Page 78 of True Bastard
He surged, a tempest of raw need, his rhythm accelerating, each thrust a thunderous declaration. The ancient wood of the bed groaned, a desperate counterpoint to the violent tremor that shook the headboard against the plaster, a raw symphony of our entwined desperation. He plunged into me with a savage grace, a possessive hunger that stripped away thought, leaving only the blinding, all-consuming burn of sensation.
A guttural cry tore from his throat, his frame pulling taut with exertion as his head dipped, his teeth sinking into my nipple, a sharp, exquisite agony that stole my breath. Words dissolved into a torrent of broken sounds, ragged gasps, and primal moans that clawed their way from my depths. My hips arched, an involuntary dance, an instinctual rhythm awakening within me, a tide I’d never known I commanded. The searing friction, the inferno of his heat, the sheer, undeniable force of him within me, relentlessly dragged me toward the precipice.
He lowered himself, his lips finding the sensitive pulse of my neck, a gentle bite that deepened into a slow, languid lick. “Comefor me, Kitten,” he rasped, his voice rough velvet. “Give me your cream.”
His fingers, a sculptor of exquisite torment, traced a path through the humid air that shimmered between us. They found the core of me, the tender, exquisitely sensitive nub of my being, and began their dance. Each deliberate circle, each calculated application of pressure, was a masterpiece of exquisite agony, a symphony of burning anticipation that sent seismic waves of pure, unadulterated ecstasy rippling through my very marrow. My world imploded. The climax descended not like a wave, but a cataclysm, a shattering, all-consuming supernova that ripped through me, leaving me gasping, my body a quivering testament to the inferno. I arched, a wild, untamed creature, my nails tearing into his skin, drawing ruby trails as he drove himself into me with a ferocity that defied gravity, a relentless, uncompromising rhythm that threatened to break me.
Then, with a final, earth-shattering groan tearing from his throat, he plunged one last, savage time, the very bone of him slamming against the deepest, most hidden part of me. He emptied himself into my abyss, a molten, pulsing torrent that flooded every inch of my being, leaving me sensationally, gloriously undone.
Spent, he collapsed, a dead weight of pure masculine energy, his breath a ragged storm against my ear, a growl that vibrated through my bones.
“Mine,” he rasped, that one word a brand seared into my soul.
Chapter Forty-Four
Kyllian
Walking down the stairs early the next morning, I surveyed the destruction and shook my head. Stepping over sleeping brothers, I made my way to the front door when a growl stopped me in my tracks. Slowly turning, I saw Morpheus sitting at a table, Lollie sleeping on the floor next to him, naked.
“Where the fuck are you going?”
“Into town. I need to speak to Alice about the job she offered me.”
“At the diner?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Got love for all you crazy bastards, but like I told Firestride, I’m not going to sit around here and do nothing all day.”
“Here,” Morpheus muttered, reaching into his cut and pulling out a wad of cash. “Was going to give this to her last night, but she took off as soon as the whores showed up. Bitch has limitations. I can respect that. She’s solid too. Tell her she’s welcome anytime.”
Taking the cash, I smiled. “Will do.”
“Kitten,” he said as I went to walk away, stopping me in my tracks and throwing a set of keys my way. “Proud of you.”
Catching them, I cocked my hip and smirked. “Why, Kane Boudelaire, is that your way of saying you like me?”
He growled. “Get the fuck out of here.”
Blowing him a kiss, I laughed, leaving the clubhouse, the cool morning air brushing against my skin as I made my way toward the truck. The keys felt heavy in my palm—a promise of freedom, or maybe just a new beginning. As I started the engine, I glanced back at the clubhouse, half expecting Morpheus to yell after me again, but all was quiet. The drive into Deadwood was short but felt significant, each mile carrying me farther from last night’s chaos and closer to something of my own.
Driving through the small town, I took my time learning and seeing what it had to offer. It felt strange after all these weeks to be free to venture out on my own, liberating in a way.
The town of Deadwood wasn’t much to write home about, but it had the amenities—a small grocery store, a gas station, a post office, basically the essentials. Parking the truck near Alice’s diner, I cut the engine and got out, slamming the truck door shut, when someone growled from behind me. “Kyllian Ward?”
Spinning around, I gasped as my eyes landed on a familiar face; one I hadn’t seen since Birmingham. Slowly backing up, my eyes scanned the street for help. When I found none, I palmed the keys, bracing myself for a fight. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
The man snarled as he grabbed my arm and yanked me close. “Looking for you, bitch.”
“Why?”
“You ran from me.”
“What?” I stared at the man, confused.
Twisting in his hold, I searched for any place that might give me shelter. The man sneered viciously, then licked his lips just as the club prospect from Disturbed ran over.
“Problem?”
When neither of us moved, the prospect drew his gun and pointed it at the man. “Get the fuck out of here. She’s Bastard, asshole.”
