Page 16 of Slayin Villain (Royal Bastards MC: Nashville, TN #11)
Villain
I rode like the devil was nipping at my heels. Maybe he was.
Hell, maybe I was the devil.
My front tire spit gravel when I hit the turn outside Royal Road, throttle wide open, wind screaming in my ears louder than the thoughts I couldn’t shut off.
Rachel’s voice haunted me.
“You don’t get to come here and accuse me, then touch me like that fixes everything.”
I gripped the bars tighter.
My chest still ached from the way she’d looked at me. Not angry. Not even sad.
Just… done.
And I wasn’t ready for her to be done.
But I couldn’t promise her a damn thing. Not with this patch-over fresh and weighing on my shoulders like a fucking tombstone. Not with Kingpin riding my ass and every outlaw between Nashville and Knoxville watching me like I might break formation.
Because I might.
I was cracking, and the only thing holding me together lately was a pair of red lips and a smart mouth that shouldn’t be anywhere near my goddamn bed.
The light was on when I pulled into Ember’s place.
I didn’t knock.
I opened her door like I owned the place.
She stood barefoot in the kitchen, T-shirt falling to mid-thigh, hair curling wild and damp around her face like she just stepped out of a hot shower and into my fantasies.
“Villain.” Her voice was soft. Surprised.
I didn’t answer. Just walked right up to her and took her face in my hands like she was mine. Like I didn’t already have blood on my conscience and another woman’s scent buried in my past.
She didn't stop me. Not with words.
But her lips trembled right before I kissed her.
God, I shouldn't have.
I pushed her against the counter. One hand in her hair, the other dragging the hem of her shirt up, bunching it around her hips.
“Tell me to stop,” I muttered, even as my mouth traced fire down her throat.
She didn’t.
She gasped, arching against me, hips grinding like she needed to erase every trace of Rome, of anyone but me.
So I gave her exactly what we both needed.
It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t sweet. It was teeth and nails, the clash of skin and sin. Her shirt hit the floor. My jeans dropped next. Her thighs wrapped around my waist as I lifted her onto the edge of the sink and slammed into her like I was trying to bury every last regret inside her body.
I kissed her like she was my only salvation. I fucked her like I was punishing myself. Because I was. Rachel wasn’t the only one pregnant. Ember was too. Maybe having my baby too. And she’d told everyone in the goddamn club but me.
Our moans echoed off the cabinets, her breath stuttering as I whispered her name like a prayer I didn’t believe in.
“Ember,” I rasped, forehead to hers, hand tangled in her curls, “I’m fucking breaking.”
She shuddered beneath me, her nails sinking into my shoulders.
“You think you’re the only one?” she choked out.
And then, she cried.
Right there. Silent tears while I was still inside her. Her breath catching on a sob as her body trembled.
I froze.
“Shit… Em…”
She shook her head. “Don’t. Just don’t say anything.”
I pulled back, brushing a tear from her cheek with the back of my knuckle.
“I didn’t come here to make you cry,” I whispered.
“But you always do,” she said.
Her words sliced deeper than I expected.
She looked away, wiping her own tears now. “I knew what this was. I said I could handle it.”
“But?”
“I didn’t think it’d feel like this.”
I backed up, heart hammering like I’d just been shot. I bent, picked up my jeans, combed my hair with my fingers.
“You want me gone?”
She didn’t answer.
So I did what I always fucking do.
I left.
And this time, it wasn’t the wind on my ride home that stung my eyes. It was the truth.
I was burning everything I touched, and Ember?
She was starting to burn me back.
But I wasn’t in my bed an hour before she showed up at my door.
“Ready for more?” I asked her.
She answered me with a kiss.