Wring: Road Kill MC #5 (14 page)

I pray that somehow that other guy, Storm, will
get to my house and calm Mom down. But these biker guys are rough,
so Mom feeling calm may not happen.

I sigh against his back.

Wring pulls up in a semi-circular gravel drive
and parks in front of deep and wide wood steps.

Night has come, and I can't make out much. But
the structure looks like a smallish log cabin sitting perfectly on
a small knoll. Graceful branches from well-established cedar trees
sweep the corners of the roof like sentinels.

Wring shuts off the bike and holds out his arm.
I take it gratefully and slide off.

My teeth are back to chattering.

Wring gets off and takes my hand, tugging me
behind him as he taps a quick text to someone. I stumble up the
stairs, and with a soft curse, he shoves his cell in his pocket and
dips to literally sweep me off my feet.

“Sorry,” I mutter, exhausted.

He gets to the front door and plucks a key that
dangles from the same chain as his wallet and inserts it into a
keyhole.

With a low shriek, the door opens wide.

A dim interior forges shapes of growing shadows
as the deepening of the night seeps from the edges toward where we
stand.

“Gotta get you a shower.” He kicks the door shut
behind us, and a latch falls into place.

I want a shower worse than I've ever wanted
anything in my life.

“Wring,” I call softly.

He ignores me, moving into a tiny bathroom with
barely enough room to fit a person inside. A toilet stands crammed
between the shower stall and a minuscule sink and vanity
combination.

“Yeah?” he asks, holding me against him with one
hand and turning on the shower with the other.

“I can—I'll clean up.”

Wring studies me, shadows fleeing when he snaps
on a light. The naked bulb blares down at us.

“I know that. But we're hooking up.
Tonight.”

“What?” I ask, and my hands go to his massive
shoulders. If I tried, I could probably tuck my head underneath his
chin; he's that big.

“Hooking up?” My voice sounds like a squeak.

“I'm cleaning this shit off you, and then I'm
fucking you, Shannon. You're going to be my property.”

I shake my head, denying him, though his words
make my lady parts throb. My face infuses with heat—I remember what
he did to me against that wall. I'll never forget. But him
telling
me what to do?

No.

That's what that Blood did. Luis Lopez hit me,
then he killed Vincent.

Wring caresses my face, and I pull away. “I'm
dirty.” Fresh tears brim over my eyes and sink into the old tracks
of the last ones. “I have to get… I have to get clean.” I don't
want Wring to touch any part of me while I'm covered with someone's
liquefied body.

“I know. You've been through a lot, and I
shouldn't lay this on you.”

My gaze locks with his. “But you will.”

Wring pushes me up against the wall, narrowly
missing a towel ring. “Yeah. I will. You put yourself in harm's
way, Shannon. What in the righteous fuck did you think you were
doing going over to Blood territory?”

Steam from the shower rises.

I don't answer. I can't think of a response that
makes any sense.

“Ya know what? Fuck it.”

Wring pins my wrists above my head and tears my
filthy shirt over my head, pulling my wrists away from the wall.
Then he tosses the shirt outside the bathroom.

Vincent's blood didn't soak through to the skin,
and my boobs bounce in time with my heaving chest.

Wring's eyes latch on to my chest. “Fuck, you're
a gorgeous girl.”

He dips his head and, still holding my wrists,
dives his face between my breasts, kissing the flesh there. My
emotions are so raw—so close to the surface—I go from angry to
lustful instantly. Still holding my wrists, he uses his other hand
to scoop my boob out of my lacy bra. He takes my nipple into my
mouth.

Each erotic pull is a tender thread that tweaks
deep at my core, and I moan at the new sensation.

“Yeah, baby,” Wring murmurs and drops my wrist
to tug my bra off. He doesn't bother with finesse, just grips the
straps and yanks. It slides down one of my arms, and I fling it
off.

Next, he unhooks the waistband of my jeans and
slides them over my hips.

His hand cups my sex over my sheer panties, and
I catch my breath. Can't take another breath.

Or think.

“Gotta get you clean, Shannon.”

I nod and manage to gasp a
yes
in there
somewhere.

Wring's angry that I went over to the
Bloods
ʼ
territory and tried to reason with
Vincent.

But none of that matters when his hands are on
my body.

Suddenly, I'm naked, and I'm sure Wring will
ravage me. Instead, he gently places me underneath the running
water. I'm drenched in seconds.

Soap runs over my body as his hands clean me. He
swipes away the remnants of Vincent off my face, and suds run pink
with what's left. I shut my eyes tight.

Shampoo and firm hands lather my hair, and I
sigh, letting water run inside my mouth and drip off my chin. His
sure hands glide down my sides, framing my ribs, his thumbs a
breath away from my breasts.

“Shannon,” Wring says softly, and I open my
eyes.

“I'm no rapist.”

I give a languid smile. His hands warm me,
soothe me, and clean me. “No,” I readily agree.

“I want to come in there with you.”

The expression in his eyes is almost painful.
He's waiting for me to reject him. If I was even a little bit
smart, I would.

I'm not.

“Yes.”

Wring strips out of his clothes in record time
and stands there, letting me look at him.

He spreads his powerful arms away from his body,
a faint smile hovering at his full lips. “Like what you see?”

I nod, putting my face in my hands, and cry. I'm
so thankful he saved me from that horrible guy.

“Hey, shhh…” He bends down to take my hands away
then kisses my face.

“Thank you, Wring.”

“Oh, baby—I tried to fight it. Can't. Gotta have
you. The moment you put those green eyes on me, I couldn't get
away, say
no.
Nothing. But hear me.” He tips my face up, and
I meet his nearly translucent eyes, the color of glaciers tinged by
blue. “Don't have sex with me—or do anything with me—ʼcause of
gratitude. I'm not going to be a mercy fuck, baby.”

I start giggling.

He frowns. I pull him into the shower, and our
bodies touch, my bare breasts mashing against his ribcage.

Wring puts a hand beside my face, and the molded
plastic shower back is cold against my skin. I wince.

He pulls me tight against him and I feel his
erection.

Scary.

Exciting.

“You laughing at me?” His lips twist into a
smile. Wring takes ahold of my wet hair and flings it behind my
back.

“No,” I say, cradling his face. “You—I don't
think anyone would have sex with you out of mercy, Wring. You're
safe there.” I give him a speculative look. “Maybe they'd beg for
mercy.”

His hands run down my sides, tickling me, and I
squeal. The laughter feels so good, I hiccup back more.

Wring's hands go to my breasts, mounding them,
and my laughter fades. “Beg,” he whispers beside my temple, and I
shiver against him.

My breath stills as water runs over his
shoulders and between his hands, settling and filling between my
breasts. He kisses first one nipple then moves to the next.

My hand sinks over his skull. The short hairs
stand stiff and wet underneath my hand.

“Gonna clean ya,” he whispers against my
skin.

I nod, realize he can't see me, and say,
“Yes.”

His hands find my wetness easily, and I move my
knees apart.

“Shannon,” he breathes against me, and before I
know it, his dexterous fingers have split my folds. I throw my head
back, wrapping my arms around his neck.

His fingers leave me, and I groan at their
absence. But Wring's not through with me yet. He hikes me up and
puts his face against my sex.

His breath is hot.

I automatically tense, stopping him with a hand,
though I know if he wanted to keep going, nothing could stop
him.

No man goes to these lengths to rape me after
he's saved me twice.

My inexperience makes me unsure, though.

“What?” he asks, eyes rolling up from between my
legs to fasten on my face.

I swallow, embarrassed. “I've never done
this.”

Wring grins, and his cheek moves against my
inner thigh, rubbing it like a cat. “That's okay.”

Then his mouth is on my center, and I yell
out.

I feel him smile against my slickness, then his
tongue is working my clit, while the fingers of one hand play
against my entrance.

Back and forth, his mouth presses against
me.

“Wring,” I struggle, pleasant heat suffusing my
vagina.

“Hang tight. Gonna make you blow.”

Blow
? Oh yeah—cum.

I close my eyes, momentarily relaxing, and one
more swirl with his tongue at the same time his finger enters me
partway. I shudder, my walls pulsing around him, as I push myself
against his mouth.

“That's it. Let it go, Shannon.”

I do. Everything that's built up inside me
rushes out in blissful waves of pleasure.

Wring's fingers bite into the flesh of my butt
cheeks while his face is buried in my most sensitive area, and a
new wave of pounding pleasure sears through me again.

Gradually, his tongue slows, and he withdraws
his finger. He lets me down like I'm made of glass, and I lean
against the shower wall in a semi-daze.

“That's the look I like.” His smile is proud,
satisfied, and content.

“Get me out of here,” I say feeling suddenly too
hot.

Wring picks me up, sets me on my feet on top of
a bath mat, and wraps me carefully inside a huge bath towel. He
shakes his head, and tiny droplets of warm water strike my
face.

He kisses them.

Wring shuts off the water and binds a towel
around his waist. He waggles his eyebrows, and I smile.

Wrapping a strong arm around me, he walks us to
a door that is partially ajar. “Do you proper here,” he says.

He sets me on the bed, and the towel falls away
from my breasts.

Wring stares at the view just as a stray beam of
moonlight hits my body. “You make me crazy, Shannon.”

He makes me crazy, too.

My inhale is sharp. Reluctant. “I have to tell
you something, Wring. It's important.”

He's probably been with a hundred women. And
I've never been with a man.

Not once.

He strides to me, whipping the towel off his
waist and tossing it on the back of a chair.

Naked, he sinks to his haunches and pushes my
legs wide. Only my bunched damp towel is between us.

My eyes latch onto his penis. I gulp at the
size.

I tremble. “I'm a virgin.” I clench my fingers
tightly, feeling stupid.

Feeling brave.

When I look up at Wring, his eyes are solemn.
Then a grin breaks out, moonlight caressing his expression.

“That's okay,” he says a second time.

I smile.

Wring doesn't attack the obvious. He moves
slowly as I lie back on the soft unmade bed.

First, his lips touch the bone at the inside of
my ankle, his left hand moving slowly up my calf, kneading the
flesh.

“I can't believe—”

“Shhh, Shannon, believe me when I say I'm not
going anywhere.”

I hike up on my elbows, and his face is between
my thighs. Again.

“What's ‘property’?”

His expression arranges into tight lines of
irritation. “It's a MC term. Means you belong only to me.”

Wring's strong hands press my thighs apart.

I want this, but I'm afraid of what giving that
piece of me up means. Afraid to enter into a culture I know nothing
about. Afraid for my future. Tomorrow—and beyond.

Then Wring's thumb sweeps across my open
entrance, spread as wide as a woman can be and still have legs, and
my breath stills in my throat. Caught. Hot. Wanting.

His teeth lightly abrade my labia, and I
shudder, my hands finding his head.

“You like it,” he says, and his voice vibrates
against my sensitive flesh.

Oh God.
“Yes.”

Wring made me cum in the shower, and he'll make
me get close now.

“I don't have a hymen—lost it when I was riding
horses at my grandfather's ranch.”

He lifts his head, an amused smile ghosting his
lips. “Why did you wait?” he asks after a heartbeat.

I don't know.
I could use Mom as an
excuse—and that's the truth. The real truth hurts too much. That I
let taking care of someone else get in the way of taking care of
myself. I've never allowed myself to live.

Mom's right. Her affliction has stolen my life's
time.

And I'm here to take it back. Right now, with
this man. This moment. But what I say aloud is, “I just never found
the right man.” And that's true, too.

Wring accepts what I say at face value as his
tongue finds me again, and I writhe under the hot wet touch he
provides.

Crawling up my body, he leaves my drenched
entrance and works up to my face, trailing kisses. Cradling my face
in his hands, he looks deeply into my eyes as his cock moves into
position between my legs.

“You don't have to. But whether or not we do
this now or later, you're mine.”

I knew I was his when he beat down Vincent, then
when he came for me at the gangbanger's place. I just couldn't let
myself believe that a turn of fate would shape itself into this
moment with Wring.

I can't deny it. “I know.”

His eyes are serious, never leaving mine. “I
won't lie—this is gonna hurt. Even though I made you ready, it'll
hurt.”