Free Wild Rider (Bad Boy Bikers Book 2) by Lydia Pax Page B

the busty swell of her breasts from one side. Her hair swept down, covering some of her, but that only drove him more wild.
    He forgot entirely about guarding the door. Instead, he watched, transfixed, as she pulled up a fresh pair of panties over her crotch, slipped on a new bra. Then she turned and saw him staring at her. Her cleavage presented forward in that tight bra, like a gift for him.
    It wasn’t lingerie. It probably wasn’t even her nice underwear. It didn’t matter. The sight of this beautiful woman presented like that had broken down his resistance.
    In three quick steps, Beretta rushed forward across the apartment and into her bedroom. He pushed her back against the drawer.
    “What are you doing?” She gulped, breathing hard. But she didn’t try to stop him. She didn’t push him away.
    That was all the opening he needed.
    He leaned in, kissing her deep, running a hand down her side and squeezing her tight against his body.
    Goddamn, but it felt so good to kiss her again. His cock, hard and ready, stiffened against her body as their lips melded once again.
    Her leg wrapped around his and she moaned as she slipped her fingers up under his shirt.
    This was happening, her and him. It was happening right now . His cock was as urgent as a heart attack, and he needed to feel her pussy wrapped around it, tighter and tighter, coaxing him to come inside that beautiful body of hers.
    “Fuck, Helen,” he said, breathing across her mouth. “You’re so goddamn pretty.”
    She moaned again, her lips sliding against his chin, his jaw, his lips, wet and willing and aching. Both of them scared, hungry, desperate for a release. Her hand, sliding over his abs and chest, suddenly sank down and slipped to his pants.
    Inside, it was nothing to reach his straining erection, already pushing up and to the side. Hot essence began to flow from the tip at the second of her touch, and she moaned again—god, that moan, like the humming of the world, filling up his being—and slowly stroked him.
    His hand in turn pushed against her breasts, tweaking her nipples. The other came against her throat, following his memory from the night before—and he was rewarded again with another moan and a soft, throaty laugh as she kissed him deeper than before.
    She wanted him. Wanted him like he wanted her. And here was all the proof he needed.
    Outside, the thunder of gathering motorcycles ruined their brief reverie.
    “Shit,” he said, pulling away from Helen. “Shit, shit.”
    His heart pumped fast. Trouble. Danger. Arriving now, coming for them.
    This was why she wasn't in the plan. If he let himself be distracted by her, it all went to hell.
    “Dress,” he said, rushing to the window. “ Now .”
    He was glad he parked on the back of the building. Through the window, he could see the Copperheads outside were looking for bikes and had knives and guns in their hands. It wouldn’t have been anything for them to have slashed his tires, put a hole in his gas tank or his engine.
    How did they know to come here?
    He wanted to puzzle at it—to think on it until he had every angle sussed out. But there wasn't time. The thing to do now was to leave.
    “Ready,” said Helen, behind him.
    She was barefoot, holding her shoes in one hand and a suitcase in the other. In her haste, she had put on a pair of tight shorts and a tank top. She looked hotter than ever and the thought struck him very strong that maybe it was possible to fuck her hard enough to make every one of those problems outside go away.
    But his cock couldn’t win that fight. There were men with guns coming, and he had to control himself.
    “Time to go, then,” he said. “Stay close and don’t make a sound.”
    She nodded and they swept quickly out the door onto the walkway.
    There was a man there already, knife in his hand. He lunged at Helen, swiping and slashing. Beretta pulled her back against the wall and snapped his fist across the man's face, sending him sprawling over