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For the first time all night, the pit of anxiety in my stomach settles. The pain in my hand recedes. All I feel is…him.
I tremble in his arms, not from fear or pain. But because he's ruining me little by little, and I don't have the first clue how to stop it. At this point, I'm not even sure I want to stop it.
God help me, but I'm slowly becoming addicted to this man.
"It's okay, baby," he croons, brushing my hair out of my face with gentle hands. "You're okay. I've got you."
I melt into him, trusting him in a way I haven't trusted anyone in a long time. For years, he's been a big question mark hovering on the edge of my life. But right now, he's the only thing that makes sense, and nothing else seems to matter.
He carries me straight back to his office, gently placing me on his desk.
"Let me see your hand, Toto."
"It's okay," I murmur, holding it out for him. Blood oozes from the small cut across my palm, dripping down my wrist.
Rage flashes through his expression. His jaw clenches, the muscle in his cheek pulsing. "It's not fuckin' okay, Kylie," he growls. But he's gentle as he grabs the First Aid kit from his desk drawer and sets about cleaning up the cut.
My eyes water as he carefully pours antiseptic over it and then checks to ensure there isn't any glass embedded in it.
"What did he say to you?" he asks. His hand shakes as he holds onto my wrist to wrap it up once he's finished. He's so careful with me, his touch feather light as he winds the gauze around my palm. The contrast between the way he takes care of me and the fury still simmering beneath the surface is striking.
"He wanted me to drink with him, specifically on his lap," I say softly. "I guess he doesn't like rejection because he decided I was a rude bitch when I told him no. Rick was trying to get him to back off, but he started talking smack to Rick. It went downhill from there."
"I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault. I knew he was drunk when I told him we don't serve delusions here. It's worked well so far. They usually just laugh and ask for more alcohol. I figured it would work out the same way with him. Clearly, not all bikers are built the same." A sob catches in my throat. "I'm sorry. I don't even know why I'm upset."
"Because you were just verbally and physically assaulted," he growls, dropping the tape back into the First Aid kit. He pulls me to the edge of the desk, tipping my head back. His hands shake as he brushes tears from beneath my eyes.
"I'm okay." I'm not sure if I'm trying to convince him or me.
"I couldn't get to you fast enough," he whispers, his voice a rumble I feel all the way to my bones. "Fuck. I saw that motherfucker shove you, and I couldn't get there."
"I'm okay." I know I'm trying to convince him this time. I reach out with my uninjured hand, cupping his jaw. The stubble is rough against my palm, and I love the way it feels. "It's not even very deep."
"He put his hands on you, Toto," he practically snarls, leaning into my touch.
"Hazard of the job, right?"
"Don't." His voice is pained as he presses his forehead to mine. "Don't try to brush this off like it's nothing. Like you didn't just get hurt on my watch, in my bar. No one puts their goddamn hands on you, Kylie. No one."
"Memphis…" I whisper, my heart aching at the torment in his eyes.
He groans, the sound raw and desperate. Then his mouth is on mine, hungry and demanding. I gasp at the sudden onslaught, and he takes advantage, his tongue delving deep to stroke along mine. Desire crashes through me in a tidal wave.
"Memphis," I moan into the kiss, my fingers sliding into his thick hair to tangle in the silky strands. I tug him closer, desperate to feel every inch of his hard body against mine. My palm twinges, but the small pain is nothing compared to the ache deep in my core.
"Christ, the way you say my name…" He grips my hips, dragging me flush against him. The hard ridge of his erection presses into my stomach, and I whimper, grinding shamelessly against him. He growls, nipping at my bottom lip. "Tell me to stop, Toto. Tell me you don't want this."
I should. I should push him away, remind myself of all the reasons this is a terrible idea. But I can't. I don't.
"Please," I plead instead. "Don't stop."
He groans in defeat, in surrender, and kisses me again. His lips are firm and demanding, his tongue stroking deep, claiming every part of me. I'm lost to him.
"We shouldn't be doing this right now," he growls as he drags me off the desk into his lap, his mouth still moving against mine. He finds his way under my shirt, his palm searing me as he drags my shirt up my body.
He rips it off over my head, flinging it away. My bra goes next, the delicate lace tearing beneath his frantic hands.
