Somewhere on those interminable stretches of road, I realize my problems have wings; no matter how fast I ride, how tight I take a turn, they always follow me. And, at some point, they won’t be content to just follow; they’ll settle on my back and they’ll settle on his. They’ll command me to choose — to strive to become my own person, or to become Snake’s old lady and weave myself further into the fabric of the MC. They’ll command him to choose, too — to follow his heart, or to follow his duty.
Whichever choice we make, we’ll lose.
I lose him, or I lose myself.
He loses me, or he loses the club.
At a windy stretch of desert road past the remains of a rundown ranch, I wave to catch his attention. I draw a circle in the air to tell him to turn around. We ride just as fast back to my place, in unspoken silence, the only sounds the roar of our engines and the flutter of trouble’s wings against our back.
Soon, we must choose.
But, as we reach my apartment and I see him dismount his bike, I know that moment isn’t here. Not yet.
There’s a look of pain on his face that draws me to him. And there’s a look of lust and love in his eyes that lifts me onto my tiptoes to kiss him.
No, there’s no choosing right now.
It’s why I feel comfortable taking his hand. Leading him into my building. And, as we cross the threshold of my apartment door and I shut it behind me with an errant backwards tap of my foot, it’s why I feel comfortable removing my shirt. And reaching for his.
It’s why I feel comfortable whispering, “I love you, Snake. Will you take me to bed?”
Chapter Sixteen
Snake
Those words hit me harder than any gunshot; how does a man as fucked up as me deserve the love of a woman like her? Hours ago, I carved a man to pieces, without mercy, without remorse — I brought the darkest parts of my soul to bear to protect my family in the MC; how is it right for someone as pure as her to want to be with a man like me?
And how can I love her if I I know that it could cost me my place in the club?
The last time I went against my mission, I lost my best friend and it ruined me to my core. Will loving Adella do the same?
I’m a soldier — it’s my duty to focus on this threat to the club, to put all things secondary.
How is any of this right?
But when she kisses me — when she looks to me with those soul-swallowing eyes of hers — all those questions fade away.
I answer, “I love you, too.”
Because she looks at me like I’m not some dark, fucked up mess. All the pain I’ve been through, all the blood on my hands, all the scars I bear; she doesn’t see any of that. Or, if she does, she loves me despite it.
How can I say no to that kind of love? To a woman as special as her?
I can’t.
I press my lips to hers with furious hunger. My heart and soul starved for the feeling that only touching her, kissing her, fucking her, can bring.
I kiss her.
Desire consumes me. Drives me.
I need her. Want her. Have to have her.
Press her back flat against the door and I crush my lips to hers, to her neck, to her chest. Rip her bra away and lavish attention on the lovely mounds of her tits, sucking her nipples until they’re hard, until she’s squirming against the door with desire she can’t suppress. Knowing that I’m the first man who’s ever touched her like this, who’s ever brought her perky nipples to attention, who’s ever run his tongue down her tummy, who’s ever knelt in front of her and undone her jeans, who’s ever pulled them and her panties down to her ankles, who’s ever pressed his tongue against the soft mound of her pussy and heard her purr in desperate need, gets me harder than I’ve ever been in my fucking life.
“Keep doing that,” she moans as I gently stroke her clit with my tongue. “Don’t stop. It feels so good.”
I can’t resist chuckling. Adella Stone is innocent in so many endearing ways.
“Stop eating your pussy? I wasn’t fucking planning on it.”
I let my lips and my tongue wander her body — her hips, her thighs, her mound, her labia — I want it all, want to taste it all, and the moans she lets out make everything more delicious.
I could stay on my knees forever in front of this woman and die a happy man.
But eventually I cease my wandering, find a home for my tongue in the place where she wants it most, and I listen to the sound of her breathing, her moaning, feel the grip of her fingers on my head as she pulls me into the spot where each flick of my tongue makes her smooth thighs tense and her hips grind herself against my face.
I’ve found heaven. A dark, twisted bastard like me has found heaven. And it’s between the legs of the one woman that I can’t have.
“Don’t stop, Snake,” she moans, her voice rising in pitch. “It feels so good, I think I’m going to—”
Her legs quiver.
Her tummy clenches as her entire body stiffens.
I reach around and grab her by her delicious ass, holding her on her feet as she comes against my face. I want to keep her here forever, forever taste her, forever be close to her.
Eventually, her
