I stare at his enraged face for a long minute, wishing I could buy his story, but I saw what I saw, and I know my mother. It was probably one of her schemes to get him to give in to her.
“I wish I could believe you,” I mutter, looking away. “But I can’t Pax… I just… I can’t.”
Now my stupid fucking girl tears are pouring out and I have nowhere to fucking hide!
“Holy shit… are you crying?”
“What the fuck does it look like?” I snarl, feeling stupid. Kings aren’t supposed to cry.
“It’s going to be okay, Vix,” he whispers.
I’m half-cut and defenceless as he pulls me into his man-beast arms, the smell of him making my chest throb even worse as I sob uncontrollably. I don’t want to be crying about him on him for fuck’s sake, but God does he feel nice.
“Kirsten,” he whispers a long while later.
I’m emotionally drained and feel like dead weight, I don’t want to move, because if I don’t maybe it won’t be real.
“Kirsten,” he repeats, “remember when we argued last time and I told you that I never even liked sex until I met you?”
“Uh-huh, yeah, sort of,” I snivel, not really listening.
“Well there’s a lot more to it…” he says softly. “Things I’m not sure you will understand, but I’m willing to try to explain it if it will clarify my position for you.”
I take a deep, quivering breath, trying to focus on what he is saying as I wipe my eyes and sit up.
I can tell by his face he is really digging deep to tell me something that isn’t easy for him, and I know he wouldn’t bother putting himself through it if he wasn’t telling the truth.
I look into his pained eyes and take a solemn breath.
“Christ, Pax, you really didn’t fuck her, did you?”
He shakes his head no.
“There is no way I could have even if I wanted too, Vix. She isn’t you. No one else is you. This dick…” he says, pointing to his pants, “it only comes alive for one woman. It’s broken or something… I couldn’t even get it up for that hot waitress I tried to fuck back in December… and boy was it embarrassing. I don’t know, but I think it’s a side effect of the sinister shit I did as a kid, or maybe I’m just getting old, but either way I don’t care. I just need us to be Whiskey and Vixen again.”
I half-smile at him and roll my eyes to his sweet but serious face, feeling relieved.
“I still have questions though.”
“About my dick?”
“No, you big dummy… about the gun and how the hell you found me out here.”
“Oh,” he laughs, “I got the gun from the lawyer schmuck’s trunk… thought I might need it depending on where you were headed. As for finding you, I used a tracking app on your mother’s cell phone. There’s a chip inside your helmet.”
“What the fuck? Are you serious? Since when?”
“Since always. It came like that… it’s for riders who travel long distances, just in case they get lost or stranded. I didn’t put it in there if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Oh… okay… well that explains how you tracked me to the motel, but how did you find me up the street at the bar?”
“What do you take me for?” he growls. “I know you Vixen, I know what happens when you are upset: Hate-Fuck city! I knew the bar was the first place you’d go to ease the tension.”
I shrug and laugh, knowing he’s right.
“And about your family,” I mumble, feeling guilty. “I get if you’re mad, but I didn’t actually pay them to leave, I just offered Verna a hand with a plan she already had set in motion.”
“I figured as much. She’s been telling me for the last year to stop visiting and to stop giving her money. I think looking at me just made shit worse for her.” He pauses for a moment. His eyes meet mine, gleaming with a sense of support. “Thank you, Vix. You really are a saint.”
“Thanks for what? And I am not a saint.”
“For making sure they would be okay. You didn’t have to. And yes, you are, you’re as fucking sweet as it gets.”
“They are your family. I did what anyone would have done. You don’t need to thank me… and I am not going to argue with you about the saint shit.”
“Good,” he growls, “because I’d rather spend the rest of this night making love to you.”
I bust out laughing at his sly smile and climb on top of him.
“I don’t think either of us even know how to make love,” I admit as I remove my shirt. “But we can practice.”
He rolls me off of him swiftly and begins to undress, so I follow suit, watching him peel off his shirt and then his pants. This man has the most beautiful body and the stories of strength to go with it, and he’s mine.
I push him onto the bed, straddle him and trace my fingers up his stomach, following them with my tongue, until my lips reach his, tasting his sweet whiskey flavour.
His hands grip my hips as we kiss in a slow, deliberate rhythm, our tongues exploring each other’s as if for the first time.
It’s a profounder connection between us, one I never knew could get any fiercer, but here I am taking in the way he is gently stroking my back and teasing my hair. His hands are patient and calm, his moans quiet, not a growl coming from him
