around his base. He held on, but he let her go, let her have control.

Fuck, she gave great head. She knew how to use her tongue and her hands together, how to move and when to suck, when to pull back and when to go deep.

She made tiny little noises at the back of her throat. Rad loved the sound of them, and he loved the feel of them when she had him deep.

But this was more than her giving him head. She was taking something, too, and Rad sensed it quickly. Usually she lingered and teased, made it last until he was nearly begging to come, but this time, she went full-tilt from the start.

In fact, she was going too hard, too fast, too soon. He was cresting fast, painfully so, too fast for pleasure to keep up. He jacked himself off this hard sometimes, when he was angry and fired up and needed the release more than the pleasure.

He didn’t want f*cking Willa to be merely release.

When her teeth scraped over his tip—no light, teasing touch over that swollen, sensitive spot—he took over, clutching her head to make her stop.