Landon was there in my sleep once more, this time at the foot of my bed, watching me, telling me he was sorry, just as he shoved a faceless woman against the mattress and took her from behind.
I shuddered, toying with my bracelet at the same time. Loneliness encompassed me, something I didn’t enjoy. I craved companionship, someone to talk with constantly. Without that, I felt more alone than ever before.
What happened with Niyol and I at dinner had continued to weigh heavily on my mind for the rest of the evening. I wasn’t the only one who’d needed a shoulder to cry on, apparently—though there were no tears shed on Niyol’s end, unlike the night I’d gone out in Des Moines.
I’d been thinking about that more and more, the reason as to why I’d opened up to him that night at my grandparents’. Was it because we had so much in common, even if our lives were on entirely different spectrums? Insisting that he opened up to me tonight was maybe my way of saying, You owe me. I’d told him my darkest secret, now I wanted to know his.
Either that, or I was growing more comfortable with the guy. The guy who had broken my heart with a tragic story and an enormous amount of pain in his eyes. A guy that was also getting under my skin like Landon had, but in a different, deeper, sort of way.
Whether Niyol knew it or not, I was very aware of what it felt like to lose things, even though my losses were nowhere near as terrible as his.
I also knew what it was like to want to start over. It’s why I was taking this trip in the first place. Driving across country, hitting the San Diego beaches… Not only did I want the chance to rid Landon from my mind, but I’d also hoped that seeing the Pacific Ocean for the first time would somehow help me feel closer to my mother.
At twenty-one, she and my father had gone to California together. It was their first trip, post-college, as a real couple. While they were there Dad had given her the bracelet I always wore. Having it around my wrist constantly made me feel close to the woman I never knew.
In a way, Niyol’s and my mindsets were very similar, both of us never knowing our moms. Unlike him, though, I had a father and brothers who loved me. Although he did have his club brothers, and Lisa and Emily.
A low groan sounded from the side of the bed. My heart skipped at the sound. I swung my feet over the edge of the mattress to the floor, finding Niyol asleep on the carpet, shirtless and thrashing.
Without a second thought, I dropped to my knees beside him. His yells grew louder, more desperate. Not knowing what to do for him, I pressed my hand against his slick, sweaty back to try and wake him.
“No!” he shouted and swung his arm, nailing me in the chest.
I winced but kept trying. “Niyol, hey, stop.” I rubbed his back harder, faster, feeling like a mother. “Shh, it’s okay.”
“Fuck.” He darted upward, seeking me out with his arms. Our chests crashed together as he grabbed my waist. Breathing ragged, he whispered against my neck, “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I repeated, attempting to soothe him. Regardless of my feigned calm, my hand shook as I rubbed it over the back of his head. His hair was damp as he brushed against my cheeks, likely from sweat. Because I couldn’t help myself, I snuggled my nose into his scalp, inhaling. Fresh, flowery, with hints of musk and cigarettes. He’d used my shampoo.
“Do you want me to turn the light on?” I finally asked.
He shook his head and the stubble along his chin and cheeks brushed against my neck. It was a delicious burn, one that had my nipples pebbling against my shirt.
Not the time, Summer. So not the time.
Despite how he made me feel, I accepted his need to hug me; it was something a friend would do. Any minute now, he’d realize what was going on, though. Then he’d accuse me of trying to take advantage of him, jokingly pushing me away I’m sure.
Niyol was the hardest person for me to read, cursed with a personality that straddled the fine line between a boy who’d lost so much, and a hardened man who’d been through hell.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.
Seconds passed before he finally said, “No.”
Swallowing the lump ensnared at the base of my throat, I decided to do something I might regret, but felt confident—and exhausted enough—to suggest anyway.
“The bed is big enough for the both of us. You don’t have to sleep on the floor if you don’t want to.”
The thought of him continuing to sleep down here, even after he ran out on me during dinner, was something I couldn’t stomach, as dangerous as it might be to share a bed. I knew I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to be so close to a deliciously sexy man. Especially one who harbored so much pain and vulnerability. But at the same time, I craved his nearness more than I craved any kind of distance between us.
Surprisingly he nodded, pulling back enough to look me in the eyes. His dark eyes were lost, broken like a puppy in need of a home. My heart ached for him even more then, wondering what was going through his mind. But before I could ask, he stood, his hand in mine as he pulled me up. Soft, yet firm. Protective, yet easy.
He was such a big man. Tall, constructed of muscles that could easily crush me. Yet his tender fingers proved that he could let his darkness fall away whenever he wanted it gone—which wasn’t often, it seemed. Niyol was very much in control of himself. That fascinated me as someone who struggled to relinquish control over anything. My schedules, my plans, my perfectly mapped-out life that was now in shambles… How different would it be if I’d been cursed with a life like Niyol? I shivered at the thought.
Together in the dark silence of the room, we moved back to the bed, shoulders touching while we laid on our backs. The air conditioner came on with a rough grumble, and he pulled the sheets over our bodies. It hummed throughout the room, and the chill of it pulled me deeper under the covers, but also made me more aware of the warmth now laying so close to me.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I wanted to face him, comfort him some more, but the chicken inside of me laughed in my face and told me to get a grip. Niyol was a man who did not like any sort of pity, even if it were well-intended.
“Not really.”
I shut my eyes and nodded. “I’m here if you want to talk or whatever.”
The bed creaked as he rolled over onto his side. Feeling suddenly brave, I did the same, facing him. He searched my gaze like before, only this time, he seemed more at ease and even more vulnerable in the soft light reflecting off his back from the street outside. At the same time, he also appeared far more dangerous than anyone I’d ever encountered.
My cheeks grew hot as he continued to look his fill, my stomach knotting in an even more unnerving mess. When he didn’t speak, I fidgeted, opening my mouth, then snapping it shut. Was he pissed at me for something again? Was he regretting accepting my invitation after all?
When I couldn’t take another moment of his quiet, I asked, “Can you at least tell me what you were dreaming about?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Short answers, a hard tongue—those were the responses I’d come to know from him. The normal ones. Not like the long conversation we’d had at dinner. That was a rarity. One I couldn’t get used to no matter how much I found myself liking it.
“It does matter.” Hands trembling, I lifted one, tentatively laying it against his cheek.
He shut his eyes, his face seeming to be tortured by my touch. I should have stopped, moved it away, should have rolled over and ignored him, respecting his need for quiet. But being so close to him, feeling his breath on my face, inhaling his skin, forced me to become someone else. Someone needing more than a friend. Someone needing to ease the ache creeping up in her lower belly. Someone selfish who wanted to forget boundaries and ultimate goals.
I traced the scar by his lips with my forefinger. “How did you get this?”
“My father,” he whispered back, eyes opening once more.
I swallowed hard, pained for the broken boy, then braved a moment for the
sake of his pain. Slowly, I leaned closer and kissed the mark, leaving my forehead pressed to his. It was a quiet I’m sorry this time—my version of a healing touch.
His breath shuddered on an exhale over my lips. I’m not sure if he was affected by me, or his memory more. Either way, I knew, from that moment on, there would be no escaping this man.
When I moved back, he began to search my face again. In turn, I trailed my fingers down his chin, then his neck, unable to resist touching him now that I had begun. I couldn’t see his tattoos, but I could feel them in a way; the outlines, several scars in between. The power they held, the reasoning behind them all.
“Summer…” he breathed my name, pain residing over features, the downturn of his lips most of all. Still, he didn’t pull away, didn’t tell me stop, didn’t plead with a no. His fingers, though, they dropped onto my hips, then dipped beneath my shirt, lifting up to the base of my ribs. I sucked in a sharp breath at the initial contact, never feeling so richly devoted to in my life.
This was so incredibly wrong. Neither of us were in a place for whatever was stirring between us. But the lines of muscles and tattoos scattered over his arms and shoulders and chest? They were a new sort of drug I couldn’t resist. A temptation I couldn’t shake. Niyol Lattimore was my addiction in the making.
His body trembled, as did mine. Licking his lips, he made no move to kiss me, but he looked so starved. I wasn’t sure what was happening, what he was thinking, but I knew I didn’t want to stop it.
We both moved even closer, me first, then him. Then a growl reverberated through the room, and before I could take a breath, I was beneath him, his hands pressed on either side of my face against the mattress, while his long hair hung over his cheeks, just barely grazing my own. My eyes widened, chest rising and falling as he straddled my waist.
God help me. I was his prisoner. And I liked it.
“This is wrong…” His words mirrored my earlier thoughts, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut tighter than before, finishing the last of his words on a painful breath. “But, Jesus… You make me wanna do really bad things to you. So I’m gonna need you to tell me no, Summer.” Then he said on a whisper, “Please, tell me no.”
“I…” No thoughts. No regrets. “I can’t.”
At my words, he winced, just as one of his hands ran down my hip, then my thigh, hitting just below my knee. He latched a hand onto the skin and wrapped my leg around his back.
“Christ, I’m gonna need to—” He groaned deep as he pushed his erection between my thighs, cutting off his own words.
“Tell me.” I was breathless, back arched, shaking, desperate for him to make the pain go away. The pain between my thighs… The pain in my heart most of all. I was done playing it safe in life. It was time to throw myself under the bus. Or in this case, under Niyol.
Fingertips still digging into my skin, he ground his hips against mine once more as he said, “There’s no fucking way I can stop this anymore.”
“I don’t want you to.” I tugged his head closer, fingers threading through his long hair. “Please. I need this.”
His eyes met mine, a battle raging through them. Then just like that, he nodded, losing himself in me with a kiss.
Soft, tentative, exploring. The initial touch was everything I’d been missing, and then some. His tongue wasted not a second to slip inside, the barbell colder than I expected. I gasped, sucking it in deeper, wondering how magical that would feel between my thighs. I groaned at the thought, fully lost in the taste of him, then grazed my fingers down his arm, the firm muscles trembling even more at my touch. Slowly, carefully, I lowered my hands and guided them around his jean-clad ass, whimpering when he drove himself harder against me.
“Summer.” My name on his lips was a warning, a desperate plea. In turn, he hissed, moving faster against me. He lowered one hand from my face and pressed it to the curve of my waist, trailing his fingers up higher and higher, until his knuckles grazed the undersides of my breasts.
“Touch me more,” I whispered. “Don’t stop.” I licked a line up his neck, tasting the salt of his skin.
Another growl sounded from his throat, but he didn’t touch my breasts. Instead, he pushed his hand lower, grazing the dip of my belly until the tips of his fingers were deliciously snug beneath the waistband of my shorts.
“There. Yes, there,” I hissed. “Lower, please.”
Breath heavy, he trailed kisses from one side of my chin to the other, down my neck, to the curve of my breasts peeking just over the top of my camisole. The teasing was too much, so I buried my hands into the back of his hair and forced his mouth back to mine.
But he didn’t kiss me, not this time. Instead, he held his mouth just inches from mine and stared into my eyes, letting his breath wash over my lips. “This can’t be more.”
Was he telling me, or himself? Regardless, a look of Do I stay, or do I go filled his stare. He was tortured with going through with whatever we did, but I was too lost to tell him to stop—too selfish.
Guilt and desire are two of life’s most powerful emotions. Niyol was currently battling with them both.
It didn’t take me long to realize what needed to be done though. My desire to erase the pain in his eyes, giving me the control my body craved. I wanted to piece him back together. Make him whole, if only for one solitary moment in time.
Holding my breath, I traced my fingers along his cheeks some more, enjoying the rough stubble beneath my touch. I wanted Niyol to touch me, in all the ways a man could touch a woman. But if I guilted him into doing so, even wordlessly, he might never forgive himself. Or me. Which was why I needed to be the one to touch him first.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I urged him onto his back by his shoulders, never faltering from his stare. He didn’t speak, just watched with hooded eyes while I kissed my way down his chest, his belly, too. Hard muscle greeted my lips with every inch, and my body hummed with the need to be pressed naked against him. It wasn’t the time, probably never would be, but I’d be crazy not to think about it.
I landed at the top of his jeans and popped the button, stopping at the zipper.
“Summer.” He held my wrist with his hand. “You do this, it changes everything.”
I blinked up at him, unsure of what he meant, but also not caring either. “It’s okay. I want to.”
One barely-there nod later, and I was pulling down his zipper, then freeing his erection from his boxers. My eyes widened as something glistened from under the head of his cock. A piercing that nearly matched the one in his tongue. Part of me wanted to giggle with glee, but that likely wouldn’t go over well. So, instead, I went to work pulling his jeans and boxers down, thankful for his relinquishing of control.
As he arched his back, I yanked his pants to his knees, then pulled them off his feet, tossing the black denim to the floor. I crawled back between his thighs, spreading his legs at the ankles. He hissed as I wrapped my hand around the base of his cock, then whispered, “Jesus,” as I licked a circle around the tip.
Pushing any last doubts away, I crawled over him and sucked him in deep, using my other hand to stroke what I couldn’t take inside my mouth.
“Feels so good.” His legs shuddered around my head, but he played it cool, his fingers trailing over my forehead, down my cheeks; tender fingers from such a rough man.
I looked up at him again, finding his eyes shut. The moonlight crept in through the curtains a little more, exposing a larger expanse of his face. Seduced like this, Niyol was stunning.
Groans sounded deep in his throat, and he pushed his chin to his chest, muscles pulling tight across his stomach at the same time. My mouth was stretched and aching, way out of practice a few minutes in, but seeing him let loose, relax, knowing it was because of me, made it worthwhile.
Over and over, I stroked him, kissed him, sucked him, until he came hard, growling out my name. His warm release reached the back of my throat, the salty residue filling m
y mouth before I swallowed it down. Slowly, I pulled back, my gaze never leaving his face.
But then he opened his eyes, and that’s when I saw it.
A flicker of regret. The problem? I’m not sure what it meant.
On my knees, I stayed there watching him momentarily, ignoring the burn in my throat at the same time. It’s amazing how quickly I could become a slave to this man, when all along I’d been determined to keep myself away from the opposite sex in general.
I wiped some of the remaining stickiness from his release off my hands and onto the sheets, then slowly stood from the bed. Unsure of what to do or say next, I headed toward the bathroom, determined to get it together. Once inside, I locked the door, flicking on the light as I tried to catch my breath. Hands clenching the edge of the sink, I leaned forward, elbows outstretched, head down.
This was Emily’s stepbrother, a man with demons, not someone who I could ever bring home to my father and brothers. Not a potential forever after.
“Stupid, stupid, girl.” I narrowed my eyes in the mirror, knowing exactly what I needed to do.
I would forget that the entire thing ever happened, even though, deep inside, I knew just how hard that would be.
Twelve
Niyol
I fucked up. Big time.
And now there I was, being an ass again because of it.
Talking wasn’t my thing, that was the problem. Especially not when all I wanted was to take the wheel of this SUV, yank it back in the direction of the hotel, scrap my plans to get to San Diego, and camp out in a hotel for the rest of my life with a woman who I’m pretty sure would always be too good for me.
Pre-prison, I would’ve run with that idea.
Post-prison life, I was trying to be better, though that shit failed the second I let Summer suck me off.
Now, instead, I was battling all sorts of thoughts and what-ifs.
Her Wild Ride: An addictive, steamy biker MC romance suspense novel Page 9