Page 68 of Kick

“What the fuck do you want, Kayla?”

“Actually, it’s Indie now. My shrink advised me to change it. Kayla has too much pain attached to it. I’m not that girl anymore. I tried to be. But I’ve changed; you changed me.”

“What do you want, a fuckin’ medal?”

“Actually, I was hoping for a biker. One about yay high …” She holds her hand about a foot above her head. “Blond hair, dark blue sinful eyes, bad attitude, with a fondness for Subway cookies and killing mice the humane way.”

That pulls a reluctant smile from me. I run my hand through my hair, which I’ve also let grow way too long.

“I want you, Biker. I had to leave you to be sure.”

“And now you’re back? So what? You’re sure now, but you weren’t when I came to see you a month ago?”

“Honestly? No.” She sighs. “I didn’t know if there was an us outside of my revenge. I didn’t know if I could love that side of you when I wasn’t dependant on it.”

“And now it’s all rainbows and fuckin’ kittens? I can’t change who I am, babe. I’m not leaving’ the club and I can’t promise I’m not always gonna come home with a guilty conscience and blood on my hands, because that’s who I fuckin’ am. That’s what life in the MC gets ya.”

“I know.” She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “I know I’m not always going to like everything you do, and I’m sure there will be days I want to punch you in the nut-sack—god knows there’s been enough of those already—but I can’t be without you.”

I close my eyes. My chest hurts as if I just took a bullet to it. My stoic expression crumples into a scowl that I attempt to cover with my hands as I tilt my head up to the ceiling, but then she’s there, in my space, crowding me, tugging on my arms, wedging her way into my bruised and broken heart. I don’t wanna let her in. I’ve been feeling so fucking miserable for months, and I’ve grown used to wallowing in the emptiness inside of me. It’s more than that, though. If I let this happen, if I let her in, if I allow her to fall in love with me, I’ll only end up hurtin’ the both of us because I’m shit, I’m the fuckin’ king of betrayal, and no matter who’s on the back of my bike and in my bed, no matter how much I might want her and love her, I’m eventually going to fuck it up. I’ll eventually betray her, one way or another, because it’s what I do. What I’ve always done.

“You turned it into a ring?” she says, tugging on the white-gold band around my finger.

I pull my hand out of her grasp and stare down at her accusingly. “It’s the only thing you left behind.”

She gives me a sad smile. “Not the only thing, Biker.”

I scratch at my beard. “I can’t stand the thought of losing you again, Little Spitfire, and if we do this, I’m probably gonna mess shit up so bad that you threaten to leave me at least once a week.”

“Probably. I do have one hard limit, and if I find out that you ever crossed this line, there will be no second chances. You’re mine, Biker. No one else’s. Just mine.”

“Baby, I haven’t wanted up in anyone’s pussy but yours. Can’t even hold a goddamned hard-on without you being in the room.”

“Does that mean you’re hard for me now?”

“Not fuckin’ yet, but keep talking.”

She laughs, and it’s fuckin’ music to my tired-arse ears. I walk over to the bed, reaching out a hand to cup her face, and forcing her to look up at me. “I’ve never been good at this shit. I’m probably not gonna bring you flowers, and take you out on dates, and pick out fuckin’ drapes. But if you’re on the back of my bike, if you’re in my bed, then that’s it for me. I don’t need no one else, just you, Spitfire.”

She leans into my palm. “Drapes and dates are overrated, Biker. I’d much rather stay home and screw you with the windows wide open.”

I push her back on the bed and climb over the top of her, supporting my weight with my forearms on either side of her head. “I fuckin’ missed you, babe.”

She smiles up at me. “Missed you too, Biker.”

I wedge my hips between her legs, grinning like a fuckin’ tool when my cock finally snaps to attention.

’Bout time fucker. It’s only been six months.Jesus Christ. I couldda gone and joined a monastery in that time.

I slide my hand up her shirt, smiling when I feel her bare breasts, her nipples hardening beneath my fingertips. I come up on my knees and lift her shirt over her head. Those tits are just the way I remembered them: pink upturned nipples on pale white flesh that’s never seen a suntan a day in its life. I lick her rosy nipples, tugging on one gently with my teeth.

She arches into me, and I slide my hands underneath her back, all the way up to the nape of her neck. I trail kisses over her tits, up her neck and finally across her cheek to her mouth. She opens for me, allowing my tongue entrance. She kisses me back tentatively at first, then much faster, much harder. I grind my hips into the hollow created by her legs and pull away, unbuttoning her jeans and sliding the tight denim off of thighs that are much fuller than they were when we first did this. She’s still slim, only now she’s got an arse I can dig my hands into, and thighs that can squeeze my hips when I’m rocking back and forth inside her.

I remove my jeans and hurry out of them, climbing back on the bed. I position myself between her legs, lifting her hips with my hands beneath them, and then I lower my head to her cunt and lap at her clit. She slams her legs together—or at least, she tries to. Her effort is kinda hindered by my head between her thighs. Her hands wedge themselves between me and her pussy, and I glare up at her.

“You starve a man for six fuckin’ months, show him the all-you-can-eat buffet and then yank the rug out from under him, and close up shop before he even gets a taste?”

“Not that.” She shakes her head.

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