Adrenaline Rush (Death Chasers MC 4)

She gives me a little glare when my lips tug up in a grin at one corner.

“You know this is highly inappropriate, right?” she asks.

I give her a careless shrug. “Dash is a fighter. He’ll survive. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“That’s not what I was referring to,” she bites out.

She finally squirms a little more noticeably as I stop at the end of the bed, and her breath catches in her throat when I take her vibrator out of my pocket.

“I’m just trying to be a polite host. My version of hospitality is a little more fucked up than it used to be. Pardon the extra damage, but you’ve been gone a while,” I drawl, staring over the thin, cotton panties she wears without shame. “And you’ve been incredibly insensitive toward my damage every time you refuse to wear shorts. It’s only fair.”

Chapter 14

KARA

“I’m just trying to be a polite host. My version of hospitality is a little more fucked up than it used to be. Pardon the extra damage, but you’ve been gone a while,” he tells me almost absently. His gaze dips to the cradle of my barely-clad thighs before he adds, “And you’ve been incredibly insensitive toward my damage every time you refuse to wear shorts. It’s only fair.”

Those intense eyes come back up to meet mine, and it’s like I’m a stupid teenager all over again. His lips curve into that knowing grin, like he enjoys taunting me with all my old weaknesses, while extorting some new ones I’ve picked up along the way.

The vibrator starts buzzing in his hand when he cuts it on, and I feel the annoying, empty clenching going on inside me, desperate for that release.

“I’ll start wearing shorts to bed,” I say very weakly before clearing my throat.

He cocks his head to the side, teasing the inside of my foot with the tickling vibrations made by the little purple wonder. A jolt of excitement shoots up my leg, and I hiss out a breath as my back arches off the bed.

I really do need daily release to keep myself under control, damn it.

He knows that.

He’s been watching me.

He’s been studying me.

Now I know why.

The fucker has been playing me, and he’s been playing me damn well.

“What’s your agenda?” I ask him as he gingerly trails the vibrator up to my knee, which has me closing my legs a lot tighter.

“Give you a little release while I take things in hand,” he murmurs, eyes riveted to my body as it trembles. “I’m as fucked up as you are, and you know it. The least you can do is let me enjoy having you as my captive.”

“You make it sound like I owe you something, when I distinctly remember you choosing the club over me. We were just a couple of fucked-up kids, Rush. Let it go,” I tell him, lacking the conviction my tone should have in a moment like this.

When my hips arch involuntarily, he smirks, his look turning dark as he cocks an eyebrow at me.

“I remember how it went down,” he says so calmly. “Spread your fucking legs.”

Those two sentences don’t go well together. I shake my head in refusal, and he wrenches my legs apart. Memories flutter to the forefront of my mind, remembering all the role-playing we once did when he was searching out his own control to keep from spiraling.

I gave him too much control over me as a result, and I liked it way too much.

I was a stupid kid back then. I’m a stupid woman right now, because my breath comes out in a shudder, and I find myself moving more toward compliance than rejection.

“Don’t fuck me,” I warn him as he starts dragging the vibrator up my inner thigh, teasing me with what he knows I need after the shit day I’ve had.

“I don’t plan to,” he murmurs as he leans down so fast that I don’t have time to prepare.

He shoves my shirt up with his free hand, and I suck in a sharp breath as his lips drag over my stomach. His shudder matches my own.

There’s a reason the damaged always seek out their own version of romance. It feels freeing when someone gets you and doesn’t judge you for the way you handle your shit.

With me, Rush was the only freedom I ever got, until I ran away. With him, I was the freedom from his incredibly screwed-up, dark past, because I didn’t pity him—I was the first who understood his damage.

He shoves my legs farther apart, because his shoulders have broadened since the last time we were in this position. I shut my eyes and let my head fall back, refusing to think too much, because I’m weak as hell and need my damaged ends to fuse back together for a while. They’re too frayed for me to continue on without some sort of mental bandage to help me along…