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Trax watched her face. She was weird but in a highly amusing way. “You’d find out what you’re made of in jail. I’m thinking you’d surprise yourself.”
“Talking from experience?”
Trax looked out over the mountains. For some, going to jail was a badge of honor. Not him. He wasn’t proud, but it was part of the life he chose.
“Have you been to jail?”
Ignoring her wasn’t an option, he guessed. He turned to her and saw how her easygoing face had transformed. Small lines marred her forehead, and her eyes were intently stuck on him.
“Yeah, couple years ago. Did eighteen months.”
Her bottom lip dropped open, and she whispered, “What did you do?”
“Transporting drugs.”
She leaned back. “You do drugs?”
He smirked. “Nothing hard, but yeah, I smoke some weed, on occasion. Not why I got time, though. The club was transporting across state lines.”
“Oh.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “I guess to sell, right?”
He nodded.
“What was prison like?”
“It fucking sucked. Just like you imagine but a hundred times worse. Fights, murders, rapes, everything you see on TV, it fucking happens. You’re a fucking caged animal in there, got people telling you when to eat, sleep, and shit. Eighteen months felt like eighteen years.” He sighed. “But I had Mick and Rourke with me. We survived.” He turned his head and winked. “You would too.”
She snorted and laughed. “I don’t wanna test your theory.” She bunched up her legs and rested her arms on her knees. “So, you and Mick were close, huh?”
“Yeah. He brought me into the club, mentoring shit. He was a good guy.”
She rested her head on her arms and smiled. “I bet he was. He had kind eyes.” She nodded. “And as much as it was only a short time when I was with him, I knew he was someone who was going to be missed. I’m really sorry you lost him, Trax.”
Her compassion stabbed him in a part of his heart he’d thought was locked up and cold as ice. He hadn’t opened up to anyone about his loss for Mick. His brothers knew, Meg knew, but everyone let him do it alone because that was how he was. And here was this stranger, trying to get inside with her sweetness. He stared back at her, and her smile grew.
“He’d probably get a kick out of us together, enjoying a sunset. Don’t ya think?”
He would. He’d be saying, she’s too good for you, so you trap her down before she realizes it, man. Knock her up if you have to, but do not let this one go. Trax laughed and leaned forward, taking her lips for a kiss. He hadn’t planned on it being anything more. Not even an hour ago, she’d been in fear for her life with him. If he wanted her, and he did, he’d have to do something he’d never done before. Take it fucking slow.
He cupped her jaw with every intention of pulling away, but it seemed she had a different idea. Her legs collapsed over his, and she leaned into the kiss, twisting her body to line up against him. Her tongue curled around his, and the heat from the kiss shot straight to his cock. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman as much as he wanted Cheyenne.
She hooked her leg over his lap and straddled him, deepening the kiss in the process. His hands trailed down her back, grabbing her ass. Fuck, she was perfect. A soft moan emitted through her lips. The sound alone got him harder, and when she rubbed her jean-clad pussy against his length, he found it hard to hold back his own groan. Not fucking her wasn’t an option. He needed to be inside her. He hooked his arm around her waist and turned, flipping her onto her back. It was smoother than he’d expected. Her hands were everywhere, a soft but urgent caress on his neck, over his shoulder, and through the back of his hair.
He felt himself losing control. His free hand grasped her breast, squeezing and getting the response he wanted. Her chest heaved into his palm, begging for more. Through her padded bra, he could barely feel her breast, and certainly not her nipple. Why women bothered with it was beyond his comprehension. Bras should be fucking outlawed. Her fingers frantically moved past his chest, down to his cock. Even through his jeans, he felt the touch as she rubbed her palm over his length. Damn the fucking seam. Her hand fumbled with his snap, desperately trying to unsnap it.
He grabbed her wrist and broke the kiss, turning his head to the side. Her heavy breath fanned his ear in short pants.
“Why’d you stop?”
He glanced down at her and cursed himself. Seeing the heat and desire in her eyes was hard to resist. “Not gonna fuck you on the dirt.”
If it had been any other chick, he would have been balls deep, not giving a shit if she had dirt in her ass crack or rocks jamming into her back. Taking Cheyenne that way wasn’t happening. He reluctantly pulled away, standing and reaching out to take her hand. He didn’t miss the blush across her cheeks. She might have taken his stopping the wrong way. She clasped her hand into his but stared down at the ground and dusted off her backside with her free hand.
It had been forever since he’d seen a woman blush. There was a sweet innocence to it he rarely saw from the women at the club. Cheyenne wasn’t hard or jaded. He’d need to keep that fresh in his mind. She wasn’t like the others.
His cock strained against his jeans painfully. Fuck! He adjusted his stance, but it did nothing to relieve the pressure in his pants. She pulled her hand, but he tightened his grip. She peeked up at him through her lashes, shyly. Just the look of uncertainty had him about to go back on his word. Kind of. He wasn’t gonna take her in the dirt. She deserved better.
There were other options, and he was going to fucking take one.
