Page 53 of Kick

The air leaves my lungs in a rush. “I don’t know.”

We’re both breathing heavily, him from exertion, and me from fear. He lowers his fist, but then he uses his other arm to pull me into his body. Sweat soaks the silk robe I’m wearing. My nipples harden against his warm chest. He smells incredible, of pheromones and rage. He works his free hand around my back, tugging me closer before threading his fingers in my hair and grasping the nape of my neck.

I inhale. He exhales.

His dark blue eyes bore into mine. They’re so full of violence that it should frighten me, but the longer I stare into them, the more I want every punishing touch he has to offer. He lowers his head, pushing the side of my robe apart to reveal my breasts. They’re small, and under his scrutinising gaze, for the first time in my life I find myself wishing I had more. Wishing I had the kind of figure he’s used to seeing around the clubhouse, the kind worthy of draping over a motorcycle. It’s not the first time he’s seen me naked, but it’s the first time that matters.

He lowers his head and nips at my clavicle, kissing and biting his way down to my breast, taking my nipple in his mouth and sucking hard. My body goes electric, humming from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes. I arch into his touch, into his mouth with its cool metal piercings. He releases me with a loud sucking sound. I moan, threading my hands through his sandy-coloured hair. My flesh is on fire, and he is the balm. He licks a path to my other breast, consuming me as he would his favourite meal. There’s violence and worship in his touch, and I’m drowning in both. Swallowed. Consumed. I savour it. Revel in being handled, being venerated, being something worthy of the kind of hunger reflected in his gaze.

Biker kisses my neck, across my jaw, but he doesn’t kiss my lips. He pauses instead, pressing his forehead to mine.

He breathes. I breathe.

I slide my hands from his hair, down his powerful shoulders and across his chest. I toy with the barbell through his nipple, and he makes a low growling sound in the back of his throat, as if he’s barely keeping himself contained. I wish he’d let go. I want his violence, his pleasure—I want whatever horror he is hiding inside of him. I want it unleashed, if only to be able to understand him better.

He grinds his erection against my thigh. I run my hand down his hard stomach, luxuriating in the feel of each rigid indentation, and then I seem to lose control of myself entirely and run my hand over his denim-covered cock.

I’m not the only one losing control. Biker’s lips smash down on mine, his tongue pushing inside, tangling with my own and drawing a desperate, needy cry from me.

Next thing I’m weightless. My knees go out from under me and I’m slammed back against the rubber mat in much the same way I was earlier today, only now he’s not holding back. Now we’re not fighting so much as ripping and tearing at one another, seeking refuge in our bodies. His hand slides between us and yanks hard on the sash holding my robe together. The black silk falls away and I’m completely exposed to him, my pale flesh, my bruises and my scars, all of it laid before him.

He leans up on his elbows and pushes himself up from the floor. At first I think he’s just standing to take his jeans off, but the dark glint in his gaze forces my heart into my throat. Tears prick my eyes as I come to see his actions for what they are: a rejection.

I can’t breathe.

“I don’t know how to be gentle with you,” he whispers, but it sounds more like a hiss than an admission, and then he’s gone.

And I’m left alone again.

It isn’t long before sobs wrack my body, and I’m pulling my robe closed and curling into myself in the empty gym.

Five hours on the road, and I can barely keep my eyes open. I blink and then swerve when Princess screams at me to get back on the road. I gently ease in to my lane, thankful that there was no one else driving at this hour, and then shake my head to clear it.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep.”

“You’ve been out for hours.”

“Oh my god, where are we?”

“Just outside Port Macquarie. I woulda just pulled over and slept by the side of the road, but we can’t run the risk of the cops stopping to ask questions. Owners would have reported the car missing at the scene. We’ll have to ditch it soon, find another ride.”

“Where are we going?”

“Sugartown, about three hours north of here.” She nods, but I doubt she’s taken any of this in. “We’re gonna have to stop for the night. Sleep, tend to our wounds—god knows we have enough of them. I doubt we’ll find a chemist open this late, but there’s bound to be a servo somewhere.”

We pull into a service station about ten minutes later and I wait outside while she uses the toilet. When she emerges, she’s wiped the dried blood from her face and tamed her hair into a ponytail. She winces when she sees me, and I realise I must look like shit so I push her back into the stall and closed the door behind us.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“I gotta clean up before I walk in there covered in blood and I’m sure as hell not leaving you alone at a rest stop in the middle of the night.” She nods, and I can’t help but smile. “I should endanger your life more often. You’re much more agreeable.”

She gives me a sad smile and I figure it’s probably way too soon for jokes. I turn to the mirror and look at my face. Jesus Christ, I look like I just came shuffling out of a Romero film. I run the water and splash my face, wincing when it stings the cut on my forehead. I tear off a couple sheets of paper towel and pat my face dry, but Lauren takes it from me and begins cleaning up the spots I missed on my ear, my neck and even a little on my cheek.

“You have to scrub it a little. Tell me if I’m hurting you.”

“Take a lot more than that to hurt me, Princess,” I say automatically, but even as the words leave my mouth I know that’s not true. This woman could break me with her fuckin’ pinky finger and she doesn’t even know it. I gave her that power over me, and now I can’t take that shit back. And worse still? I don’t want to.

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