Free Marked as His by Em Petrova Page B

she’d come to a crossing point. If she got into a cab, she’d never see him again.
    He wouldn’t get his patch and her father wouldn’t get what he wanted.
    But Paxton was right—she’d never be truly happy knowing her father was out there asking to speak with her. She’d spent every year since the age of ten wondering about him, about the whys. Was she really going to hide in a cab and go home?
    “I don’t think I’ll quit the welder’s shop quite yet.” She put her hand in Paxton’s and allowed him to pull her to her feet.
    “Then I’ll be ready to bust some legs. C’mon, love.”
    •●•
    Sirens blared and Paxton hammered down on the gas. He swung his head right and left, on guard for cross traffic that could shoot out of the side streets and wreck his plans.
    Just a few red lights and he’d lead the cops in the wrong direction. Somehow they’d gotten a tip the Hell’s Sons were awaiting a shipment of booze at one of the bars the club owned. The Tomfoolery had been evacuated, the gambling ring in the back room hidden away, and only a few good old boys sitting at the bar drinking slow gin and draft beer.
    Santana clung to Paxton’s waist, holding on so tight. He was probably scaring the hell out of her but was neck-deep. Of course, she’d known what she was doing when she’d put her hand in his, right?
    “Lean with me,” he called into the wind. She nodded against his shoulder and moved as an extension of him as he raced through two consecutive red lights. Her breath whooshed past his ear, making him as hard as a rock. Between her panting noises and the adrenaline rush, he needed to pull over and bend her over his bike. Hell, he might.
    The sirens changed direction, and he cast out his hearing. Moving west? Yes. He grinned.
    If retrieving Santana didn’t earn him a blood patch, surely risking arrest would. As long as Santana took the curves with him, they’d be safe.
    Two more bikes veered out of a side street and flanked him. Santana squeezed him so hard he thought he might puke. He hardened his abs and called, “Hold on. Another light and two streets and we’ll slip in behind the warehouse.”
    She breathed faster. When he blew through the light at high speed, she issued a whoop in his ear. Grinning so wide his jaws hurt, he whipped the bike around behind a building. The other bikers kept going, running the cops farther away from The Tomfoolery.
    He eased the bike out of sight and cut the engine. Then he whipped his leg over the seat, grabbed Santana, and kissed her.
    She tasted of excitement and the road. He smelled it in her hair and in her open mouth as he swept it with his tongue. She quivered against him. He pulled her off the bike and ripped at her clothes. Yanking her top up to palm her hard nipples and her pants down to sink a finger into her tight, wet pussy.
    God, he was tore up bad over this chick. She ripped at his belt and jeans. When his cock fell into her warm grasp, he nearly spilled his come. Back here nobody could see them, and at this time of day, the warehouse workers were busy inside. Nobody would see him bare her hot ass and pound into her.
    They might hear his roar of completion though.
    She rolled his cock head through her fingers, her moan filling his mouth.
    “Get your pants down and bend over, love. I need in you. Now.”
    “Hurry.” She faced away and dropped her jeans and panties. He fumbled a condom over his dick, smirking at his hot pink nails.
    “Brace your hands here. Spread your legs. Fuck yeah, like that.” He rubbed the head of his cock over her slippery folds. Christ, she’d liked the terrifying race through town as much as he had. In one hard shove, he buried himself in her.
    She bit off a cry and pushed up. Her tight globes jiggled with his hard thrusts and he lashed an arm around her waist, yanking her up and into him. As he neared the dizzying brink of the cliff, he bit her earlobe.
    “This won’t take long. So fucking close.”
    She jerked