Reaper's Fall

With that, he grabbed me, jerking me into his body for a hard kiss that I wanted to hate, just as much as I wanted to hate him. But there was still that fire between us, one I could never quite kill. Now it was roaring to life.

I wanted him.

No, I needed him. Inside me. Over me. Filling me and hurting me and keeping me safe, because my body had decided I belonged to him, even if my mind thought that was complete and utter shit. One hand was tight in my hair, holding my head captive as he ravaged my mouth. The other slid down into my pants, clutching my ass so tight I knew there’d be handprints in the morning. My arms went around his neck and then Painter was lifting me, my legs wrapping around his waist.

He was so hard.

I remembered what his cock felt like when we’d made Isabella. How he’d claimed me and I’d felt so protected and loved, before everything fell apart and I was suddenly alone and scared. I wanted that feeling again—only Painter could give it to me. I’d tried to find someone else, but it was like he’d broken me, destroying every chance for happiness away from his touch.

God, but I hated him for that.

He pushed me up against a tree, grinding his hips deep into mine. It hurt. The bark dug into my back and his cock pushed against me so hard I felt every seam of my jeans, but I didn’t care. I wanted more. Digging my fingers into his back, I clawed him, because if he was going to mark me then I was damned well going to mark him, too.

His hips grew more frantic and suddenly it wasn’t enough. I broke free, moaning. “Fuck me.”

Backing away from the tree, he pushed me down into the dirt. Then his hands were ripping apart my fly and jerking down my jeans. They stuck. I kicked wildly, trying to get them off but it was too slow for him. Jerking me up by the waist, he turned me and shoved me down in front of him. I landed hard on my hands. Then I heard the rip of his zipper and he grabbed my hips, steadying my body as he lined up the head of his erection with the aching, empty space between my legs.

“I am the last man you’ll ever fuck,” he growled, thrusting into me hard. His cock slammed home in one motion, stretching me as I screamed in agonized need.

It hurt.

I wanted more.

I hated him.

“Missed this,” he groaned, jerking his hips back, only to slam into me again. His hands wrapped around my waist, holding me tight as he fucked me harder than anything I’d ever experienced. “Jesus.”

Bracing on my hands, I thrust my ass back toward him, wondering how something this hateful could feel so good. How he could feel so good, with his big, violent hands and his caveman desire. I’d never been so turned on in my life, every thrust hitting a space deep inside that sent aching swirls of painful need shattering through my body.

This wasn’t sex.

It was a fight for dominance, a fight I knew I couldn’t win but I was damned if I wouldn’t try. Every time he filled me, I squeezed down, hoping to hurt him or hold him or I don’t know what. He’d groan in agonized satisfaction and then we’d do it again, over and over and over until I felt like my heart might explode.

Suddenly his hand reached around me, finding my clit, and then I did explode.

Exploded and died.

My vision shattered, my pulse pounded, and every muscle in my body clenched hard, taking him with me as he shouted his own release. Hot seed spurted deep inside my body as I sagged forward into the dirt, spent. Painter collapsed on top of me, both of us gasping for air. Slowly reality came back and I felt his softening cock slide free, his come running down the inside of my legs.

That’s when it hit me.

We forgot the damned condom.

Again.

PAINTER

Mel looked like shit.

She was covered in dirt, her shirt was torn, and she had this lost, haunted look in her eyes. Christ. Picnic would take one look at her and assume I’d beaten her.

He wouldn’t be that far off.

Pic wasn’t waiting for me at the clubhouse when we got back, though. Most of the Reaper bikes were gone, and there wasn’t any sign of the fuckwad, either. The Silver Bastard prospects were smart enough to keep their mouths shut, although I saw one duck back into the clubhouse.

Seconds later Boonie stepped out, followed by Gunnar.

“Can I have a word?” he asked, eyes flickering to Mel.

“Sure,” I said. “Give us a sec.”

Mel nodded, almost like she was in shock. I suppose she probably was. Hell, I felt sort of shocked myself, so I suppose it was fair enough.

“What’s up?” Boonie cocked a brow, then nodded toward her. “She okay?”

“She’s fine.”

“You hurt her?”

“No,” I said, daring him to challenge me. He frowned, then nodded. “I’ve got some information for you, about the guy she came with.”

I stilled.

“What’s that?”

“He’s a dealer,” Gunnar said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not sure if he was dating her for real or just using her for cover, but he was here to pick up a shipment. We’ve been working with him for about six months now. Does special orders, that kind of thing. He’s bad news.”

I nodded slowly, looking back toward Melanie. She was standing next to my bike, hugging herself protectively. For an instant I felt guilty, then shook it off. She was mine. No way I should feel guilty about claiming my own damned property.

“We have a problem?”

Boonie shook his head.

“He’s nothing. I mean, he was a decent earner, but he’d never be more than that. He’ll keep his mouth shut—he’s seen enough to know better than to talk. I had a little chat with him, too. Guess he works at the hospital with her. I suggested that he find another job—fast. He seemed to think this was a solid idea. You won’t be seeing him again.”