She shouldn’t. After the way he’d just made her feel—as if she was just another one of his cheap tarts—she should roll over and try to expel him from her mind. But she wanted to. More than almost anything she’d wanted before, she wanted to trail after him down the corridor and worship him in the shower. She practically salivated thinking about what all those tattoos would look like under the hot spray of water, what their bodies would feel like slick against each other with only water and soap suds between them.
Without another thought she leaped from the bed and hurried after him, her arms and legs still shaky from the sex. He’d disposed of the condom and was reaching into the shower when she arrived. She paused at the entrance of the bathroom, stealing a moment to simply stare at his naked beauty. While she had no complaints about the sex they’d had, the position hadn’t given her the opportunity to really look at him. As an artist, or a once wannabe artist at least, she was desperate to examine his ink and his beautiful body in more detail. To trail her fingers over his muscles, admiring the detail in his tattoos, imprinting them in her mind.
He stepped into the shower and dropped his neck back as the water sluiced over him. Billie swallowed, fighting a strong impulse to run down the corridor and grab her pencils and sketch pad. Travis would make a beautiful life model, and she could just imagine him permanently hanging on her wall.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” he muttered. “Get in here and suck my cock.”
She blinked. Had she heard that correctly? Maybe he thought she owed him after the amazing things his tongue had done to her. Maybe so, but she was done with men who thought they could control her or order her around. She opened her mouth to tell him to go to hell, but found the words refused to form on her tongue. Instead, what felt like an invisible string pulled her toward him as if she’d lost all control of her body and her senses. Utterly mesmerized by his naked beauty, she found herself stepping into the shower, all but handing herself over to his whims. Despite the warm water, Billie shivered as Travis yanked the stripy multicolored curtain shut behind them.
His cock was already hard again, pressed against her belly, reminding her of what he’d just demanded. While her head told her to resist on principle, her mouth watered in delicious anticipation. Without another thought, she licked her lips as she dropped onto her knees. His hands came down on the back of her head, forcing her toward him, and she flicked out her tongue and touched it to the tip of his erection. Nothing had ever tasted so good.
—
Anticipation tightened in Travis’s gut as Billie swirled her tongue around his dick, her hand gripping him at the same time, heightening the pleasure. Her touch heated his skin far more than the hot water that rained down on top of them and he let his head fall back, trying to lose himself in the sensations.
He’d demanded she give him a BJ because he’d wanted to regain the control he’d felt slipping away as he’d ridden her. He hadn’t been kidding when he told her it was the first sex he’d had in a bed in a long while, and the confession had stunned him as much as it had her. In fact, he could barely remember the last time he’d shared a bed with a woman. But it hadn’t just been the location. The sex had been different, too—he’d felt a closeness to Billie he hadn’t felt with any of his sex partners before. He hadn’t just been pleasing her so that he could then get his rocks off; he’d been pleasing her because he wanted to. Needed to.
And that scared the bejesus out of him.
It made things personal, which was something he couldn’t allow. Sex for him had never been personal. It had always been about the release, ridding his body of the pent-up tension that seemed to perpetually live inside him. He got angry, and he needed an avenue to expel that anger. Sex was the lesser of two evils, better than beating up on someone, which was the other surefire way to achieve the same result. Although he couldn’t imagine pounding someone would ever feel as good as fucking Billie had. Or as good as what she was now doing with her mouth and tongue.
He groaned and steadied his hands against the wall of the shower cubicle, the cool tiles a sharp contrast to the heat inside him. Her grip tightened on the bottom of his cock as she sucked him whole into her mouth. She swirled her tongue and then started to suck as if she were as desperate to get him off as he was to get off. He glanced down and the sight of her head moving back and forth in rhythm as she increased her speed almost pushed him over the edge, but he clamped down on his lower lip, wanting to prolong this as much as he could.
But holy fuck, she was good. It was without a doubt the best head he’d ever had, and as she glanced up and met his gaze, he realized he wasn’t in control here at all. She might be the one on her knees, but he was entirely at her mercy.
Billie wasn’t anything like the kind of woman he usually fooled around with. She was fun, sweet and naturally beautiful without the need for makeup and slutty clothes. She was softer than the women he sometimes worked with and fiercer than those he usually took to bed. Yet she wasn’t like a biker bitch, either. He couldn’t imagine her ever wanting to wear a patch that read “Property of Cash.” But damn, what a thought…He’d never wanted anyone to wear such a patch anyway and he still didn’t. He was a one-man band, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t indulge in a little more monkey sex with the little gallery owner while he was in town. Didn’t he deserve a distraction from all the other crap?
If it was possible, she smiled around his cock, licking and then gently nipping the tip before once again swallowing him whole. He lost it. Unable to fight it a moment longer, any grip he had on control spiraled into oblivion. He pressed his hands harder against the tiles as he arched into her mouth and exploded.
“Fuck! Billie!” Her name echoed around the room, but he almost didn’t recognize his own voice. She swallowed and then he reached down, dragging her up and holding her against him. He pressed his mouth to hers—if anything, his need for her growing stronger—and tasted himself on her lips.
“Was that okay?” she asked, when they broke apart for air.
He gazed down at her, admiring the perfect curve of her shoulder, the beautiful swells of her breasts. Was she kidding? How could she imagine that was anything but?
“Yes,” he told her. “It was fucking spectacular.”
She rubbed her lips together and then put her hands on his chest. She stared down at his tattoos and he stilled as she traced her fingers over the massive eagle with its wings outstretched across his chest, perched atop the Harley-Davidson logo. But her gaze moved to the fleur-de-lis on his arm. She touched a finger to it.
“If you hate New Orleans so much, why this?”
He stared down at her finger. “I didn’t always hate it,” he admitted. “Growing up it wasn’t exactly a fucking paradise, but that wasn’t the city’s fault. And then when I joined the MC, I really felt like this was where I belonged.”
“So what changed? Why did you leave the club?”
He sucked in a breath. For some fucked-up reason he felt like telling her about the job they’d done ten years ago and the spiral of events that had followed—that it hadn’t exactly been his choice to walk. But he didn’t talk about his time in the Deacons or what had happened with anyone. He shrugged. “It was time. I wanted a different life for myself. A fresh start.”
She nodded as if accepting this. “You don’t mind the branding on your back?”
He shook his head. “No matter who I am now, the MC is a part of me. Always will be.”
“Which is why you’re still here?”
“Yes, that’s why I’m still here.” And the only good thing about that was the woman in his arms. If she agreed to it, he might as well make the most of the electricity between them while he was around. He’d just be careful that he was the one calling the shots.