“It’s quiet.”
Train sat down on the edge of his bed to take off his boots. Then he unbuttoned his jeans. “Everyone’s at the party or watching TV in the back room.”
“Cool.” She looked around the room again, trying to decide what to do next.
Train reached out and used the bottom of her top to tug her toward him, solving her indecision.
He pushed her midriff top higher. “Do you know how bad I want you?”
Not answering him, Killyama took out the leather band that held his hair back. It fell to his shoulders, giving him a pagan appearance.
She had lied to him when she had told him that sex with him wasn’t that great. She had wanted him again before he had even pulled out of her, and she had spent months reliving the experience.
He would never convince her to leave the Destructors. The Last Riders didn’t have Sex Piston, T.A., Crazy Bitch, and Fat Louise. They also didn’t have Stud. She didn’t know what kind of president Viper was, but Stud had earned her respect, and she liked him. There weren’t too many men she could say that about.
The feel of his mouth on her stomach curled a fissure of awareness between them. Killyama kicked off her boots so she could then kick her clothes away, wanting nothing separating her from the heat of his touch.
Train fell back on the bed sideways, gripping her waist until her pussy was poised over his mouth. He held her easily, dancing his tongue over the lips of her weeping slit. Slowly, he sat her down so he could part her thighs wider.
“Damn, you’re not wasting any time.” She could appreciate a man who knew what he wanted and wasn’t shy taking it.
Unbuttoning her top and taking it off, she tried to catch her breath as her bare breasts heaved. Leaning back, she then placed her hands on the mattress so he could delve his tongue deeper inside of her.
He tongue-fucked her like there was no tomorrow. In her mind, there wouldn’t be. She had promised herself she would take it one day at a time, telling herself she could do him and keep her shit together. However, she hated to admit that him calling her psycho had actually scored a hit.
When he began using his teeth to graze her swollen clit, she trembled, unable to hold the tremors that rocked her body.
“Poor baby, how long have you been holding that in? I was just getting started,” Train crooned as he used his body to roll her over, positioning them until their heads were at the top of the bed and he was on top of her.
“Maybe I was faking it.” Killyama tried to keep her face impassive as he loomed over her.
“What did I tell you about lying to me?”
“You said you would walk away, but I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere with that stick poking me.”
Train laughed, burying his face in her neck. “I never know what you’re going to say next.”
His laughter brought back the time they had spent in her car. At first, she had blamed the joint for making her feel carefree and relaxed with him. Now she realized it was him. He wasn’t hard to talk to, and he was tender in how he touched her. It made her feel special.
Killyama shook the thought away. She wasn’t special to Train. No woman was, not unless she was a Last Rider. Then she would become one of many. She didn’t get in line for any man. She didn’t care how big of a stick he was carrying.
She licked her bottom lip. “Is that a good or a bad thing?”
Train tangled his hand in her hair, lifting her mouth to his lips. “It can be a little frightening. Most of the brothers are afraid of you. You can rip a man to shreds with your mouth. I can get used to it as long as it stops at the bedroom door.” He tugged her bottom lip into his mouth, nibbling on it, almost making her forget what they were talking about. Oh, yeah, she remembered; the pussies in his club were afraid of her.
“I like to keep men on their toes.”
“You definitely do that. I wanted to strangle you when you told me that you had ‘Fuck You’ tatted on your ass.” As he said that, he rose up then flipped her over onto her stomach, brushing his lips over the curve of lower back. “Another lie?”
“Technically, it wasn’t a lie. I was thinking about getting a tattoo there, but I hate tramp stamps. I might be a tramp, but I don’t need to advertise it.”
“My name would be perfect tatted there.”
“I don’t tatt men’s names on my body.”
“Why?” Train whispered into her ear, making goose bumps rise on her arms.
“Same reason I don’t see any woman’s name on you.”
“I used to have one. I had it covered.”
“Where?”
“On my arm.”
“Why get it covered?”
“She lied to me.”
Train reached into his nightstand, taking out a condom. She felt him lift away as he opened it and put it on before she felt his weight drop down on her again.
“That feels good,” she moaned.
“I haven’t done anything yet.”