Blood & Bones - Dodge (Blood Fury MC 10)

“I’ve discovered something tonight,” she said, her brown eyes just as soft as her voice. They held his. He could get lost in the deep well of those fucking eyes.

He pushed that fucked-up thought away and became concerned she hadn’t slept at all. The half-circles under her eyes were now the darkest he’d seen on her yet. He blamed himself for that since he couldn’t get enough of her and wanted to take advantage of the limited time he’d have her in his bed.

Hopefully she’d catch up on some sleep once her and the band hit the road. “What?”

“I like sex.”

Out of all the things she could’ve said, he hadn’t been expecting that. He’d actually expected some snark.

He didn’t bother to hide the twitch of his lips. However, he didn’t want to laugh or grin outright if she wasn’t kidding. “You only figured that out tonight?”

“Is it pathetic to answer that question with a yes?”

Shit.

It was, but not for the reason she might think. So, he answered with, “Fuck no. More like surprisin’, maybe even disappointin’, more than pathetic. Unless you’ve had a lot of it, then sorry for your shitty luck. If your experiences have been limited, then I guess it ain’t a surprise.” Everything pointed to the second scenario rather than the first. “Just in case you didn’t pick up on it, I like sex, too.”

“I don’t think that was in question.”

He liked this softer side of her and wondered how long it would last. It seemed her first instinct was to always hide her feelings. To wear armor to protect herself.

He understood that all too well. But he was pleased she was dropping that armor with him. “Not even for a second?”

“No.” She slid the finger he had nipped down his chin and scratched-up throat, circled the hollow of his neck, then traced a few of the deeper scratches decorating his chest.

Total fucking hellcat.

He liked it. Scratches would heal and be forgotten but how he got those scratches would remain seared into his brain.

Most sex he’d had with randoms was forgettable.

He’d never forget tonight.

Disturbing but true.

“It reminds me of music.”

He frowned and dipped his chin to see her better. “What does?”

“Sex. The rhythm, the beats, the same loss of self-awareness because you get so caught up in it. I could get completely absorbed in it like I do when I’m singing. I could get lost in it but also feel grounded at the same time. I don’t know how else to explain it. Maybe it’s because music and sex use both the mind and body. It seems great sex is more than physical, it’s mental, too.”

Her words caught him off guard. He usually didn’t have a conversation with the women he fucked, at least nothing as deep as their current one. Usually when he talked to women, he kept it on the surface and shallow. Most times he just let them ramble on and he occasionally grunted, pretending he was listening.

But this woman… Syn was deeper than he ever expected.

Again, a good indication she’d lived a harder life than a twenty-three-year-old ever should.

“I’m only saying that because the way I feel after spending hours on stage is how I feel after having sex with you.”

“Guessin’ that’s a good thing?” He sure as fuck hoped it was.

Christ, again, he never cared about any of this kind of shit before. Why the fuck now?

“I lose myself in my music, just like I lost myself while having sex with you.”

Okay, he was going to assume that was a good thing. “That bother you?”

“No. The only difference was that all of my senses were heightened during sex. Usually I block everything else out but the music when I sing. I can get hyper-focused.”

“But it depends on the song, right?”

She considered that. “That’s true. There are some songs I don’t enjoy singing as much as others. It’s one reason I hate taking requests. I’m not a DJ or a jukebox, or even a machine. Then there are songs I absolutely hate and never sing at all.”

“Same with men, then. You connect with a song the same way you connect with a man. Or woman. Dependin’ what you’re into.”

“I never had sex with a woman.”

He would love to watch if she ever decided to try it. His dick actually attempted to revive at that mental image.

Down, boy. Don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish. This has been a good experience for her so far, let’s not fuckin’ ruin it.

He managed to get back on track. “If it’s good, sex can be like gettin’ high ‘cause of the endorphins the body produces. Is that the way you feel when you’re on stage?”

Did he knock the sense out of himself while knocking the bottom out of her? When the fuck did he turn into some kind of doctor or therapist or something?