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I almost skid to a stop and take her like the fucking animal I am, right here by the side of the road, bend her over the hot engine and just pump into her body, even more boiling than the bike, until my seed is dripping and creaming out of her pink tight wet hole.
My manhood is a stiff pole in my pants, thrumming with the motion of the bike.
Finally, after about fifteen minutes of mind-fucking riding – her hands creating enticing patterns on my abs – I bring the bike to a stop at a cabin that sits with a rail fence around it, the fence high and secure, the cabin itself set high off the ground away from the dust with a cool ice-blue exterior.
“Wow,” Kelly says, climbing from the bike and taking her helmet off.
When her hair cascades out of the helmet down to her shoulders, something in me almost snaps.
I stare at her, my heartbeat thudding at the back of my throat, a deep war-horn blaring inside of me.
Take her. Dominate her. Fuck her hard and fast until she’s taken every fucking drop.
“This place is great,” she says, swinging the helmet back and forth. “Do you want your jacket back?”
“Yes,” I growl. “I do.”
She unzips it quickly and hands it to me, but I just grab it and toss it over the back of the bike.
She giggles in confused cuteness. “I thought you wanted it back?”
“No,” I growl. “I just wanted you not to be wearing it anymore.”
She thrills visibly, a blush creeping through her body, a vivid carmine blush that reminds me of the sigil of The Bloody Chariots, the blood seeping from the wheel of the golden chariot.
And her hair is golden, too, just like the chariot.
And my mind is going fucking crazy trying to fight this urge to grab her, to kiss her, to own her.
Because I know that when I do that, I won’t be able to go back.
She’s Jason’s daughter, my onetime best friend, now the man I hate, or am supposed to hate.
“What?” she whispers.
“What?” I echo with a smirk.
“You’re looking at me all funny.”
“Am I?” I growl, stepping close to her, and then closer.
I stop when she’s staring up at me, those eyes wide and excited, a crinkle in her forehead that tells me part of her knows there’s no coming back from this, either.
“Maybe I’m just thinking about how goddamn sexy you look right now, and how beautiful, and how if I don’t kiss you I might have to go and do something stupid.”
“Sexy,” she mutters. “Nobody’s ever called me that before.”
“That’s because most people are fucking idiots,” I snarl.
And then I lean down and wrap my arms around her, squeezing onto her hips and tugging her toward me.
She gasps when I cash my lips against hers.
Chapter Four
Kelly
I’m kissing the bogeyman.
The thought slices into my mind, coming straight from childhood, fueled by the stories my dad used to tell about Kane Knight, about how he was a bad man, about how he’d betrayed him.
But then any thought of Dad or betrayal falls away under the weight of his rough, warm lips, my lips parting to taste his tongue, minty and a just him taste, not whiskey- and cigarette-laced like maybe I expected.
My body responds even as my mind is left in limbo, screaming that I need to stop this before it gets too far and he expects certain things of me, certain things I won’t be able to do because of what happened to me.
But the pleasure – the pleasure – it explodes in my mouth and tingles down my body, making my nipples hard against his rock hard body and my clit and sex hum and buzz with longing.
I gasp a second time, lifting my arms and wrapping them around his broad, muscled shoulders, having to stand on my tiptoes to fully sink into the kiss.
His hands slide down my back and palm my ass, squeezing in a way nobody has before.
For a moment, an animal panicked part of me tries to yelp, Get off. Get away. Don’t hurt me.
But I beat that part down, that aspect of myself that has nothing to do with Kane, and everything to do with me and my past.
Then he breaks it off with a deep throated shuddering noise, his blue eyes searing into me as the sun sets in the background, the stars emerging, seemingly a million out here in the middle of nowhere.
“Do you want to see the inside of the cabin?” he says.
“Y-yes,” I stammer, before my traitor panic sends me running.
He takes me by the hand and I feel how hard he is, solid all the way up like a tree that won’t bend in the wind. He seems so much sturdier and manlier then high school boys, those weak hyenas napping at each other, overexcited and young.
