Thornhill Road (Love Me Tender)

Chapter Nine

My alarm clock sounded, and I jolted upright.

I was immediately aware of two things.

First, I was still naked.

Second, I had slept soundly. Again .

I reached for my phone, silenced the alarm, then held my breath as I looked to see if I’d slept through any emergencies. When I found only a text from Jenna, I sighed and fell back against my pillow.

I’d never missed a call in the middle of the night before. I kept my ringer really loud. Still, I couldn’t help but to feel paranoid anytime I woke up feeling certain I’d slept hard. It wasn’t until I was assured no one had suffered while I slept that I could luxuriate in my state of well rested-ness.

Then I remembered I was naked.

I jolted upright again, this time reaching for the lamp on my nightstand.

The warm, golden glow of the light splashed around my room, and I saw no traces of Mustang. This didn’t come as a shock. It was four in the morning. I’d fallen asleep right after sex, which meant the summer sun hadn’t even begun to set as I drifted into dreamland.

Of course, he’d left.

It wasn’t disappointment I felt. It was better that he had gone. I needed the space to think.

Except, with him gone, I had no idea when I’d see him again or what I’d say to him when I did. I didn’t know what we were doing, but it still seemed like a bad idea.

A bad idea that felt incredible , but a bad idea, nonetheless.

Aware I was never going to come up with any answers before coffee, I threw my covers aside and got out of bed. I snatched my discarded tee from off the floor and pulled it on, then went to my dresser for a pair of panties. I made a pitstop in the bathroom, then descended the stairs, headed for my coffee pot.

I frowned in confusion when I hit the living room and saw the light on in the kitchen. When I heard movement, my belly dropped, and my feet stopped. Nervous and completely at a loss as to what to do, I went to the window and peeked outside. My spine straightened, and my anxiety was replaced by shock when I saw Mustang’s Harley at the curb.

He stayed?

I turned on my heel and marched to the kitchen, still not entirely sure I could believe it until I saw it.

Then there he was. At the stove. Putting sliced bacon in a skillet.

Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I knew I didn’t have any bacon.

But I could only focus on one thing at a time.

“What—um—did you stay the whole night?” I stammered.

Mustang looked over at me, his eyes giving me a thorough once over before a half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Tess, you sleep like the dead.”

I blinked hard once, then reached up to run my fingers through my hair as I tried to make sense of what was happening. “Um, yeah—only when I’m really tried. It happens once every few weeks or so. But, back to my thing. Did you? Were you here all night?”

“No,” he answered, his attention back on the bacon. “Went to work. Hit the house to raid the fridge. Came back.”

“Came back,” I repeated on a whisper.

He left the bacon to cook, then shifted his attention to a skillet full of scrambled eggs.

Did I have eggs?

“Locked up when I left. Used your spare key. Found it in the first drawer I looked.” He paused, shot me a warning glance with those hazel-blue eyes and said, “Not a safe place to hide a key, sugar.” His attention back on the eggs, he assured me, “Don’t worry. Found a better spot for it.”

I was still too distracted to ask where. Instead, I begged to know, “Why? Why did you come back?”

“Fridge was scarce, Tess. You needed breakfast.”

“You’re—you’re making me breakfast,” I processed aloud.

Mustang frowned at me. “Baby, you need coffee to make sense in the morning or what?”

I gaped at him.

I didn’t understand how he thought I was the one not making sense.

He was the one who’d left, gone to work, raided a fridge, only to come back to make me breakfast. Except, I didn’t understand why—at four in the morning—he was in my kitchen making breakfast.

“What is happening?”

The timer on my stove sounded. He switched off the burner under the eggs, flipped the bacon, then used the tea towel that hung on the oven door to pull out a sheet of biscuits.

I was dreaming. There was no way in hell I was awake.

Badass bikers didn’t make breakfast at four in the morning. They just didn’t.

“You got jam? Only had syrup at my place.”

For a moment, I stood there and said nothing. Then, simply to test out my theory, I went to my fridge and took out a jar of strawberry jelly. I held it against my chest, the chill of the glass seeping through my shirt, alerting me to the reality that I was truly awake.

Having come to this conclusion, I asked again, “Mustang, what is happening? Why did you come back? Why are you making me breakfast?”

He looked at me from over his shoulder. “You take care of people all day. Who’s takin’ care of you?”

The air in my lungs left me in a whoosh.

I was in deep shit. No doubt about it.

Five words, and I was already falling.

Only, that was par for the course for me.

That didn’t explain him .

I managed to recapture just enough breath in my lungs to murmur, “You…you hardly know me.”

Mustang scowled. “We back at that?”

“Well, it’s true!”

He turned toward me and asked, “I need to fuck you right here to remind you of our previous conversation?”

“No—no, Mustang,” I replied, exasperated. “I don’t need you to remind me how good you are at making me come. Fantastic sex aside, that doesn’t explain biscuits and eggs!”

“I know enough to know I want more, Tess. Cookin’ burgers in your kitchen before I fuck you ‘til you pass out, followed by biscuits and eggs for breakfast before more fucking gets me that. I get your number in my phone, you get mine in yours, we’ll keep doing this until you stop tellin’ me I don’t know you.”

I liked all of that. A lot. Too much.

I could barely catch my breath, my chest swelling with a dangerous amount of hope.

I needed a way out of this. I needed him to want to leave before it was too late.

“What about Ed?” I blurted, grasping at the only ammo I had.

“Already established, he’s got nothin’ to do with this.”

“He’s my patient.”

He quirked an eyebrow at me. “So, you’re supposed to be celibate because you’re a nurse with patients?”

This time, I wasn’t so quick with a rebuttal. What he said reminded me of my conversation with Jenna just a few days before.

I was losing my resolve to fight.

I switched tactics and asked, “Why do you hate him so much?”

“Don’t hate him, sugar. He doesn’t get that from me. He gets nothing.”

“But why?”

“Because the only person he’s ever cared about in his entire god-forsaken life is himself,” he began, his face harder than I’d ever seen it, and his eyes cold—like they were the first time I mentioned his father. “The nicest thing he ever did for me was give me my first bike—after he bought it for himself and fuckin wrecked it drivin’ drunk.

“If he wasn’t calling me a sorry ass waste of space, he was pickin’ my mom apart piece by piece. Don’t know why she stayed. Loved him, I guess. And that love got her dead. So, I don’t hate him, Tess. If I did, I might be dead now, too—but I plan on livin’ long and free in spite of that jackass.

“Now are you going to eat your damn eggs before they get cold or what?”

A great wave of resolve washed over me, and all the muscles in my body relaxed as I stared into those hazel-blue eyes; eyes that were the picture by which I could piece together the puzzle that was Ed and Mustang; the puzzle that just became a little clearer.

Mustang had said he knew enough about me to know he wanted more.

I knew enough about him to be sure I couldn’t fix what was broken between father and son. More than that, I knew I wanted the man who made me biscuits and eggs at four in the morning, whether his father was my patient or not—so I stopped pretending otherwise.

I’d deal with the fall out later.

Pointing at the drawer behind him, I simply replied, “I’ll need silverware.”

Not five minutes later, we were both at my kitchen table eating breakfast.

Mustang’s plate was half empty when he asked, “You off at four?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“You work the day shift tomorrow?”

“No. Friday is my night shift. If my patients remain stable, I won’t have to start work until eight.”

“Good. Dinner. Tonight. Pick you up at six.”

A zing sparked in my belly as I filled my fork with the last of my eggs.

“You’ll pick me up at six…on your bike?”

“Yeah, sugar, we’re on the hog tonight.”

I wasn’t sure if I was hiding my smile from Mustang or myself as I shoveled my fork into my mouth.

When I was finished with my bite, I reached for the remainder of my biscuit and confessed, “If you keep feeding me bread at every meal, I will soon no longer fit into my clothes. I don’t exercise. I know that I should, but after a day at work, going to the gym is the last thing I want to do.”

In spite of what I’d said, as soon as I was finished speaking, I bit a chunk out of my butter and jelly smothered biscuit.

Mustang, having consumed his last bite, pushed his plate away from him. Mumbling around the food in his mouth, he said, “Exercise won’t be a problem, Tess.” He finished chewing, swallowed, then added, “You hurry up and finish that plate, we’ll squeeze in a round of cardio before I go.”

I looked down at my plate.

I had a bite of biscuit left and a strip of bacon.

With my mouth full of biscuit, I pushed my plate toward him and insisted, “You can have the bacon.”

He grinned, and excitement rippled through me, warming me from the inside out.

This time—I didn’t bother hiding my smile.

He didn’t eat the bacon.

But we did get in a round of cardio.

After we both came, we exchanged phone numbers.

Then before he left, he kissed me deep and greedy.

I wasn’t sure where we were going, but I was sure dinner with Mustang warranted my iconic, “hot chick,” four-inch, Louboutin heels. I wore them with a pair of black jeans, and a flowy, white, crisscross halter top. I swapped out the studs in my ears for my small, gold hoop earrings, and put on my usual amount of makeup. I felt pretty certain Mustang was a fan of my wavy hair down, plus I liked it free to fly in the wind on the bike, so I let it be.

I grabbed my denim jacket, just in case, all the while making note that if this thing with Mustang really did go anywhere, that would be justification enough to splurge on a new leather jacket.

I was ready to go and pacing back and forth across my living room a few minutes before six o’clock. This wasn’t our first date. Technically it was our second; though, one could make a strong case in saying it was our fourth if dinner followed by breakfast in my kitchen could be counted as dates. I wasn’t so sure. But he had taken me to bed after each meal.

In any case, this somehow felt like a first date—and I was filled with that jittery, excited nervousness associated with such an occasion.

When I heard his Harley rumbling toward my driveway, I froze.

That sound alone caused an ache between my legs.

I wasn’t sure if Mustang was the kind of guy to pick up his date at the door or not, and I contemplated meeting him outside. It was the gentlemanly thing to do to meet a woman at her door—but with the type of guy I tended to attract, it was never a guarantee.

I was still debating when there was a knock at my door.

I came unstuck and went to answer it.

My heart swelled when I found Mustang had dressed up.

To the casual observer, he still appeared dressed down—but I wasn’t a casual observer.

He had on his kutte, but that was a given. He was also wearing a pair of dark-washed jeans and a short sleeved, charcoal gray henley that was fitted across the chest and tight around his biceps. It wasn’t exactly a button-up, but it was a shirt with buttons, which he’d also tucked in, revealing the belt her wore.

He was so totally dressed up for me.

I smiled big, unable to help myself.

Then, in the blink of an eye, his hand was in my hair and his mouth was pressed to mine, kissing my smile clean away.

I took this to mean he appreciated what I had on, too.

The scent of leather, fresh air, and pine mingled with the taste of him, and it was sublime.

I was breathless when he broke our connection and asked, “You got sunglasses in that bag?”

Dazed from the contact high I’d just received, all I could manage was a nod.

“Good. Lock up, baby. Time to ride.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice.

Once at his Harley, Mustang stowed my jacket and my purse in one of his saddlebags before mounting his hog. This time, I managed to climb on a little more gracefully. Also, he didn’t have to pull me into him. I melted against his back, snaking my arms around him, needing to hold tight to his solid body as I was already starting to feel turned on at the promise of our ride.

He reached down and gave my thigh a squeeze, as if he understood, then started his engine.

Ten minutes later, we were back on I-90. I still had no idea where we were going, but as he picked up speed along the highway, I didn’t care. I just wanted to ride.

And we rode.

We rode for more than an hour.

We rode across state lines.

When we hit South Dakota, ridiculous as it sounded, I felt pretty certain I’d let him take me all the way to Florida if he wanted.

We finally slowed down when we reached Deadwood, and he parked us on Main Street, across the street from the Franklin Hotel. I spotted the Legends Steakhouse sign hanging off to the side and assumed that was our final destination. I’d never been to Deadwood, or to Legends Steakhouse, but something told me I’d like both.

As I sat up, I fussed with my hair a little, making sure it was still parted just off the middle and free of tangles, needing to do anything to distract myself from the longing that pulsed at my center.

When Mustang held out his hand, my signal it was time to climb off, I took hold of it and carefully dismounted. He didn’t let me go when I was on my feet but pulled me toward him, close enough to wrap his arm around my waist. This meant I was straddling his leg, and I had to bite my lip to stop myself from moaning.

He removed his aviators, hooking them over the neck of his shirt, his eyes on my lips the entire time. After an extended moment, he reached up, pulled my sunglasses off, lifted his eyes to find mine, then asked, “You good, sugar?”

“Mmhmm,” I hummed, not trusting my voice.

Mustang smiled, as if he saw right through me. “You’ll get used to it.”

I shook my head slightly and confessed, “I’m not sure I want to.”

He furrowed his brow in confusion, and I knew he misunderstood what I’d said. To clear things up, I took hold of either side of his face and brought my lips to his. I knew my message had been received when the hand at my waist descended to take hold of one side of my butt, pulling me even closer before he completely took over our kiss.

I moaned, all consumed by him, and entirely uncaring as to where we were or who might see.

He did that to me.

I was in so much trouble.

He slowed down our exchange, then swatted at my backside before he promised, “Fuck you when we get back. Let’s eat, baby.”

I nodded, my initial arousal assuaged a little after that kiss, then stepped back so he could dismount. He gave me my purse and my sunglasses, then took me by the hand and led me across the street and inside the restaurant.

Even though no one was particularly dressed up, it still felt like a fancy place—at least, fancy for our neck of the woods. Rather than sit at a table, Mustang spotted a couple open seats at the bar and opted to take those. I didn’t mind this, as it put him in closer proximity.

After the bartender offered us our menus and left us to peruse, I jokingly asked, “Are you ashamed to be seen with me or something? We traveled an awfully long way for a date.”

His body already angled toward mine, he looked up from his menu, then ed me up and down with those hazel-blue irises. “Tess, even in jeans, you’re classier than fuckin’ Ruby Tuesday’s.”

I lost a little of my humor, too busy trying to keep a death grip around my will in an effort keep myself from falling in love with a man who hadn’t yet even bought me dinner.

Not sure how to respond, I didn’t. He didn’t seem to mind as he went back to looking at his menu. I followed his lead. When the bartender returned, I ordered a glass of cabernet and the filet. Mustang stuck with water and got the ribeye.

Another glance around the restaurant alerted me to the fact that Mustang was the only one in there with a branded, leather kutte and tattooed arms on display. These characteristics had been what drew me to him in the first place, so I didn’t feel strange sitting next to him in my red-soled heels. Though, I was still trying to figure out the man beneath all that swagger—the man, I was sure, who could walk into any establishment he pleased without caring a lick what anyone thought of him or his affiliation with the Wild Stallions MC.

That was the thing about motorcycle clubs. The real ones. Loyalty ran deep. He’d told me himself. He was more Stallion than anything else.

Having decided that I was going to do this—whatever it was—with Mustang, and acknowledging a dinner date meant I could pry a little, I asked, “What made you want to be a Stallion? I know you told me Bull took you under his wing when you were younger, but how’d you meet Bull in the first place?”

Mustang propped an elbow on the bar, extending his other arm across the back of my chair as he considered me for a moment. Then he said, “Told you about my first bike. Was a hunk of shit when I got it. Only place I knew to go get help fixing it up was the garage. Had some money from workin’ odd jobs around the neighborhood. Mowin’ lawns, rakin’ leaves, that sorta shit. I was only sixteen, so I didn’t know what the hell I was doin’, but I’d borrow mom’s car and drive over there asking questions about parts and whatnot. Kept comin’ around. Guess you could say Bull was the first one who didn’t think I was an annoying pain in the ass. He saw how much I wanted it. The escape. The freedom.”

He paused when our bartender came back with my wine. I thanked him, looking to Mustang as soon as he was gone. I was learning a lot, but I wanted more.

Mustang didn’t disappoint. He continued, “After mom died a few months later, I ran away. Couldn’t stand to be in that house. I even left the bike. It wasn’t road worthy by a longshot. Didn’t know where to go, so I found myself on the compound. I’d break into the garage after closing for a warm place to sleep at night.

“Bull and Winona weren’t married yet, but he’d made her his ol’ lady and they were living together. Winnie was already workin’ in the office, and she found me one morning. Scared the shit out of her at first, but it didn’t take her long to read the situation. That night, and every night until I turned seventeen, I crashed on their couch. I was allowed to stay under two conditions—I put in my time at the garage, and I work to get my GED. Even back then, Bull was a hard-ass, thinkin’ ten steps ahead.”

Mustang paused again; this time lost in a reverie he didn’t share. I watched him, not daring to pull him from where he’d gone. Finally, his eyes cleared, and he told me, “Closest thing I’ve got to a father is Bull, but he’s my brother, too. He helped me haul that bike to the garage, and we worked on it together in my spare time.

“Nothin’ else made sense by then. The Stallions were already family, even if I wasn’t officially one of them. When I turned seventeen, I became a prospect and moved into the clubhouse. I was voted in on my eighteenth birthday. Youngest to ever become a Wild Stallion.”

I didn’t respond right away, not sure what to say.

There was so much there, and a few more puzzle pieces fit into place.

He let me have a minute, allowing all that he’d said to settle in my mind.

“I thought Bull was kinda cool when I met him, but now I know he’s the shit,” I said, completely serious.

Mustang grinned at me.

A zing sparked in my belly, then ricocheted like crazy.

Mustang was hot all the time, but he was downright handsome when he grinned.

“Yeah, sugar,” he spoke in reply. “No doubt about it.”

I was sipping at my wine when he asked, “What about you? How’d you end up a nurse?”

Right. It was my turn.

I set my glass down and laced my fingers together in my lap.

“I was eleven when my mom was diagnosed with colon cancer. For a short while, we thought maybe she had the chance to beat it, but she didn’t. Near the end, she was so tired of hospitals and doctors, she just wanted to be at home with my brother and my dad and me. I was twelve when we got to that point, and it had become really hard for me, losing my mom so slowly and yet way too soon.

“Anyway, her hospice nurse, Debbie—she was incredible. Somehow, she took care of all of us. She didn’t make it easier. There was nothing easy about my mom dying. But she made it seem possible to bear. And I remember after my mom passed—I remember her hugging me and sitting with me for hours while my dad wept in the room with my mom.”

I dropped my gaze into my lap as I pictured Debbie as I first knew her.

She was around my age back then.

“In retrospect, I understand she let herself get closer to my family than she probably should have. She’d never admit it to me now, but I know. Not that I could blame her. I get how hard it is to draw emotional boundaries in my job. But with Debbie—sometimes I think it was meant to be. We still keep in touch. She’s retired now, but still living in Casper. I consider her my greatest mentor.” With a sigh, I sought out Mustang’s eyes and concluded, “Debbie’s the reason I decided to become a hospice nurse. I wanted to be able to take care of people the way she took care of us.”

Our roles reversed, Mustang looked at me for a long moment without saying a word.

“Sorry to hear about your mom, baby.”

Warmth washed over me like a tidal wave.

It had been twenty years, but it still touched me to hear him say it.

Wanting him to share the feeling, I murmured, “Sorry about yours, too.”

“What about your dad? He still in Casper?”

I shook my head, the reminder of this loss a little closer to the surface than the other.

“He died when I was twenty-one. Brain aneurysm.”

“Fuck, Tess,” he muttered with a scowl.

“It’s funny—I had months to say goodbye to my mom and no time at all to say goodbye to dad, but either way, they both sucked the same.”

“And your brother?” he asked, still scowling.

Happy to talk about the living, I shifted in my seat and reached up to sweep a bit of hair behind my ear as I answered, “Andy. He’s a pilot in the Air Force and currently stationed in Abilene, Texas. It might be totally na?ve, but I like to think being a pilot in the military is marginally safer than any other job out in the field. And if I’m wrong, I don’t want to know because I can’t imagine losing him in the line of duty, and I’d rather just be proud than worried about him all the time. We’re all each other has left.”

He was still scowling, as if he really didn’t like it that I’d endured so much loss, but I didn’t want to talk about death anymore.

Glancing at the hand that was rested casually on the bar, I brazenly grazed my fingers across the ink on his knuckles and insisted, “Tell me about Mary-Kate.”

Finally, he un-furrowed his brow.

“Don’t know how the fuck she’s so sweet, but she is. She sees the good in everyone, especially me.”

“Can I see a picture?”

He didn’t hesitate to pull his phone from out of his pocket.

He didn’t even have to open it.

Mary-Kate was his lock screen.

She was sitting on his Harley, in a pair of pink denim overalls, her gorgeous curly hair everywhere, her eyes hidden behind sunglasses in the shape of stars, and she was smiling huge.

“She’s adorable, Mustang.”

“No doubt about it,” he said, pocking his phone once more.

I smiled, enthralled by the father in him. “Do you want more kids?”

“Didn’t used to want any. After MK, I changed my mind. Not for me, but for her. I don’t want her to be alone. Anything ever happens to me she’ll always be taken care of by the club, but she’s a girl. It’s different. So—yeah. I think about claimin’ an ol’ lady and poppin’ out at least one more.”

That was a good answer.

I liked it. A lot.

Too much.

Fortunately, before I could dwell on it, our dinner arrived.

Our food steered the conversation in a different direction. I wondered how he’d discovered the steakhouse, and he told me he made trips to South Dakota regularly. For a decent ride or a good band, and for Sturgis every August. He also rode to Montana and Idaho every so often, as there were other chapters of the Wild Stallions MC in Missoula and Boise.

I’d been to Bozeman, Montana, on a weekend trip with Jenna a couple years back; and my parents took my brother and me to see Mount Rushmore when we were kids, but there was so much outside of Wyoming I hadn’t experienced.

I shared this with him, and his simple reply was, “Always down for a ride, sugar.”

I couldn’t say how I’d become sugar , but it was sticking, and I liked it.

I also pocketed the promise his statement implied.

When we finished our dinner and the bartender asked if we wanted dessert, Mustang hit me with the same question using only those beautiful eyes. Remembering the New York style cheesecake with peaches in bourbon cream I’d seen on the menu earlier, I couldn’t resist.

We split it, then Mustang picked up the check, and we were out of there.

I double checked my phone before we got on his hog and was happy to see no new notifications. This meant I was free to enjoy our ride to the fullest.

On the open road, I cleared my mind and let everything go, just because I could.

Well—everything but Mustang.

I luxuriated in the feel of my body wrapped around his, and the rumble of his bike underneath us. The power of his hog was a reminder of his own prowess, and I looked forward to our next ride—where I was sure he’d take me to new heights of pleasure.

It was after ten when Mustang pulled into my driveway, and neither of us pretended we had a mind to do anything other than to go inside and rip each other’s clothes off.

Metaphorically speaking, at least.

I hoped he wouldn’t rip my top. I liked it far more than the tee I’d spared from a shredding the previous evening.

We were two steps beyond my door when Mustang hooked his arm around my middle and hauled my back against his front. I shivered at the feel of his beard hairs tickling my ear as he spoke.

“Bedroom, baby. Everything off—except the shoes.”

I shivered again. Bigger this time. Then nodded.

He let me go and I hurried up the stairs. I heard him slide home the deadbolt on my front door, but I hardly registered it. I was primed and ready to go. Even the act of walking was a tease, my clit so swollen with desire, one touch and I knew I’d detonate.

I dropped my purse on the floor the moment I stepped over the threshold of my room and flicked on the overhead light. My top was gone a second later, my bra soon to follow. I was stepping out of my shoes in order to remove my jeans when Mustang filled my empty doorframe. His kutte was already gone, and he made quick work of yanking off his shirt. While I shimmied out of my jeans and panties, he tugged his feet free of his boots. When I slipped my blue nail-polished pedicured feet back into my Louboutins, Mustang stopped undressing himself and bathed me with his eyes.

If it was possible to come from a look, I would have.

He practically growled as he ate up the distance between us. One hand splayed open at the small of my back, the other buried in my hair, he brought me close, so close my nipples tingled pleasurably as my breasts smashed against his bare chest, and he kissed me.

No. He drank from me—and it was heaven.

My hands were everywhere. Up his sides, across his back, over one shoulder, along his neck. I felt crazed with desire, like more than two hours on his Harley with no release had turned me into an unhinged version of myself.

“Mustang,” I whimpered between kisses. “I need you. To. Fuck me. Now. Please.”

He tugged my bottom lip between his teeth before he let me go, reaching for his wallet.

“Belt,” he muttered, extracting a condom.

My hands got to work without delay. I unhooked his belt, then freed his top button and lowered his zipper before he took over. He shoved his jeans and his boxer briefs down past his hips before he rolled on the condom, and then he reached for me.

His hands skimmed the back of my thighs before he took hold, and I understood. I circled my arms around his shoulders as he lifted me off the floor, and we both worked to get my legs wrapped around him. My back hit the wall, his eyes locked with mine, and I felt the tip of his length a second before he impaled me.

He rocked his hips twice.

That’s all it took.

“ Oh, god—yes ,” I moaned as pleasure ripped through me.

I was still coming when he shifted one of his hands, bringing his thumb to massage my clit. He kept thrusting, and I couldn’t tell if my first orgasm was growing bigger, or if he was already making me come again, but I dug my nails into his back as I squeezed my thighs tight at his sides, my toes curling in my shoes and my back arching as I cried out in ecstasy.

I was panting, my insides still quivering when he readjusted his grip around my thighs and moved me away from the wall. He sat me on the edge of the bed, wrapped a hand around the back of my neck, and the other behind my right knee before he demanded, “Other leg, sugar.”

I let go of his shoulders, spreading my legs wide as I pulled back my left knee with one hand, and used my other to help stabilize myself as he began to pound in and out of me. His thrusts were hard and relentless, and I never wanted him to stop.

My head lulled as he continued to support my neck, and my eyelids fell closed as I got lost in all he was giving me.

Friction had never felt so good.

Not anywhere in the history of the world.

I was sure of this.

When I felt another orgasm coming on, the sound that crawled up my throat was almost guttural.

“ Mustang! ”

“Fuck, yes, baby. Touch yourself. Come for me.”

I didn’t hesitate. I surrendered myself to his hold and reached for my clit. We both groaned when my sex clamped tightly around his length. He pulled out of me, and my core continued to flutter in his absence.

Then I was on my back, Mustang’s lips grazing mine as he panted, “Pretty in pink, and wild like the wind, my Tess.”

I was fairly certain I was delirious and hadn’t heard him correctly, which was why I didn’t read into what he’d said before he completely distracted me with a long, hard, deep, wet kiss.

With that kiss, there was no denying, I was an addict, high on all that was Mustang.

“Shoes off, baby,” he told me when he lifted his mouth from mine. “Meet me in the middle of the bed.”

I took off my shoes as he rid himself of the rest of his clothing, and we met in the middle of my bed.

His body on top of mine, he asked, “You got one more in you, or do you want my dick in your mouth?”

I considered his question for a moment. I’d come twice already, maybe three times—I still wasn’t sure. I couldn’t say whether or not he would be able to make me come again, as I’d never been with a man who could make me come as often and consistently as he could.

But I’d also yet to have his dick in my mouth.

“Mouth,” I told him without second guessing myself.

He rolled onto his back and reached down to remove the condom. When he was bare, he met my gaze and said, “You want my dick, you got it. Give me that pussy.”

Yeah—I definitely made the right call.

I positioned myself appropriately, then sucked while he ate, and it was sublime .

It wasn’t long before I realized I did have another one in me. As I drew closer to yet another orgasm, I sucked and stroked his length with all I had, wanting him to come with me. This was why, when he jerked his hips and smacked the side of my ass as he began to come in my mouth, it pushed me over the edge, and I writhed with my own climax right along with him.

I licked him clean then collapsed onto the bed beside him, more sated than I ever had been in my life.

For a few minutes, neither of us spoke as we worked to catch our breath.

Finally, Mustang propped himself up on his forearms, looked over at me and muttered, “Fuckin’ hell.”

I didn’t know why, but that made me giggle.

My giggle got me a lazy grin, and a zing shot through my belly.

“Between the sheets, baby.”

I nodded, then mustered the energy to move and meet him under the covers. He lay against my pillow, an arm lifted in invitation, and I stretched out along his side, resting my cheek on his chest. As soon as we were settled, he started grazing his knuckles back and forth across my waist, and I sighed contentedly.

“You gonna pass out before I get a chance to recuperate?”

My eyes widened at the possibility of more sex, but the reaction was only temporary, counterbalanced by his gentle, repetitive touch.

“Chances are high I pass out if you don’t stop touching me like that,” I warned him. Though, hoping he wouldn’t stop, I added, “Unless you keep me talking.”

His knuckles continued their journey back and forth across my skin.

“Why are all the walls in your house painted a different color?” he asked.

My body shook with my laughter. “It came like that when I bought it.” A yawn interrupted me before I went on to tell him, “I moved in a couple years ago with all these grand plans of remodeling it. I have the cans of paint in the garage and everything. I got as far as my bedroom and then was too tired or busy to keep going.”

He didn’t miss a beat before he replied, “Tell me what color in what room. Brothers and I’ll come finish the job one day while you’re at work.”

I frowned, taken aback by the offer. “I—I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not askin’, I’m tellin’. You got a man now, sugar, which means you don’t have to live in a place resembling a box of skittles.”

This time, I knew I was not delirious.

I propped myself up on my elbow, and my eyes caught hazel-blue as I blurted, “I’ve got a man?”

“Yeah, Tess. You’re lookin’ at him,” he told me matter-of-factly.

My eyebrows shot up my forehead. “Mustang, you—”

He didn’t let me finish. Instead, he said, “Tess, I like where this is goin’. I swear, if you spout some shit about how I don’t know you, I’ll spank your ass. I know enough. I know the thought of someone else’s hands on you—or worse, you on the back of some other fucker’s bike—pisses me right the hell off. So, yeah, you got a man. Not ten minutes ago, he came in your mouth, and you came in his.”

My mouth fell open but no words came out, all of them stuck in my throat. I then watched as Mustang’s gaze drifted down to my lips and a thrill raced up and down my spine.

I shut my mouth, forced a swallow, then found my words.

“What I was going to say is—you can’t say stuff like that to a woman like me. I fall hard and fast. Every time. Too hard and too fast, every time , Mustang. And every time, I’m the one who gets hurt because I come on too strong too soon. I—I can’t help it.

“I spend all day protecting my heart. When I leave my patients and their families, I no longer have the capacity to do that in any other area of my life. If you say stuff like that to me—”

He cut me off, again, rolling toward me and pinning me beneath his body as he said, “Sugar, you fall as fast and as hard as you’re going to. Rate we’re goin’? I’ll be there at the bottom to break your fall.”

My breath caught, and my chest felt heavy as my eyes grew glassy with tears.

I was in so, so, so much trouble.

“Mustang…” I barely managed on a whisper.

“Done talkin’ about it, baby,” he said.

Then he kissed me.

I let go and began my free fall.

He explored my mouth with his tongue and my body with his hands until he was hard again. He then diligently sought after my last orgasm of the night and enjoyed my body until he was spent.

When he left me in bed to go dispose of his condom, I passed out before he even reached the hallway.

I didn’t hear it when my man came back.

I didn’t feel it when he crawled into bed with me.

But I slept all night wrapped in my man’s arms.

And that’s who Mustang was.

Mine .