The Biker and the Loner (Oil and Water #3)- S. Ann Cole Page 0,53

What universe is this? How? How do I deserve her?

"Hey you," she greets.

I doff my jacket and toss it over one of the bar stools, before rounding the island to her. Sidling up behind her, I loop my arms around her waist and breathe contentedly as her warmth seeps into my pores.

"Babe..." I drop my chin to her shoulder. "You've ignored me all day."

"I know." She sighs contritely. "I was just sort of in a mood, you know. But I'm feeling better now."

"Her?"

"I’m worried about her," she admits. "But I know you won't understand, so..."

I hate that bitch. I want to kill that bitch. That’s what you don’t understand.

Beating back my anger, I rub my hands up and down her shoulders while she continues to chop away on the cutting board. "Am I pissed you allowed it to go on for this long, Peach? Hell yeah, I am. But I don't want you to ever feel like you can't talk to me about it. You can. I might be a rough sonuvabitch, but I care about you. Deeply. And I'll slay your dragons for you." I dribble a string of kisses up the soft curve of her neck. "You can always talk to me, alright?"

Her shoulders relax under my touch. "Okay."

"You want me to go check on her for you?" As much as I hate the woman, I would. Because she means something to Leyana.

"Nah.” She shakes her head. “The entire security system is hooked up to my phone, so…I’ve been checking. She's been getting drunk and high and crying all day."

By her shoulders, I urge her around to face me, then take the knife from her grip and set it aside. "What do you want me to do, Ley. How can I help?"

She wags her head. "Aside from moving back in, coddle and enable her, there's nothing I can do except to reach out to her family to get her help. But I have to let go. She's been my problem, my pain, and my prison for too long. I just need to stop looking back, you know." She tilts her face upward and lifts her hands to loop around my neck. "You're my forward."

"Damn right I am." I grip her ass and slam her up against me. "Now kiss your man."

No hesitation, she tips up on her toes and kisses me, her lips soft and delicate. Letting me in to take control, lave her mouth.

She fits my arms, my palms, molds perfectly against me. Leyana’s mine. All mine.

I dip a hand between us and cup her. She gets wet so fucking easily. Love that shit. Her arousal dampens the crotch of her shorts in no time.

"Wanna...eat you…so...bad," I tell her between kisses.

She immediately stiffens. "No."

"I know, babe."

So yeah, my woman won't let me eat her out because of that disgusting bitch. Been sucking her dry since she was twelve and now the entire act is repulsive to her. I want to drag my tongue along her slit, suck on her clit, feel her quivering thighs around my head, but she won't let me. And I don't know what to do about it. She might never get over that shit and eating pussy is one of my favorite things to do. How in the world can I own a fat, juicy pussy like hers and not have it on my face?

Yep, that sick bitch sure is lucky the old me died in battle.

Shorts unzipped, I slip my fingers down her panties and inside her hot wetness and work her over until she comes apart, shaking, her eyes squeezed shut, nails digging into my flesh.

When she falls lax against me, I withdraw my hand and lick her clean from my fingers while she watches.

It’s the closest I’m ever going to get to having her for dinner.

Chapter 13

Ley

I'm panting, drenched in cold sweats and the aftershocks of fear.

Another one. Another nightmare that eludes me the second I'm thrashed awake.

Sweeping my hair back from my face, I glance over to Scratch who's deep in slumber beside me. I can't wake him, he'll go batshit; I've learned to let him wake on his own.

It's been almost two months since I've moved in with him, since we've embarked on this "relationship" journey together, and let's just say things have been dreamy so far. So unbelievably dreamy that I'm wary, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

This is Scratch we're talking about. Manwhore extraordinaire. I want to believe that I’m enough for him, enough to