Page 10 of The Biker's Last Rodeo
“I don’t want control or answers.” She narrows her eyes, and for the first time since I’ve known her, I think she might actually be angry. “Sometimes choices get made for you. It sucks I was abandoned in that diner, and it sucks your parents were killed in a hit and run. Both of us are carrying real pain, Duke. But this rage you're married to, it’s a trap. It’s keeping you frozen in the past, and the past doesn’t change just ‘cause you’re looking at it.”
I want to swat her reasoning away like an annoying fly that won’t quit buzzing, but with her tied out in front of me, the sun casting golden shadows on her skin, I wonder if maybe she’s right.
What would life look like if I stopped chasing ghosts?
Easier said than done. I’ve built my whole damn self around keeping my anger fed, focused, alive. It’s the thing that gives me direction when the world is silent. It’s my map, my fire, my permission to fight.
But now, she’s here, and she’s not just standing in the wreckage of her own story. She’s climbing out of it with light in her eyes and rebellion in her voice.
“I don’t know how to live like you do,” I admit quietly. “I don’t know how you came out of that ruin with a cute little smile and this sunshine and rainbows attitude. I’m not that guy. I was born to hunt.”
She watches me. She doesn’t smile. She doesn’t mock. She just listens… and that’s worse. I realize, for the first time in years, I want to be understood. Not as a weapon, not as a name, but as a man.
Her gaze shifts and glows with something warm and wary.God, I’m not ready for this.
“Maybe you were born to hunt,” she whispers, “but you were also born to be found.”
I don’t reply. How can I? What would I even say?
I can’t get caught up in this shit. Perfect or not, this girl is dragging me into the weeds.
I have a mission. A purpose. A reason I hauled her out here.
It wasn’t to touch her soft skin, watch her come, or get advice on how I should live my life. It was to tie her down, make her listen, and keep her from telling this whole mountain what she thinks she knows about me.
I turn away and stalk up the hill toward the house like I didn’t hear her at all. Like whatever she said just punched her ticket to sit out in this field all night long with whatever wild comes to play.
It’s deserved. She’s acting like a brat.
Brats don’t get mercy. Brats get punished.
But halfway there, something hits me hard. It’s not a thought, more like a jolt. No name for it, no reason, just a force that slams the brakes.
I turn and stare at her, my stomach spinning as I watch the wind kick up dirt around her tiny frame. She’s tough. Eyes steady, her chin high even when restrained. Her defiance cuts deep. I feel it in my ribs, in my gut, in places I thought went numb years ago.I want her.That much is clear. It’s not just the curve of her hips, or the fire behind her stare. It’s the way she rattles something buried in me. Lust, yeah, but it’s knotted tight with something heavier, some part of me that craves more from life than what I’ve been doing.
I tell myself keeping her tied is for safety, for control, for her own damn good, but I’m a liar, and I know it. I want to be the one she turns to and the one she pushes away. I want to protect her from the world even if it means chaining her up in mine.
So, I do what I knew I should’ve done from the get go. I stride back down the hill, untie the ropes, and lock eyes with hers.
“Inside. Now.”
It’s not a threat. It’s not seduction. It’s a demand.
A demand she follows.
Chapter Five
Maci
I want him to fuck me.
I want him to bend me over and slide his big, thick cock deep inside of me.
I want to feel his hot breath against the lobe of my ear, his rough hands on my skin, his deep voice rumbling against the nape of my neck… and I want it now!
Does that make me a whore?
I’m not sure I care at this point. My panties are sopping wet, and that little show of dominance down at the round pen only made me wetter.
