Page 20 of Wild Ride

Oh.

My.

God.

I have never felt anything like this in my entire life, and the moment we both come, I want to do it all over again. He’s still inside of me, his length still twitching as we both catch our breaths and yet, I want him again. I want to do this all over again.

When Bullet releases me and takes a step backward, the loss of him feels like a living, breathing thing. I want him back inside—now. I stare at him, but he dips his chin, and his eyes scan the floor as he begins picking up items of clothing and then puts them on.

I watch as he collects my clothes and shoves them against my stomach. With no other choice but to wrap my arms around them, I keep watching him in silence as he reaches for the leather vest hanging from the bedroom doorknob and slides that on his body.

He stands in front of me, completely dressed, and even though he just made my entire body sing, I’ve never felt more alone than in this moment. The dichotomy slams into me and tightens my stomach. I can almost feel the regret pouring off him. I’ve never felt more disgusting in my whole life.

I just want to pull my clothes on to cover myself and cry. But I won’t dare show that kind of vulnerability in front of this man. Not here, not now, and certainly not ever. So, I don’t. Jerking my chin slightly in the air, I look down my nose at him, thankful that the wall is holding my body up for me.

Bullet clears his throat, and I can feel his gaze slide up my naked body to my face. I don’t look at him, though. I look past him, just over his shoulder, and silently pray that he gets the fuck out of here and fast.

“You need to pack your shit and get the fuck out of town, Dakota. This is not for you.”

I don’t understand how this man just rocked my whole world and did not act like it sucked for him, either, just to be a complete asshole to me now. And that’s when I feel something slide down the inside of my leg.

He didn’t use a condom.

My body jerks and my gaze flicks to his. “You didn’t use protection,” I whisper.

His eyes widen, but otherwise, he doesn’t show me much of an expression. He arches a brow but doesn’t speak. I’m not sure if it’s because he doesn’t care or what, but what I do know is that his cum is sliding down my legs, and I am not on birth control, which, if he’s got some disease, is the least of my issues.

“Bullet,” I hiss. “You asshole. You exposed me to what?” I ask.

His shoulder jerks. “Excuse me?” he asks.

“You heard me,” I grind out.

He takes a menacing step forward, his lips pressed together tightly, his brows knit together in what I can only assume is anger. Although, he seems to look at me this way always. I hadn’t been sure he even had any other expression until he was inside of me. Only then did his face soften.

“You think I got a dirty dick, bitch?” he asks. “You come here from some sex cult where everyone is fucking everyone else, probably animals, too, or some shit, and you question me?”

My heart slams against my chest.

How could I have ever allowed this man to touch me? This man knows nothing about me and throws something that I told him about myself in my face. And wrongly, too. As much as I want to hate him for his hurtful words, I hate myself more for allowing him even to be this close to me. Because I clearly do not know him, and I allowed him inside of me.

I take a deep breath, hold it for a moment, then let it out slowly. “I’m not going to stand here and talk to you about this. I’ll just make an appointment at a clinic and pray to God you haven’t given me anything. You can leave now.”

His jaw sets hard, clenching, and I wonder why he’s so offended. He’s already made some kind of bullshit decision about me, but I’m not going to stand here and defend myself to him. I know who I am. I know that I’ve only been with one other person, but if he’s got some kind of perceived notion, he can swim in that forever. With the way he’s spoken to me, it’s clear that he already has decided who and what I am.

“I expect you to be out of town by morning,” he growls before he spins around on his heels and walks out of the house, slamming the door behind him when he does.

He can expect whatever the fuck he wants, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to be doing any of it. I pinch my eyes closed as anger consumes me and my knees give out from beneath my body.

I’m consumed by red-hot anger and pain swirling around inside of me. When I open my eyes after my ass has hit the carpet, I expect the entire room to be bathed in red. But it looks exactly the same as it did when I first walked in here.

“What an asshole,” I whisper to myself.

What a complete asshole.

Tears stream down my face, and I wonder how I could have let him touch me that way. Why did I just let him slide inside of me and fuck me against the wall? Reaching for my phone, which is still tucked into the back of my jeans, I call the only person I know and tell her what happened. Then I ask her how and why I let that happen.

“Because you’re a normal person who has feelings. Our bodies don’t always know what’s wrong and right, Dakota. Sometimes, animal instincts take over, and we do really stupid shit that either we wished we hadn’t or know better than to do.”

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