Page 17 of Wild Ride

It’s warm, and the colors are all yellow and white. The cabinets are white, and the floors are light yellow. I’m sure they aren’t anything a man would choose, but I could think of a million ways to make this cozy.

It feels weird to open any cabinets, so instead of doing that, I make my way down the hall and toward the back of the house. Reaching for the handle of what I assume is the master bedroom door, I drop my hand at the sound of a noise in the living space.

I turn my back to the bedroom door, slowly move through the hall, and stop at the sight of a man standing with his back to me. My heart skips a beat, my breath hitches, and then I realize who it is.

Slowly, he turns around to face me as if sensing me, and his eyes meet mine. I can see the anger swirling in his gaze, and I hold my breath as I wait for him to tell me off again. But he doesn’t. Instead, he just watches me for a moment in complete silence.

“Bullet,” I breathe when it almost feels excruciating to stay in this oppressive silence for another minute. He jerks his chin, his gaze searching mine, still staying so unbearably quiet. “What are you doing here?”

He shakes his head slowly, his gaze never leaving mine. Slowly, he moves toward me. My feet shift backward until I slam against the wall. He doesn’t stop his approach, and then he slams his palm against the wall next to my head.

He dips his chin slightly, and his nose slides alongside my own before he speaks, his lips so close to mine that they’re practically touching them with each word he says. My heart beats faster and faster, and my breathing comes out in short pants.

“I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here, babe. But I can’t stay away from you.”

“I thought you hated me,” I whisper, my lips brushing his with each word. In turn, a chill shimmies up and down my spine because each touch of his lips feels like little electric shocks that tingle and zap my skin.

“I fucking do,” he grunts before his lips slam against mine in a hard—perfect—kiss.

CHAPTER SEVEN

DAKOTA

My entire bodyjolts the moment his mouth touches mine. I don’t know what it is or how it happens, but it feels like actual bolts of lightning. His kiss is hard and amazing in every way possible. I didn’t know that a kiss could even feel like this. Granted, I don’t have much experience with them at all. Especially considering this is one of very few, and it has never felt like this before.

I only dated one guy after leaving Willamette Haven. He’s who I lost my virginity to, but it didn’t feel like his fingers were charged with electricity when he touched me. He was nice and caring, but he was nothing like this, and how I felt then is absolutely nothing like the way I feel when Bullet is close to me.

Clenching my thighs together, I try to relieve the ache between my legs, but it doesn’t work. My center is actually pulsing. I didn’t know it was possible. But I want to slip my fingers between my thighs and touch myself, relieve that aching sensation.

Then, as if answering my silent begging, I feel one of his hands press against my lower belly, and I whimper. Bullet tugs my shirt up before he flips his hand over, his knuckles gently gliding along my bare stomach.

Every single one of my muscles that he touches trembles under his touch.

Bullet breaks the kiss, but only slightly, his teeth nibbling on my bottom lip before he tugs it gently. His fingers slip behind the waistband of my pants. My eyes slide closed as I hold my breath and wait.

Wait for what I know is going to be cataclysmic—in the best way. He tugs my hips forward, gripping the waist of my jeans before he rests his forehead against mine. Letting out the breath that I’ve been holding, I try to say something, but I can’t think, I can’t speak, I can’t do anything.

Our breathing comes out labored, both of us attempting to catch our breaths before we hear his words. They are barely audible. I’m not sure if it’s because of my panting or my racing heartbeat that seems to be pounding in my ears.

But nonetheless, I almost don’t hear him.

“I fucking hate everything about you, Dakota Vaughn, but fuck me, do I want to be inside of you.”

I want that, too, and I don’t even know what it all means exactly. I’m pretty sure he can hate me all he wants with the way he makes my body sing. I know what sex is. I saw it happening enough throughout my entire life and participated a few times with the guy I dated.

Nothing about it truly appealed to me, not from watching it at the Haven and not participating in it, but I think that now I realize none of the men really appealed to me. Even the guy I dated. While he was extremely kind and very gentle, he was not—Bullet.

Thisman appeals to me.

Very much so.

Bullet’s fingers pop the top button on my jeans. He grips my zipper and slowly drags it down until it can go no further. Then, as if he knows exactly what I want, the way I want it, which I honestly suspect he does, his fingers are between my legs.

I’ve touched myself a million times, but it has never felt like this, not once. Electricity is the only word that I can think to use to describe what I’m feeling right now as his fingers connect with my flesh.

Bullet’s fingers move between my thighs. I feel them slide through my folds before two of them curl inside of me. My head flies backward, hitting the wall when it does and bouncing. I don’t care if it hurts. I couldn't care less.

In fact, I think I like it.

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