Kiss her like he never wanted to let go. Which he didn’t.
—
Travis’s lips crashing down on Billie’s was the last thing she expected, and she froze for a moment in shock. Then the thoughts invaded—what did this mean? Had he changed his mind about her? How did she feel about that? Next came the feelings, the taste of him as his tongue pushed into her mouth, the familiar sensations deep inside her as he cupped his hands around her face and rocked his body against hers. He was hard, and she wanted him like an addict wanted her next fix.
But, summoning all the willpower she had, she tore her lips from his and pushed her hands against his solid chest—she needed more than just a quick fuck up against the counter. Quite aside from the fact that she wasn’t sure her butt could handle such an act in its sensitive state, she loved this man, and it would break her heart to be with him and then watch him run again.
“What are you doing?” She panted a little, trying to catch her breath.
“I’m kissing my woman. I’ve missed it.” He stepped closer again, but she increased the pressure of her palms on his chest.
“Whoa…let’s slow down a moment. You don’t evict someone you care about, you don’t order her around, you don’t—”
He interrupted her. “Do you want me to grovel? Because I will.”
“Huh?” Her head spun.
“Maybe I’m not making myself clear.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and she tried not to mourn the loss of them on her skin. It would be easier to maintain her head if there was distance between them. “I’m sorry, Billie. I shouldn’t have told you who you can and can’t see. I fucked up. No one’s ever offered me love or any kind of shit like that and I just…I didn’t know how to deal with it. I’m even considering talking to Lorna. Do you know how scary all that is?”
His lips lifted at the edges, and she felt the tension and sadness that had been plaguing her these last few days ebbing away. “I didn’t think anything scared you, Cash.”
He chuckled, reached out and brushed his thumb over her finger. Her nerve endings stood to attention; the gesture was sweet and hot all at once. “Love does,” he admitted. “It fucking terrifies me. You do, too. The thought of losing you is scarier than anything I’ve ever faced before. And trust me, I’ve faced some pretty scary shit.”
“So you’ve told me.”
“Yes.” He lowered his head and leaned his forehead against hers. “And yet you still want to be with me. At least I hope you still do.”
“I do,” she whispered. “And I promise you I’ll never go behind your back about anything else ever again. I only went to see your mom without telling you because I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Shh. I know everything you do is with the best intentions. You’re too fucking good for anything else.”
“I can be bad if I want to,” she protested, thinking of the tattoo on her butt and all the naughty things she’d done with him.
“And I like the bad you just as much as the good you.”
Her lady bits flared in anticipation and desire. She gave him her most seductive smile. “Wanna show me?”
“Yes.” He nodded, smoldering heat in his tone and his eyes. “Definitely yes, but first I think I need to do some first aid.”
“What?”
“Your ass.” He pointed toward her butt.
“Oh, that.” Funny, his kiss and his confession had almost obliterated the pain.
With a chuckle, Travis took her hand and led her into the bedroom. With a gentleness she’d never expected of a big, bad biker, he hunted down first aid supplies and started tending her butt.
She lay flat on her stomach on the bed, her backside fully exposed, yet under his soft caress it wasn’t long before she forgot about her wound. Instead of pain, when he touched her, all she felt was heat and need and want.
“Travis,” she hissed, squeezing her thighs together as his fingers rubbed in some kind of antiseptic cream. “Forget about playing Florence Nightingale—I’ve got other needs that need seeing to.”
“Oh yeah? What kind of needs?” he asked, crawling up her body and lowering his mouth to her ear.
“Um…” She couldn’t think with his breath so close to her neck. “Carnal ones?”
In reply, he pressed his mouth against her neck, biting her, branding her, making her want him more than she thought possible. “I think I can help with those as well.”
At his words, desperate need zapped through her body—it had been days since she’d had him inside her and that needed to be rectified immediately. Without a thought to her tattoo, she rolled over into a sitting position and then shoved him down onto the mattress. Starting with his boots, then his T-shirt and jeans, she made quick work of his clothing. Thanks to his skillful first aid, she was already naked from the waist down and that was all she needed.
She climbed on top of him and sank right down onto his shaft. A moan escaped her lips as her body accommodated him. She met his gaze and grinned.
“Damn, you feel good,” he uttered, sliding his hand into her hair and pulling her mouth toward his.
“Good?” she whispered, starting to move slowly up and down his cock. “Who wants to be good when being bad is so…much…more…fun?”
In reply, he smashed his lips against hers, planted his hands on her thighs and met each move she made with a fast, hard thrust of his own. Her clit pulsed against him and she knew it wouldn’t take long to be exactly where she wanted to be. Hell, she was already there and, if the way he cursed her name was any indication, so was he. And being bad with Travis was better than anything she’d ever experienced before. Thoroughly spent, she flopped against him, her ear pressed against his chest as she listened to the beat of his racing heart. A sound more beautiful than any she’d ever heard, and one she’d never tire of listening to.
Then, he brushed back her hair and whispered, “I love you, Billie,” and she had to reassess because those words and his voice…they were the most beautiful things ever.
To my fabulous Deacon girls—Megan Crane, Maisey Yates and Jackie Ashenden—thanks for a wild ride and the awesome memories of New Orleans!
About the Author
RACHEL JOHNS is an English teacher by trade, a mum 24/7, a supermarket owner, a chronic arachnophobe and a writer the rest of the time. She rarely sleeps and never irons. She writes contemporary romance for Loveswept and HQN and lives in rural Western Australia with her hyperactive husband and three mostly gorgeous heroes-in-training. Rachael loves to hear from readers and can be contacted through her website, below.
rachaeljohns.com
Facebook.com/RachaelJohnsRomance
@RachaelJohns
When the biker who broke her heart rides into town, a woman must choose between passion and duty. Jackie Ashenden ups the ante in a seductive series co-written with Megan Crane, Rachael Johns, and Maisey Yates. Hold Me Down Coming soon from Loveswept Continue reading for a sneak peek
Chapter 1
Leonidas St. John Delacroix III—who way preferred to be known as Blue—kicked his boots up onto the worn wood of the chair in front of him and leaned back to survey the bar.