“I’ve been kissed before.”
Maybe she did have a boyfriend. “Someone I know?” And damn me to hell for the jealousy leaking out of my voice.
She giggles. “Nosy much?”
Fucking jealous, and I rap the back of my head against the pillow at how much this girl is starting to own me. “Yeah, I am.”
The giggles fade. “It was freshman year and it was at Reagan’s birthday party. There was an empty two-liter and it was spun and I was either really lucky or unlucky.”
This gains my attention. “Who?”
She props her chin on my chest and looks up at me. “I’m not telling because it doesn’t matter, but I will tell you that he slobbered—like a dog. It was seriously disgusting.”
The laughter rumbling out of my chest surprises me and I love it when Breanna’s eyes sparkle. I brush my finger along her cheek. “The night I had sex, it wasn’t right. When I do it again...”
I can’t describe the confusion. Did I physically enjoy that night? Fuck yeah, but then I didn’t enjoy the heated shame. The feeling I had let myself down. The fact I did to two girls what Dad’s been doing for years. It was physical, no emotion. They stumbled out of bed, searching for their next thrill, and I was left wondering where the hell I fit into any of it. In the end, I hated that I had been used and that I had used them in return.
“You don’t have to worry about me pressuring you. You say stop, we stop.” That sums it up without my having to overexplain. “But I’ll never complain if you cop a feel above or below.”
I wink and Breanna laughs so loudly that she slaps a hand over her mouth.
Parts south on me support any action she’d take. As if on cue, Breanna glides a finger along my stomach, and it’s like she’s poured liquid electricity into my veins.
One breath in. Another out. A steady buildup of sexual tension. So thick that the air between us grows warmer. Her fingers wander lower, near the waistband of my jeans, and I bite back a groan. My hand eases to her hip and I begin this slow circle. The material of her skirt lifts with it and her breathing hitches. I wonder if she can feel my heart beating.
“When we kissed...” My voice is deeper than normal. “When my hands wandered here.” I draw my hand up and it gently grazes the underside of her breast. She edges closer to me as if she enjoys the touch.
Her tongue darts out and wets her bottom lip. “Yes?”
We’re playing a dangerous game I want to continue. “Was it your first time for that?”
She nods, then meets my gaze. My lips tilt up with the excited wildness in her eyes.
“There’s been no other touching for you, then?” I’m referring to south of her and I return my fingers to the skin of her thigh, but this time, it’s closer to her inner than outer thigh.
“No.” A mixture of curiosity, nerves and lust merge together to create that sexy hooded expression. She’d like to experience the answer to my question. If there weren’t stitches in my arm, I’d be willing to satisfy her desire for this new knowledge.
“Someday,” I tell her. “Someday, I’ll be better and we’ll be alone.”
“My heart is going to explode,” she whispers.
“Mine, too.”
We lie together. Her next to me. Me holding her. The chemistry brewing between us is an undercurrent not willing to be ignored.
“I almost turned away,” she says. “Violet was telling me things that frightened me—things about your club—and I almost told her to take me home.”
My heart stops beating and I freeze. “What changed your mind?”
Breanna’s silent and I count between her inhales and exhales. Each second that passes becomes excruciatingly longer. When I’m about to bust out of my own skin, she says, “I couldn’t stay away.”
“Why?”
“What if I said I don’t know what love is?” she asks like she’s testing out the words. “That I’ve read about it—in textbooks and psychology books and in novels, but it’s not something I can pin down the meaning of. Like, I know I love my parents and my brothers and sisters and Addison, but that’s what is expected and all I’ve known. It’s always been a part of me, and then there’s meeting you...”
She drifts off. I loved my mother. Loved my father. Loved Olivia, Oz, Chevy, Violet and this club. Then there was meeting Breanna and the emotion of being around her is nothing like that definition of love. This is heartbreaking and consuming and addictive. It’s terrifying and peaceful, crazy and serene. It’s a million things in one brief moment and it’s something I don’t understand and never want to live without.
“I’d say I don’t know what it is, either. But if I had to guess, it would be like when I’m with you.”
Breanna does what hardly any other person can do—she stares straight into my eyes without hesitation. “Yeah, it would be that for me, too.”
She loves me. That damn smile that I never knew was a part of me spreads across my face and I love the answering one she has for me. I burrow my fingers into her hair. “Kiss me.”
Worry shadows her expression. “But you’re hurt. Your arm and your side and there are cuts and brui—”
“If you don’t lean your body this way and kiss me, Breanna, I’m going to roll you underneath me and threaten to tear open my wounds so I can kiss you. Your choice.”
She purses her lips as if she’s annoyed, but she slips closer. Her hand claims my stomach, her knee brushes against mine and that tempting mouth is only a few centimeters away. “Your logic completely sucks.”
“Nothing logical about it. This is all instinct.” I grab her hips and drag her across until she’s straddling me. I fight the urge to laugh at the shock washing over her face. Eyes wide. Mouth rounded into an O. Her skirt gathers around her thighs and she’s settled exactly where I’ve pictured her being.
“You really are bad.” She adjusts to her new position and I’m about to lose my mind with the sensations that movement brings.
“Just now figuring that out?”
“Maybe.”
Doubt it. She’s smart. The girl has had my number since we met, but damn if she hasn’t fallen for me anyhow. “Are you going to make me repeat my request?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I’m not sure if you know, but I have this nasty habit of forgetting things...”
I tangle our fingers, pull her to me and take her lips with mine. Our mouths open and our tongues dance. Asking and giving, possessing and relenting.
My hand is along her back, drawing up her sweater and tank, and when Breanna shifts, granting me permission, I have the material up and over her head. We’re close to skin against skin and my mind becomes a whirlwind. She’s heat, softness, curves and sighs. Hair that’s like silk, kisses that cause earthquakes and she has a sweet scent that drives me insane.
A flick of my fingers, a clasp undone and the gentle pressure of all of Breanna is too much to bear. Our bodies move, my lips are on her neck, my hands are memorizing, and Breanna whispers in my ear, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
There’s no pain. Only a building heat and an impending rush. I shake my head to calm her fears and reclaim her mouth. The momentum grows and she presses closer to me as I press closer to her. It’s fast and out of control and there’s a light pain in my right arm, but I shove all that away as I grip her hips, encouraging this rhythm to pick up speed.
She’s kissing me and I’m kissing her, then she turns her head as she gasps and shifts so that we’re no longer in sync. Both of us are struggling for air and my body pulses with the need to continue. Breanna sits up, still straddling me, and looks down with wild and apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry...it’s just a little...”
“Fast,” I finish for her. “It’s okay. Don’t apologize. Never apologize.”
I rub my eyes and scrub a hand over my face to try to
ease the blood now pounding in my head, then encourage Breanna to lie next to me.
Her body becomes pliant and she settles against my side again. This time her arm and leg drape over me. My fingers knot in her hair and I kiss her lips several times. Each of the kisses soft. Each of them a promise that this moment is forever burned in my brain.
She’s my girl now and I’ll do anything for her at any time. I’m in love with her.
Breanna snatches her bra, tank and sweater and I do my best to school my expression so she can’t tell how I’m admiring the view or of how I find her innocence cute when she slips the tank and sweater over her head and then clumsily puts on her bra underneath them.
Before me, she’d only kissed a boy and she’s in my territory now. We visited new areas and I want her to trust me enough to return to those places with me.
“Are you tired?” she asks. “Do you want me to leave?”
I’m fucking beat. “Stay.” It’s a request in the tone of an order.
“I have to leave in enough time to sneak out and make it home by four thirty.”
If she’s staying... “I’ll get you home in time.”
When she’s done rearranging, I tug on her hand to indicate for her to lie down next to me, and she does. Her head’s on my chest and my arm keeps her tucked close. My world, for the first time in years, is full of peace. “You’re my girl, Breanna. You’re my girl.”
If she says something back, I don’t hear it as dreams have already started to invade my mind. It’s no longer nightmares, but dreams of Breanna and an open field and her wrapped tight around me.
Breanna
I’M HIS GIRL. His statement brought on a wave of excitement mixed with an intense dose of fear. Razor’s chest rises and falls and his heartbeat against my ear is steady and strong. He flinches in his sleep and what I love is how he angles closer to me each time he readjusts.
I outline one of his bruises on his stomach with my fingertip and appreciate his chiseled chest. Walking away in the forest would have been the smart, logical Bre thing to do, but I like who I am when I’m with him. I like how, for once, I belong.
Razor has an angelic face, but he doesn’t look like a man old enough to be carrying a gun, protecting semi loads of goods, and whatever other responsibilities he has in being part of a motorcycle club. He shaved, so he has this smooth baby face I itch to caress, and the tips of his hair barely kiss his eyelids.
A light knock on the door and Razor rouses from his slumber. He opens his eyes as Rebecca pops her head in. “Are you decent?”
“Yeah,” Razor answers. “Come on in.”
Oh my freaking God, did she really ask that and would she be okay if we weren’t? Razor gives me a swift kiss before sitting up. “Rules are different here.”
“So you keep saying,” I mutter as I slip off the bed.
Razor pulls a shirt over his head, shrugs into his cut and then shoves his feet into his black boots. He grimaces once in the process and I wonder how it’s possible to hide the pain.
“You’re giving me too much credit, Rebecca,” Razor teases. “I’m still on the mend.”
Rebecca snorts. “You’re an eighteen-year-old boy. When it comes to girls, it’s amazing how fast you can recover.”
He chuckles, she laughs and I’m mortified because we did make out.
Rebecca genuinely grins at me. “You’ll get used to us. What’s taboo in the real world is fair game around us.” Then she speaks to Razor. “When are you introducing her to the club?”
Razor rises to his feet. “Now.”
“What?” I’m not the only one shouting the question. Rebecca appears equally horrified.
Razor leans down and kisses Rebecca’s cheek. “I’ll tell them I met her in the woods. None of this will blow over on you. I can’t have her sneaking out of here like I’m ashamed of her. She’s walking out of this clubhouse with her head held high.”
“I’m fine with sneaking out,” I offer, but neither of them are listening to me.
Rebecca smiles like my parents do at me when I win an academic award. She hugs him and avoids touching the patch on his back. “You’re such a good boy.”
It’s weird watching this moment. One that’s too intimate. One that I would have never thought of as possible for the Reign of Terror. It’s so...normal.
“With that said, no. One, Breanna looks like she’s about to pass out.”
He immediately glances over at me and I weakly wave.
“Two, we’re throwing a club dinner in your honor on Friday. That would be a better time to bring her. The Terror Gypsies will be here, so will all the kids. The board will also be more welcoming of her if you give them advance notice that you’re bringing a guest.”
“She’s special to me,” Razor says, and I can’t help the warm fuzzies he creates.
“They’ve been asking you to play by the rules and I understand how hard that is for you. Waiting until Friday will speak volumes. Waltzing her down now will upset them because we sneaked someone in without their permission. If you won’t do it for yourself or for me, do it for her.”
Razor keeps his gaze on Rebecca as he tilts his head to the door. As if she’s fluent in nonverbal communication, Rebecca leaves without a word.
He heads over to me and cups my face with his hands, and I could stay in his warmth forever. “You’re my girl, and I can’t let you leave like you don’t mean something. If sneaking you out makes you feel like shit, I’ll take you down now. If it makes you feel better to follow the rules, then I’ll bring you on Friday.”
“I like not making waves,” I admit. “I like the path that keeps me from being the center of attention.”
His forehead furrows as if I’ve confused him. “The girl I’ve fallen for is fearless, so where is this coming from?”
I release a long breath. “I’m not as fearless as you think.”
“You need new eyes.”
I roll my old eyes in a “whatever.”
Razor has that predatory expression again and excitement curls within my belly. His hand goes to the small of my back and in a sudden motion presses me to him. I suck in a pleasing breath and he lowers his head so that his lips are a whisper from mine. “One day soon, I’ll be healed and we’re going to be very, very alone.”
Fantastic shivers run through me. And I thought what happened earlier was magical.
A knock on the door and I jump. The code. I haven’t told him about the code. “I figured it out.”
He blinks. “What?”
“The code. I took a look at the second code, and I solved it.” I break away from him and fumble with my book bag until I find the folder. “It means nothing to me, but something tells me this references the one I can’t figure out.”
I hand Razor the paper and watch as his eyes dart over and over again from left to right, repeatedly reading the few words: Consider this your warning shot ~RMC
He rips his stare to me. “That’s it? Nothing else?”
“No, but I swear to you I’m working as hard as I can on the other code.”
Another knock and Razor roars, “In a minute.”
He rams his fingers through his hair with so much force that I study the bandage on his arm to confirm spots of red don’t bleed through. “Don’t do the other code.”
Shock strikes me with such force, I’m dizzy. “What?”
Razor grabs both of my arms. “Don’t do the other fucking code. Leave that folder here and delete everything off your phone. And don’t ever mention to anyone what I asked you to do and you never tell anyone what you learned from that code, do you hear me?”
My mouth gapes, but no words come out. This code has been my life for the past two months. I’ve researched it. I’ve thought nonstop about it. He doesn’t understand, it’s impos
sible for my brain to let it go.
“Breanna!” He shakes me slightly. “Tell me you understand.”
When I remain speechless, he releases me and tears off across the room, and my folder is in his hand. My heart gallops. Two months of my life is in his grasp. “What are you doing?”
“I’m saving your life. Get the code off your phone when you get home.”
“What do you mean, saving my life?”
Razor breathes hard as if he had run a marathon, and the way his eyes freeze into ice, I know that I could beg and plead and he’d never tell me.
Another knock, the door opens and Rebecca walks in. “We have to go.”
Razor picks up my backpack, hands it to me, but keeps my folder. My mind is a train wreck, but I accept my backpack and the swift kiss from Razor, but it’s like I’ve entered another dimension as I follow Rebecca out of the room.
The folder isn’t a complete loss. I read and wrote everything in there, so I remember it. I could have it back on paper in a half hour if I wanted, but what frightens me is Razor’s warning. He implied that if I continue I could be in harm’s way.
But Razor doesn’t understand how my brain is twisted. I have to work on the code because I’ll never be able to function without noise until it’s solved. Days like today, I realize that my mind is most definitely a curse.
RAZOR
I’M IN A CAGE and it pisses me off. I crave the wind on my face and the power of my bike pushing me forward. Because everyone is still treating me with kid gloves, Pigpen’s driving me in his pickup truck, blasting music that’s more screaming than music. I prefer electric guitar over voices, but it’s not my fucking truck.
Two guys ride on bikes in front of us. Two behind. It’s like our own messed-up version of an honor parade.
Pigpen takes the wide curve on my dad’s property and my bike’s sitting pretty under the carport of the garage. It shines in the evening sun, sparkles even. I was told it’s been buffed up, gassed up, and it’s ready to go. Everyone knows I’ve been staying with Cyrus, so the fact that they dropped my bike off here feels staged.