Loving Me, Trusting You(25)

I drop one hand to hers, hoping I can keep us on the road with the other. My fingers tangle around hers, but she doesn't slow, just squeezes tighter and pumps faster, bringing me to the edge and dropping me straight off the f*cking cliff.

I come hard and only barely, just barely manage to keep us on the pavement. When Mireya's satisfied that she's f*cked me up enough, she withdraws her hand and leaves me with my dick hanging out of my damn pants.

It's not easy to get myself put together, so when we pause in the next town to refuel, I look like a damn fool. I am f*cked up six ways to Sunday, breathing heavy and leaning over with my helmet in my lap. Mireya slides off behind me and pauses next to my left side, glaring down at me with narrowed eyes.

“And what in the hell was that for?” I ask her, glancing up with hair in my eyes. I brush it away, but I'm sweaty and sticky from the heat. The hair refuses to budge, sliding across my slick skin as I stare at the love of my life and the grudging respect in her eyes. She's mad at me, yeah. I was right about that. But she's not livid.

“Next time you pick me up like that, you're done,” she growls and then glances around like she's suspicious that someone might be listening in. “But thank you. For stopping me.” She puts her hands on her rounded hips, and drops her chin to her chest. “When I kill those sons of bitches, I want it to be with my mind in the right place and my intentions on my lips. If I'm going to hell, I might as well make it worth it.” Mireya lifts her head up suddenly and starts to turn away. Without a second thought, my hand shoots out and wraps her arm, halting her where she stands with one boot in a slick of oil.

“If there's any real justice in the world, you'll be marked a saint for removing those f*ckers from the face of this earth.” She smiles tight-lipped at me and tries to move away, but I'm not done yet. Instead, I pull her back hard and fast, slamming her body against mine and smashing my lips to hers. My fingers tangle in her hair and my heart beats a rough, aching rhythm of want. With half of Triple M looking on, Mireya grabs me right back and kisses me fierce, nipping my lips and drawing blood. I fight her back, begging and commanding both with my mouth, asking her to indulge the burning desperation she's fired up in my blood. But no. Guess I'm being punished.

With a chuckle, Mireya shoves back, using a rough hand on my tender crotch as leverage.

“Barb,” she says, drawing the old woman's attention. She stands behind Mireya with a cigarette dangling from her mouth, either ignoring the myriad no smoking signs or just not giving a shit about them. Her white dreadlocks drape over her shoulders as she narrows her eyes on me. “Gaine told me the other night that he thinks about you a lot when he whacks it. Apparently, I'm not his dream girl. You are.” And then Mireya spins away in a cloud of crow-black hair and curves that could kill. I watch her go and only just manage to pull my gaze away when Old Barb snorts at me. She gives me a once-over that says she isn't very impressed with what she sees.

“Boy,” she asks, leaning close and squinting her eyes at me, wrinkles falling down her forehead like a damn avalanche. “I think you got splooge on your f*ckin' shirt.”





“You are such a f*cking *,” Beck crows, laughing his ass off as he follows me down the hallway to our rooms. Mireya's back with Austin and Amy, trying to figure out what to do with Christy. Me, I'm here suffering a constant barrage of insults about the damn jizz on my shirt. Thank you, Mireya Sawyer.

“Leave me alone, Beck,” I growl at him, but he's not too good at taking hints. Instead, he follows me to the last door on the left and kicks his way inside, guffawing while I yank off my shirt and toss it to the floor. “I'm sure you're no stranger to walking around wearing badges of honor.” I kick the dirty tee against the dresser and retreat into the bathroom with a fresh one. It's got a saying on the front that embodies my current mood to perfection: Up Fuck Creek Without a Paddle. Yes, sirree, that's me in a nut shell. “Don't you have women to harass? Go find the local bar and pick yourself up a chick.”

“Now why would I be out doin' that when I've got a perfectly good * to f*ck right here?” He chortles some more and I kick the bathroom door closed in his face, leaning over the counter with my fingers wrapped around the laminate. I let my head hang for awhile, trying to catch my breath. I'm not embarrassed. Okay, not really. I'm a little pissed that Old Barb turned me down for a tumble, but hey, that's the way the world works. You win some, you lose some. I smile. Frown. Mireya. I just don't know know what I'm going to do with that woman. I think briefly about joining Beck on his nightly prowl. I'm sure I could find a girl that would make the hurt go away. Thing is, I know that in the morning, it'd be back with a vengeance, screaming around me, telling me that I've betrayed my heart with my dick. I don't like that feeling, and it's a damn hard one to live with.

I sigh and lift my head up to look into the mirror, straightening myself and examining the tattoos on my chest and belly. I could use a new one. Ink always makes me feel better. I touch the broken heart tattoo on my left shoulder first, dipping my hand down to the viking on my chest, sliding my fingers down to the skull and the Triple M tat beneath it. And then I keep going, diving down and taking a naughty dip into my pants.

The whorls on my fingers feel like blades, slicing across my aching flesh and drawing more blood into my cock, making it solid and painful. I feel like I could f*cking scream right now. At first, I didn't get Mireya's angle. I mean, who would turn down a hand job? But now I get it. That bitch knew exactly what it is that she was doing.