Page 26 of Ridin' Free
He thrust his dick inside of me, and then his face was lowering to meet mine.
I turned away, pressing my hands against his chest, suddenly short of breath.
“Get off,” I managed to spit out.
He froze, but he didn’t release me, and I began to panic.
“Phoenix, what’s wrong?”
I sealed my eyes closed tight, shoved him as hard as I could, and screamed, “Get thefuckoff me!”
The next thing I knew, he was on his feet, his hands raised in surrender as he looked at me in confusion. “What the fuck?”
I didn’t bother with a reply. I scrambled out of the bed, racing toward my clothes.
“Phoenix,” he called.
I ignored him, jumping into my shorts. My hands were shaking, and I hardly got the zipper closed before I gave up and reached for my shirt.
“Phoenix! What the hell?”
I barely got my arms into my shirt before I swore I heard him coming toward me. Rather than worry about the buttons, I reached for my boots, grabbed my bra, and raced from the room.
“Phoenix!”
I managed to find his front door with little trouble. As soon as I was on his porch, I held my shirt closed and ran barefoot to my car. Tossing my boots and my bra into the passenger seat, I dug my keys out of my pocket and started the Bronco’s engine immediately. I didn’t even bother with a seatbelt before I reversed out of his driveway, coming to a halt with a screech before I shifted into drive.
My naked foot pressed against the gas pedal, I sped down the street like a bat out of my own personal hell.
He managedto yankon his jeans and stow away his dick before he heard his front door slam shut—but he was only halfway down the hall when he heard the screech of her tires, and he knew he was too late.
He turned into the empty door frame of his guest bathroom and stared unseeingly into the darkness as he played back the last five minutes. The sound of her screaming at him was still reverberating in his ears—and the look on her face was one he wouldn’t soon forget.
She was terrified.
The redhead who strutted around with a knife on her hip wasterrified.
But moments ago, she was unarmed.
He had her completely naked—right up until the point where she went racing for the door, like a frightened little animal.
It didn’t take a genius to guess what set her off.
He thought back to that night in the A-frame.
He remembered their wild ride in the back of her Bronco.
Both times, she’d been in control.
Both times, she’d been on top.
“Fuck,” he spat, angry she’d felt threatened underneath him.
‘…too bad for you, I only fuck men who are down for a ride. And you don’t strike me as the docile type, Stallion.’
“Fuck!” he yelled, slamming the side of his fist against the bathroom’s door frame.
He thought her knife was on account of the fact that she was five-foot nothing, working at a biker bar, where things got rowdy on the regular.
