Stephanie Tyler - Vipers Run

I wanted to be so dirty with him.

I was going to come from simply watching him. And if I didn’t, I wanted to. Needed to. If I could’ve ground against my own hand or anything else unnoticed, I would’ve, but everything I had was focused on him. I couldn’t tear my eyes away, every muscle and fiber in my body invested in his orgasm.

His climax was brutally beautiful, a rush and a roar and his entire body shuddered, and it seemed like it could go on forever . . . and I would still watch. He ground out a strangled groan as he came, spurting along his belly and chest, a few drops hitting his scarred shoulder. He threw his head back for a moment, closed his eyes, and I wanted a still of that very moment, even though it was burned unduly in my brain.

When it ended—seconds, minutes, hours later?—his gaze through the camera leveled me. I had my hand on the off button, needing to press it, refusing to break the moment.

Could I walk over to him, straddle him, take him? Yes, he’d let me. Was I scared of my own arousal, fierce and needy?

Yes, terrified. Because I’d never thought I could feel even a minuscule portion of what I felt. And he knew, dammit. The self-satisfied, smug twist of his lip made me rethink the getting-down-on-my-knees bit. My body didn’t agree, the tight, hot wetness between my legs aching for him.

Jesus Christ.

I yanked my gaze back to the viewfinder, like I could hide there. But he was still watching me, even though I’d turned the camera off.

Once I’d pressed the off button, I’d expected the heated mood to shut down with it. But it didn’t. It got hotter, even as he stood and tucked his half-hard cock into his jeans. His look, his stance—it was all an open invitation.

He picked up his shirt and walked toward me. I got my first up-close-and-personal view of just how far down those scars ran. To me, it looked like he’d been slashed purposely. He’d been tortured, and that would show in his eyes for the rest of his life.

“You shouldn’t have been involved, Calla. But you are, even though it might only be peripherally. That’s my fault. But I meant what I said about making the son of a bitch who hurt you pay.”

“All by yourself? That’s impressive.”

“I’m sensing sarcasm.”

“It’s a second language,” I muttered.

A corner of his mouth quirked like he was trying not to laugh and failing.

I was twenty-three years old. The guy in front of me was too wild. Too much of everything that was so bad for me, and what I’d just watched had done nothing to get it out of my system.

He brushed past me then, but before he did, his gaze told me in no uncertain terms that this was far from over.

I’d fallen for him because of the unmistakable command in his voice. It’d been there even as he was dying. But the fact that he’d refused to leave without me was more than I’d ever thought I could handle. My head spun, my eyes locked to his, and I knew there would never be any escape from them.

And maybe I didn’t want one.

Cage went into the shower and jerked off again under the cool spray, because once was not enough. It had been too long for him. Granted, he’d been dying, but still, his libido didn’t give a shit. It gave less of one after seeing Calla watching him.

Goddamned Tenn and his ideas. And he’d let one of his best friends completely fuck him over by sending him into a room to jack off in the corner. It didn’t matter that all money made from his shoots went to an LGBT charity of Tenn’s choice. It was that Tenn knew exactly what he was doing by putting Cage in a room with Calla.

Like fucking TNT in a room full of lit matches.

He stroked his cock with a soapy hand, wondering if Calla was touching herself while thinking of him. He’d bet money on it, and he planned on asking her the second he saw her. Which would be as soon as he dried off and dressed.

Because the whole “I don’t know if I want to leave with you” bullshit was something he planned on ignoring. Even if he had to carry her out of there over his shoulder and tied up.

Tied up . Fuck. He put his forehead against the cold tile and stroked faster, his breath hitching as he pictured her lips and how they’d look wrapped around his cock. Pictured her on her knees in front of him, her hands holding fast to his hips, his hands buried in her hair.

He came with a hiss, the orgasm ripping from him, harder than the previous one. It was like being a teenager all over again. He held himself steady with a hand against the wall as he breathed hard. His shoulder and neck ached, like the doc told him it would, especially if he overdid it.

Who knew a hand job would be overdoing it?

Tenn was waiting for him, stretched on the bed, his long legs crossed. Cage slid on a pair of jeans and asked, “Please tell me you don’t have cameras in that shower.”

Tenn just laughed. And didn’t answer him. Fuck. “She put her jeans on.”

“And that’s a good thing? Because I’d rather her naked.”

“First time she’s put on her own clothes since she got here. Maybe give her half a second to adjust to your walking-dead state, Cage.”

“Said the man who had me beat off in front of her.”

“Had to let her see what she’s been missing.”

“Aren’t you sweet. Definitely Mr. Romance of the Year.”

“It was for your own good,” Tenn said. “Try to tell me you didn’t enjoy it.”

Cage didn’t lie as he yanked on his T-shirt and dragged his cut on over it. His keys and phone were in his pocket and he checked his phone messages.

Nothing.

“Heard you might not be welcomed back.”

“Heard you weren’t keeping up with the MC these days,” Cage shot back.

“Yeah, like that’s possible with Tals keeping tabs on me every five seconds,” Tenn told him. “So you’ve really got no place to go? Because you’d better be seriously kissing Preacher’s ass to get yourself back into MC Land.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“It’s Calla I’m worried about.”

“Why’s that?”

“There’s something going on with her. Not sure what but . . . don’t fuck this up.”

Cage had a feeling he knew exactly what was going on with her—but he couldn’t push that with her. Not yet. “I don’t intend to. At least not any more than it already is.”

“How reassuring,” Tenn drawled.

Cage caught his friend’s gaze. “Check your phone, asshole. I called you that night. You didn’t pick up.”

Tenn paled and Cage instantly regretted saying anything. But fuck . . .

“Even if I knew that, I would’ve filmed you,” Tenn told him, and suddenly Cage felt a whole lot less guilty.

“Yeah, I know. Because you’re a bigger bastard than me.”

“I’m a bastard because I believe in romance?”

“That was romance to you? Jesus H. Christ, Tenn, you’re way more fucked up than I thought.”

“But she’s going to agree to go with you.”

“Why? Because of the hand job of love?”

“Something like that. Trust me. I know shit.”

Tenn did. He was right about a hell of a lot of things, including relationships. Excluding his own, since he never seemed to have one. Claimed it was by choice, but Cage didn’t believe that for a second.

Cage sighed. “She has to come with me. She has to stay with me.”

“So what’s the issue?”

“You and I both know what kind of life I have. She doesn’t belong with someone like me.”

“Maybe not. But the way you two look at each other . . .” Tenn shook his head and stared at him. “You’re not leaving each other anytime soon.”

If Tenn could see it, that meant it was worse than Cage had originally thought. It was bad that Tenn could see through it so easily. The visceral drag between them reached out to grab Cage by the throat when he’d first seen her. And every second thereafter, it had only gotten worse.