Train's Clash
Page 9

“Scared?” she taunted.
“Of you? I don’t get scared.”
Killyama raised her lips to press them against his. Train remained still, not stopping her, but not participating, either.
She pulled back a fraction of an inch to whisper, “Prove it.”
Slowly, he opened his mouth. It was a kiss she wouldn’t ever forget. It was like being reborn in a burst of desire that was almost painful because it wasn’t enough. She needed more from him. She needed him to kiss her harder, to taste her the way she was tasting him.
Her control withered when he took the reins, tilting his face to the side so he could widen her mouth, turning the tables on her as she found herself being kissed by a man who could kiss as expertly as he could ride a motorcycle.
Train’s weight settled more intimately against her. She could feel the bulge of his dick through his denim jeans. The slick leather leggings she wore allowed him to notch himself in a way that made her wonder if he had pulled them down. She surreptitiously slid her hand down to make sure her pants were still on.
“What are you doing?”
There were a few things a woman hated to admit. The fact that she couldn’t tell him just when she had lost control of the situation was one of them.
Killyama moved her hand from the slick material of her pants to his T-shirt, showing no rhyme or reason, other than she wanted to make a lame excuse to herself for more breathing room.
When she tugged his T-shirt up, Train lifted himself, making it easier for her. Then his shirt slipped from her fingers, falling to the floorboard.
“Damn.” She stared up at the magnificent chest she could see when the parking lot lights came on.
Train stared down at her, his face a mask of seriousness. The two were frozen, neither one making a move, time standing still.
Her thoughts were a jumble of emotions. She wanted to push him out of her car and hightail it out of there as if the demons of hell were after her. The parts of her below the waist, though, wanted to jerk him down and fuck his brains out. From his expression, Train was just as undecided as she was.
When he started backing out of the car, she pulled him back down.
“Fuck me.”
Bracing his hands on the seat, he resisted her efforts. “You sure?”
“Dude, you want to fuck or not?”
Train started backing out of the car again. “I’ll pass.”
Perversely, his hesitation had her wanting him more. She wasn’t a slut, but when she usually asked men to have sex, they couldn’t get it out of their jeans fast enough.
Raising herself up, she pulled up her shirt, showing him the black lace bra that cupped her tits. “You sure?” she mocked, softening her voice into a seductive murmur as she trailed her fingertips down the tattoo on his bicep, losing the bitchy expression she usually wore.
Her body wanted him.
Train moved back inside the car, and Killyama gasped at his expression as he sensuously slid between her thighs, catching her mouth with his.
She combed her fingers into his long hair. She usually hated dudes with long hair, but on Train, the clean, masculine scent of it put her pussy in overdrive.
Train reached behind her to unfasten her bra, leaving her breasts free to brush his chest. She could feel the pounding of his heart against hers as their mouths dueled passionately.
Killyama scooted down so she could lay under him full-length. The old car had a big seat, and they took every spare inch of it, both of their feet hanging out of the open car door.
The close confines made it hard to struggle out of her tight pants, yet she managed while Train raised himself enough to unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans to slide on a condom. Then, using his hips, he brushed the tip of his cock across the lips of her pussy.
Having sex with him was like riding a motorcycle at high speeds—you didn’t know if you were going to reach the end or crash and burn. The searing heat of his entry scored her to her soul. She had expected him to fuck her in a heated rush. Instead, he started pinching and kneading her breasts. The pleasure had her squirming as he continued to thrust into her.
Killyama wasn’t a small woman, but he made her feel petite as she was overwhelmed by the strength of the muscular body surrounding her. She was torn between fear and excitement. The sex she had initiated wasn’t supposed to feel this good. It hadn’t ever before. Then she realized that it was Train who was making the difference.
He wasn’t only taking; he was giving her the pleasure that many were incapable of. He wanted her to enjoy it as much him. He was taking her on a ride that she never wanted to end.
Dropping the last of her guards, she rocked her hips back and forth, fucking him back as she sucked in a deep breath to inhale the musky scent they had created in the confines of the car.
When Train lifted her hips up to drive higher, her slick pussy gripped his cock, trying to keep up the furious pace he had set. Then, when he stroked his tongue on the tip of her nipple, she dug her fingernails into his back, unconsciously raking deep scratches into his flesh.
“Easy, firecracker.”
Killyama pushed his mouth away from her nipple. “Don’t call me no fucking nickname you’ve called another woman.”
Train stopped moving. “I’ve never called anyone that before. If you want me to call you something else, then tell me your real name. I’m not calling you Killyama when I fuck you.”
She almost told him to get off her right then, but the snug fit of his cock inside of her stopped her. Her mama hadn’t raised no idiot. The second lesson every woman needed to learn was when to give in.
“You can call me Killy.”
“I can deal with that.” Train started moving again.
Her pussy gripped his cock tighter, trying to prolong the ecstasy that was rapidly building into the orgasm that he was so damn determined to give her.
Killyama shuddered as she came, and Train grimaced as she felt him throbbing inside of her. The shared orgasm made her self-conscious, especially when he moved to the side and hooked an arm under her neck.
“We’re supposed to be all cozy now?” Her usual sting was missing from her words.
Train’s lips twitched. “I take it you’re not feeling a post-orgasmic glow?”
She laughed. “I need a cigarette for that.”
“Sorry, but I don’t have one handy.”
“Damn, I need it. I haven’t had sex since I stopped smoking.”
“How long since you stopped?”
“A year ago.”
Train sat up, folding her legs over his lap. Then he reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a joint. “Will this do?”
“You have a lighter?”
He handed it to her.
“How did you join The Last Riders?” Killyama asked as they sat, smoking the joint.
“I was friends with Viper’s brother Gavin in the Navy. We trained as pilots together. It was his dream to form an MC when we got out.”
“I’m sorry. Beth told me about Gavin when her and Razer broke up. She told us that another club member killed him.”
“Memphis.”
“I’d kill someone who betrayed a friend of mine like that.” She stared at his cold expression through the smoky haze.
Train took the joint away from her, taking a hit. “How’d you meet Sex Piston and your other friends?”