Train's Clash
Page 15
His laughter brought back the time they had spent in her car. At first, she had blamed the joint for making her feel carefree and relaxed with him. Now she realized it was him. He wasn’t hard to talk to, and he was tender in how he touched her. It made her feel special.
Killyama shook the thought away. She wasn’t special to Train. No woman was, not unless she was a Last Rider. Then she would become one of many. She didn’t get in line for any man. She didn’t care how big of a stick he was carrying.
She licked her bottom lip. “Is that a good or a bad thing?”
Train tangled his hand in her hair, lifting her mouth to his lips. “It can be a little frightening. Most of the brothers are afraid of you. You can rip a man to shreds with your mouth. I can get used to it as long as it stops at the bedroom door.” He tugged her bottom lip into his mouth, nibbling on it, almost making her forget what they were talking about. Oh, yeah, she remembered; the pussies in his club were afraid of her.
“I like to keep men on their toes.”
“You definitely do that. I wanted to strangle you when you told me that you had ‘Fuck You’ tatted on your ass.” As he said that, he rose up then flipped her over onto her stomach, brushing his lips over the curve of lower back. “Another lie?”
“Technically, it wasn’t a lie. I was thinking about getting a tattoo there, but I hate tramp stamps. I might be a tramp, but I don’t need to advertise it.”
“My name would be perfect tatted there.”
“I don’t tatt men’s names on my body.”
“Why?” Train whispered into her ear, making goose bumps rise on her arms.
“Same reason I don’t see any woman’s name on you.”
“I used to have one. I had it covered.”
“Where?”
“On my arm.”
“Why get it covered?”
“She lied to me.”
Train reached into his nightstand, taking out a condom. She felt him lift away as he opened it and put it on before she felt his weight drop down on her again.
“That feels good,” she moaned.
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
She bunched up the pillow beneath her cheek to lay more comfortably. “I like the way you fit against me.”
Killyama felt him pause, then his cock dipped between her thighs. She was so aroused he easily slipped inside of her with a hard thrust.
She was surrounded by Train’s body, his thick cock taking her an inch at a time as she quivered under him. She stayed still, letting him do all the work. Truthfully, she was worried she would come again too soon.
She liked everything he was doing to her—his groans, the way he wasn’t too rough yet forceful, the overwhelming buildup of giving herself to him. This was the only time she let her feminine side come out, a time when she could be all sweet and girly. She always had to look out for herself, but in bed with Train, she felt safe and protected, when usually she was the one who had everyone else’s back.
When she felt Train’s cock throbbing inside of her, she allowed herself to come again, holding the pillow and burying her face in it to keep from screaming out loud. She was not going to let any of the other Last Riders hear her. A woman had to have some pride.
Train heaved himself off her, settling down beside of her. She turned to her side so she could stare at him. She couldn’t see his dark eyes under his lashes, but she could see that he was breathing heavily. Killyama reached out, smoothing her hand over his corded waist.
“Poor baby, how long have you been holding that in?” Killyama mocked his words back at him.
From the look on his face, he had enjoyed the sex as much she had.
Giving him a small pat on his waist, she raised up, slipping her legs off the bed.
“Where are you going?” Train grunted out, trying to grab her and pull her back to the bed.
Evading him, she bent down for her top, and then slipped it over her head. “Going back to the party,” she answered, running her hand through her tumbled curls.
“Why? I thought you would stay the night?”
“Some other time. Where’s the bathroom?”
Train wasn’t happy with her answer. The satisfaction on his face evaporated and was replaced with injured male pride.
“In the hall. It’s the one next to mine on the left,” he answered abruptly.
“You don’t have your own bathroom?”
“No. Don’t worry about it; no one else is upstairs. I would have heard them come up the steps.”
Grabbing her pants and boots, she heard him get out of the bed as she left to go to the bathroom. She took her time washing up, giving him enough time to get dressed, and not returning until she had redressed.
Tersely, he grabbed his keys off the nightstand. “Ready?”
“Whenever you are.” She kept herself calm and measured, offhandedly making herself seem unmoved by what had happened between them on the bed.
Train nodded, going for the door, but then he stopped in front of her. “Why don’t you want to stay?”
“Dude, you think I don’t know the difference between asking me out on a date and asking me to be a Last Rider? You’re the one who decided to draw a line in the sand. Don’t blame me if I’m not going to tiptoe over it when you want more.”
She hadn’t been looking for a relationship the day in the car when she had tried to entice him into another round, but she also hadn’t been looking to feel like a slut when he was ready to leave. When he had told her no and then mentioned The Last Riders, she knew exactly what he thought of her.
“Do you bitch this much when one of the women in the club don’t stay with you?”
His jaw tightened. “Never mind.”
She couldn’t read his expression, but his eyes were dark and stormy as they made their way from the club to his bike. Jumping on behind him, she grabbed his belt as Train started his bike. The night had grown cold and damp. Shivering, she pressed her breasts against his back.
He stopped the motorcycle before he pulled out of the parking lot. “I have a jacket in my saddlebag.”
Killyama twisted sideways, opening the bag to take out a leather jacket. Seeing the patches on the back of it, she started to put it back.
“What are you doing? Put it on.” Confusion clouded his features.
“It’s a Last Riders’ jacket; I’d rather freeze.” She put it back in the saddlebag.
Train turned off the motorcycle and got off.
“What in the hell are you doing?” Turning, she saw him going to a truck that was parked at the end of the lot. A minute later, he came back with a tan jacket.
“Put it on,” he demanded.
Taking it from him, she slipped it on and then grabbed his belt again when he got back on the bike.
Pressing her breasts to his back, she softly whispered into his ear, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Killyama?”
“What?”
“I’m a pretty easy-going guy, but I will only take so much.”
“You warning me?”
“Yes.”
“Then I guess we’ll find out which of us has the biggest set of balls.”
“I don’t lose.” Starting the motorcycle, he pulled out onto the road.
Killyama shook the thought away. She wasn’t special to Train. No woman was, not unless she was a Last Rider. Then she would become one of many. She didn’t get in line for any man. She didn’t care how big of a stick he was carrying.
She licked her bottom lip. “Is that a good or a bad thing?”
Train tangled his hand in her hair, lifting her mouth to his lips. “It can be a little frightening. Most of the brothers are afraid of you. You can rip a man to shreds with your mouth. I can get used to it as long as it stops at the bedroom door.” He tugged her bottom lip into his mouth, nibbling on it, almost making her forget what they were talking about. Oh, yeah, she remembered; the pussies in his club were afraid of her.
“I like to keep men on their toes.”
“You definitely do that. I wanted to strangle you when you told me that you had ‘Fuck You’ tatted on your ass.” As he said that, he rose up then flipped her over onto her stomach, brushing his lips over the curve of lower back. “Another lie?”
“Technically, it wasn’t a lie. I was thinking about getting a tattoo there, but I hate tramp stamps. I might be a tramp, but I don’t need to advertise it.”
“My name would be perfect tatted there.”
“I don’t tatt men’s names on my body.”
“Why?” Train whispered into her ear, making goose bumps rise on her arms.
“Same reason I don’t see any woman’s name on you.”
“I used to have one. I had it covered.”
“Where?”
“On my arm.”
“Why get it covered?”
“She lied to me.”
Train reached into his nightstand, taking out a condom. She felt him lift away as he opened it and put it on before she felt his weight drop down on her again.
“That feels good,” she moaned.
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
She bunched up the pillow beneath her cheek to lay more comfortably. “I like the way you fit against me.”
Killyama felt him pause, then his cock dipped between her thighs. She was so aroused he easily slipped inside of her with a hard thrust.
She was surrounded by Train’s body, his thick cock taking her an inch at a time as she quivered under him. She stayed still, letting him do all the work. Truthfully, she was worried she would come again too soon.
She liked everything he was doing to her—his groans, the way he wasn’t too rough yet forceful, the overwhelming buildup of giving herself to him. This was the only time she let her feminine side come out, a time when she could be all sweet and girly. She always had to look out for herself, but in bed with Train, she felt safe and protected, when usually she was the one who had everyone else’s back.
When she felt Train’s cock throbbing inside of her, she allowed herself to come again, holding the pillow and burying her face in it to keep from screaming out loud. She was not going to let any of the other Last Riders hear her. A woman had to have some pride.
Train heaved himself off her, settling down beside of her. She turned to her side so she could stare at him. She couldn’t see his dark eyes under his lashes, but she could see that he was breathing heavily. Killyama reached out, smoothing her hand over his corded waist.
“Poor baby, how long have you been holding that in?” Killyama mocked his words back at him.
From the look on his face, he had enjoyed the sex as much she had.
Giving him a small pat on his waist, she raised up, slipping her legs off the bed.
“Where are you going?” Train grunted out, trying to grab her and pull her back to the bed.
Evading him, she bent down for her top, and then slipped it over her head. “Going back to the party,” she answered, running her hand through her tumbled curls.
“Why? I thought you would stay the night?”
“Some other time. Where’s the bathroom?”
Train wasn’t happy with her answer. The satisfaction on his face evaporated and was replaced with injured male pride.
“In the hall. It’s the one next to mine on the left,” he answered abruptly.
“You don’t have your own bathroom?”
“No. Don’t worry about it; no one else is upstairs. I would have heard them come up the steps.”
Grabbing her pants and boots, she heard him get out of the bed as she left to go to the bathroom. She took her time washing up, giving him enough time to get dressed, and not returning until she had redressed.
Tersely, he grabbed his keys off the nightstand. “Ready?”
“Whenever you are.” She kept herself calm and measured, offhandedly making herself seem unmoved by what had happened between them on the bed.
Train nodded, going for the door, but then he stopped in front of her. “Why don’t you want to stay?”
“Dude, you think I don’t know the difference between asking me out on a date and asking me to be a Last Rider? You’re the one who decided to draw a line in the sand. Don’t blame me if I’m not going to tiptoe over it when you want more.”
She hadn’t been looking for a relationship the day in the car when she had tried to entice him into another round, but she also hadn’t been looking to feel like a slut when he was ready to leave. When he had told her no and then mentioned The Last Riders, she knew exactly what he thought of her.
“Do you bitch this much when one of the women in the club don’t stay with you?”
His jaw tightened. “Never mind.”
She couldn’t read his expression, but his eyes were dark and stormy as they made their way from the club to his bike. Jumping on behind him, she grabbed his belt as Train started his bike. The night had grown cold and damp. Shivering, she pressed her breasts against his back.
He stopped the motorcycle before he pulled out of the parking lot. “I have a jacket in my saddlebag.”
Killyama twisted sideways, opening the bag to take out a leather jacket. Seeing the patches on the back of it, she started to put it back.
“What are you doing? Put it on.” Confusion clouded his features.
“It’s a Last Riders’ jacket; I’d rather freeze.” She put it back in the saddlebag.
Train turned off the motorcycle and got off.
“What in the hell are you doing?” Turning, she saw him going to a truck that was parked at the end of the lot. A minute later, he came back with a tan jacket.
“Put it on,” he demanded.
Taking it from him, she slipped it on and then grabbed his belt again when he got back on the bike.
Pressing her breasts to his back, she softly whispered into his ear, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Killyama?”
“What?”
“I’m a pretty easy-going guy, but I will only take so much.”
“You warning me?”
“Yes.”
“Then I guess we’ll find out which of us has the biggest set of balls.”
“I don’t lose.” Starting the motorcycle, he pulled out onto the road.
