Page 55 of Ridin' Free
“Hey,” he greeted casually as soon as I was in ear shot.
“Got a visit from your girlfriend earlier,” I announced cooly in return.
He frowned. “Sparky, I don’t dogirlfriends, and the only woman on my radar these days is you.”
“Hmm. Well, Lyla seems to think otherwise.”
As he straightened and turned to face me head on, he replied, “Lyla will spread her legs for anyone with Stallion ink.”
“And yet she seems to think you belong to her,” I shot back with a flippant shrug.
I saw it as his facial expression hardened before he got in my space. “I belong to no one butme,” he spat. Glaring up at him, I refused to flinch as he continued, “Let me be clear—this is thelast fuckin’ conversation I want to be havin’. Seein’ as I happen to give a damn about this thing between you and me—for only God knows why—I’ll lay it out:
“Has Lyla been in my bed more times than I can count? Yeah. Is she sportin’ my ink? Hell, no. She isnotmine and I amnothers. I’d even go so far and say, this thing between you and me goes sour, hers will not be the pussy I seek for solace. She had no business talkin’ to you, and I’ll see to it that doesn’t happen again. That good enough for you?”
It was the right answer. It echoed what he’d been trying to tell me for days, but I no longer knew how to trust it.
“Whatever.” I shook my head, looked away from him, and said, “I’m going home. I’m tired, and my shit quota has been met.”
He curled a finger, butted it under my chin, and forced my head back. With nowhere else to look, my eyes found his brown ones—his irises barely perceptible in the scarcely lit parking lot.
“I’m not shittin’ you, sparky, and I’m no jackass. You’re not chasin’ my kutte, and I know it. Respect I’ve got for you goes deep. Deep enough to know better than to treat you like a sheep.”
A self-deprecating laugh crawled up my throat, and I was quick to cut it off as I replied, “Didn’t say you were stupid—said I was goin’ home. Not in the mood for a night on your couch, Twister.”
He stared at me, and I could tell he was annoyed, but so was I. There was no way I was going to let him sweet talk me onto his dick when I still wasn’t sure whether or not he was trustworthy.
I couldn’t think when he was inside of me, and I needed the space to sort fact from fiction.
“Just remember this, baby.”
When he didn’t say anything, I furrowed my brow and asked, “Remember what?”
No sooner had I got the words out than his mouth was pressed firmly against mine. He grabbed hold of either side of my head, keeping me where he wanted as he slid is tongue across my lips.
I hated for him to win, but I opened my mouth and let him in, anyway.
Our exchange was a bitter one, and I could taste his irritation as I poured out my own frustration into the kiss. But fuck me. As it lingered on, his tongue tangled with mine and the whiskers of his beard scraping at my face, I found it hard to hold onto the resentment I’d been battling all night. I wanted him. Fuck, but I wanted him.
Before I was ready, he was done.
He broke the kiss, my head still in his hands as he muttered, “Guess I’ll see you later.”
He then let me go and walked away.
Somehow, he left me feeling as though I was being unreasonable.
Now, the doubt that gnawed at my stomach was about me more than him.
“Bastard,” I breathed, reaching for the handle of my door.
Two nights in a row,I slept soundly squeezed between the back cushions of a couch, and a hard, tatted Stallion. After my argument with Twister, home in the comfort of my own bed, I tossed and turned until the sun was up.
‘Just remember this...’
He was in my head, and I couldn’t shut him up.
Or, more accurately, there was a part of me that didn’t want to.
