Make It Hurt (Texas Bounty)

by Jackie Ashenden

  Chapter 8

  Smith buried his face against her neck, biting down again, unable to help himself as the orgasm shot up his spine and just about blew the top of his head off. She was trembling in his arms, her body convulsing, that sweet, tight little pussy of hers gripping him like it never wanted to let him go.

  Christ, he could die now and he’d be a happy man.

  The intensity lessened after a while and he lifted his head, looking down at her. Her eyes were closed, thick golden lashes lying still on her flushed cheeks, her golden skin gleaming with sweat. Her heavy braid was over her shoulder, half of it starting to fray, small locks of hair sticking to her.

  Beautiful. Everything about her was beautiful. That he’d never forgotten, at least.

  After a moment to get himself back together, he shifted, pulling out of her, then moving her off his lap and onto the couch. Getting to his feet, he went out of the room and headed to the small bathroom just off the hallway. Inside, he dealt with the condom and then went back into the living room.

  Nora hadn’t moved, curled on the leather of the couch, one arm flung over her face as if to hide, which gave him a certain amount of satisfaction. Yes, he’d pushed her and pushed her hard, but he’d gotten one truth out of her at least. She did want him. Three orgasms in a row didn’t lie.

  He went over to the couch and bent, gathering her up into his arms. Her eyes opened with a shock as she realized what was happening, her hands coming to rest against his chest.

  “What are we doing?” Her voice sounded scratchy from all the screaming she’d been doing, which only intensified that satisfaction.

  “We’re going upstairs,” he said, moving through into the hallway and over to the stairs. “We both need a shower and then we’re going to bed.”

  She didn’t say anything to that, her body relaxing in his hold. One hand lifted to his shoulder, feathering lightly over his skin. “I scratched you.”

  “Good. I told you to.”

  “I haven’t done that before.”

  An insistent feeling of possessiveness swept over him and he let it. Jesus Christ, he didn’t want her to have done that to anyone before. He was going to be the only man who carried her marks, that was for damn sure.

  One night. Remember?

  He scowled. Yeah, he fucking remembered. But that didn’t make him any happier about the thought of her doing what they’d just done downstairs with anyone else. And of course she would have. A passionate woman like her would hardly have been celibate all these years and God knew, he hadn’t.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He glanced down to meet her golden brown gaze as they got to the top of the stairs and he started toward the bathroom. “You got a boyfriend?” He couldn’t make it sound like anything less than a demand.

  Annoyance flickered over her face. “No. I’d hardly be here with you if I had.”

  That should have made him feel better, but it didn’t. “Have you had one before?”

  “What do you mean, ‘have I had one before’?” Her gaze narrowed. “Please don’t tell me we’re going to have the ‘how many men have you slept with’ conversation? Because if so, right back at you, Ace. And I’m guessing your numbers are going to be insane.”

  Truth was, he didn’t know, because he hadn’t kept track. They hadn’t seemed to matter to him. As long as his partner got off and so did he, he didn’t give a shit. He’d never felt bad about it—that was just the way it worked in the club, and both the brothers and the women were okay with it—but for the first time in years, he found himself bothered. And irritated that he was bothered.

  “Yeah,” Nora said, her tone acidic. “That’s what I thought.”

  Damn fucking woman.

  Smith stepped into the bathroom and put her down on the black granite of the vanity. Then he leaned both his hands against the edge of it and stared down at her. “Another night,” he demanded, not even realizing he’d been going to say it until it came out.

  She blinked. “What are you talking about?”

  “You and me. Another night together.”

  “But…this one isn’t even over yet.”

  He didn’t want it to be over and that was the problem. He wanted answers from her, about what she’d been doing with herself all these years. Why she’d broken with her family, how she’d become a bounty hunter, shit like that. And then there was the fact that one night to do all the things he wanted to with her wasn’t nearly enough. Not if he wanted to sleep, though quite frankly, he could do without that.

  “So?” God, the scent of her was driving him insane, all warm and musky and so fucking sexy it made his mouth water. Already his dick was wanting more and he couldn’t see any reason to deny it.

  A crease appeared between her brows. “So…we only agreed on one night.”

  “Yeah, I know. Now I want another one.”

  She let out a breath and he could almost see her gathering irritation. Her shoulders had gone tight, tension around her lovely mouth. “Why? What brought this on?”

  He didn’t want to have to explain himself, he just wanted her to say yes. But of course, with Nora, things had never been that simple. “You enjoyed what we did downstairs, don’t try to deny it. I’ve got the marks to prove it, not to mention being deaf in one ear from the way you screamed.”

  Her cheeks went pink, but she didn’t look away. “And?”

  “And it was good. Very good. So, why not do it again?”

  “Well, sure, we can do it again. Isn’t that what tonight is all about?”

  Her reluctance annoyed him. He didn’t like being denied and he couldn’t kid himself it didn’t matter to him if she said no. It did matter. He’d decided he wanted more than sex in his living room and he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  “It’s not just sex I want, Nora,” he said, going for straight up. “I want to hear about you, what you’ve been doing with yourself, shit like that.”

  A flicker of trepidation crossed her face and then it was gone, the doors closing behind her eyes, her expression shutting down. Goddammit. “Your memory must be really short, Smith. Because I’m pretty sure our agreement was sex and that’s all.”

  “Yeah, well, now I’m changing it,” he said belligerently, his temper beginning to rise. “I want more than that.”

  Her jaw took on a stubborn angle. “Why?”

  Christ, was he going to get twenty damn questions again? After that showdown they’d had already? “Because I just fucking do, okay?”

  “Well, and what if I don’t?”

  His jaw tightened, his muscles tensing. Right, he’d changed his mind. He didn’t like this stronger, more stubborn Nora after all.

  He glared at her, sorting through options. Not that he had many. He could force her, use that blackmail against Duchess again or think of another lever he could push to make her do what he wanted.

  Or you could try something different.

  Different. What the hell did that mean? He was used to getting what he wanted without all this bullshit and when he didn’t get it, he was happy using force if necessary, depending on the situation. The more subtle approach didn’t work in his world, not with a bunch of men who were all nearly as bad as he was. The only thing they respected was strength, especially of the physical kind.

  Nora’s not a brother. She’s not a club girl either. So either you convince her another night is what she wants or you walk away.

  Yeah, that was the problem. He didn’t think he could walk away. Not when her mouth was soft and red from his kisses and her skin was pink from the bristles of his beard. When that strength and stubborn will was like a flame in her eyes.

  That was a side of her he hadn’t seen that summer by the pool, and he didn’t like it.

  Turns you on, though.

  Unfortunately, it did.

  Letting out a breath, he pushed himself back from the vanity, conscious of Nora’s gaze on him. He didn’t look at her right away, turning a few things over in hi
s head, reaching out to the thick, tawny gold braid that lay over her shoulders. Pulling the elastic hair tie off the end, he began to carefully unravel the braid, her hair silky against his fingers.

  She frowned. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like?” He kept his gaze on what he was doing. Her hair was so soft, the delicate strands catching on his fingers.

  Maybe he did need to do something differently. He’d come on strong downstairs, no question, and she’d taken everything he’d thrown at her. But there had been flashes of vulnerability that reminded him of the shy teenager she’d once been. And of the guy he’d once been himself.

  “Smith…” She inclined her head away from his fingers, the braid pulling tight.

  He held on. “Quiet,” he said. “And hold still. I’m thinking.”

  Nora gave a soft snort. “I imagine that’s quite difficult.”

  Ignoring that, he ran his fingers through her hair again, pulling apart more of her braid. He’d been gentle with her once. Maybe he could try doing that again. “What about if I asked you nicely?” he said slowly. “What about if I said…please?”

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  He didn’t stop what he was doing. “I want another night with you, Nora.” A hesitation because, shit, he didn’t ask, he told. And he definitely didn’t beg. “Please.”

  She’d gone quite still and he could feel her staring at him. He lifted his attention from her half-unraveled braid to meet her gaze. And yeah, she looked shocked. Well, so she should. He never gave anyone a fucking please.

  “What?” he demanded grumpily.

  “You.” She was staring at him like he was a complete stranger. “Saying the P word. Do bikers actually ever use it?”

  He looked back down at her braid, unraveling more of it, trying to ignore the discomfort sitting inside him. “I’m not saying it again, so don’t get used to it.”

  There was another silence.

  “Was that really so hard?” It sounded like a genuine question.

  “You don’t say ‘please’ to a bunch of hardened motherfuckers. You pull a gun and say, ‘Do whatever I tell you to or you’re dead.’ ”

  “I suppose so.” She was quiet a second. “Is that why you’re like this?”

  He frowned. “Like what?”

  “Like this. I mean, you never used to be this hard. This…mean.”

  Her braid was finally all undone and he raised his other hand, pushing his fingers into the soft mass, getting out the last few knots, combing it gently so it fell over her shoulders in a fall of toffee and gold and caramel silk.

  Hard. Mean. Yeah, that’s what he was and he’d accepted that a long time ago. Yet for some reason he didn’t like the way it sounded when she said it out loud. “I’m an MC president, Nora. You can’t be a fucking pussy when you’re in charge of a club. And you don’t make it to being president without getting involved in some serious shit along the way. Drugs. Hookers. We’re not Boy Scouts.” He looked at her finally. “Besides, you’re not exactly the sweet, biddable little girl you once were yourself.”

  This time it was her turn to look away, her hands gripping the black granite of the vanity as if she was trying to keep herself from falling off. “Yeah, well. You can’t be a pussy when you’re in the bail bond business, either.”

  “About that.” He coiled some silky strands of her hair around one finger. “Seems a strange career option for a spoiled little rich girl. What did your old man have to say about that?”

  Reaching out, she made an attempt to pull her hair out of his grip, but he merely held on tighter. She made an exasperated sound, letting him have it. “Dad doesn’t know. We had an argument a few years ago and I walked out. Haven’t heard from him since.”

  Okay, she’d said she didn’t have anything to do with her father these days, but considering how in his pocket she’d always been, he hadn’t believed her. He could barely believe it now. “You walked out? Bullshit.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Whether you believe it or not, it’s true.”

  Fuck. So she’d made the break at last, but it hadn’t been for him.

  It’s like you keep expecting that should matter to her. And it obviously doesn’t, so stop acting like a whiny little bitch about it.

  No, screw that. He could accept she’d been too scared of her father to do anything for him back then, but to hear that she had eventually walked away later? Why? Had it been for some other sonofabitch?

  The anger that had died to a sullen smolder burst into life again, though he tried not to let it. “Why?” He couldn’t seem to make it sound like anything less than a demand. “What happened?”

  Maybe she heard the angry note in his voice, because her eyes narrowed. “It wasn’t anything to do with you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  No. It’s what he’d been hoping, though quite frankly he wasn’t going to let her know that. “What then? He not buy you a pink Porsche or something?”

  “Asshole.” She reached up and jerked her hair out of his grip. “He wanted me to marry one of his business friends. And I decided I didn’t want to. He didn’t like it so I…walked out.”

  But he hadn’t missed her hesitation or the briefest flicker in her eyes, as if the memory had held some kind of pain. “No, you didn’t walk,” he said slowly. “He kicked you out, didn’t he?”

  Nora looked down at the lock of hair she held in her fingers, examining it as if it was the most interesting thing in the entire world. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t want to be one of his chess pieces so I left.”

  Right, so he’d definitely kicked her out. What a prick. Smith wasn’t an expert on what made a good father, not when his own had been such an asshole, but he did know that Don Sutcliffe had never really cared about his daughter. Because if he had, he wouldn’t have been absent ninety percent of the time, leaving Nora in the care of various housekeepers and nannies for most of her childhood. At least that’s what she’d told him, and he’d believed her. Certainly he’d never met another person as lonely as she was.

  Except maybe himself.

  Smith put his hands on the vanity on either side of her thighs and leaned forward. This time his anger wasn’t directed her at her, but her no-good prick of a dad. A fairly familiar target. “So, what? You just decided bail enforcement was a good idea?”

  She shook her head, her attention on her hair. “I wanted to get away from Houston, so I came here, to Austin, and got a job in a bar instead. I wasn’t very good at it.”

  “No kidding.”

  An annoyed flash of gold caught his eye. “Hey, it was my first job ever. I tried.”

  He really couldn’t see his shy, nervous Nora serving beers and chatting happily at the bar with customers, but he didn’t doubt she’d tried. “That’s a long way from that art gallery you wanted to work at.”

  She stared at him. “You remembered that?”

  “Of course I did.” He shifted, for some reason uncomfortable. “You wouldn’t shut up about it.” And she hadn’t. She’d been so into her art, talking about how she was going to college and getting some kind of art degree, going to work in a gallery. It had been so far beyond his own dreams and desires, he’d just kind of listened to her and marveled.

  Nora abruptly looked back down at the silky rope of hair she held in her hands. “Yeah, well, never got there, obviously. Duchess came in for a drink one night and we got to talking, and…I decided bail enforcement sounded a whole lot better than serving drinks.”

  Was that…regret in her voice? Sure sounded like it.

  He reached out, put a finger beneath her chin, and tipped her head back so he could see her eyes. “Why? Bail enforcement’s not exactly what I would have picked for you.”

  The gold flecks in her eyes gleamed, like she was angry. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do.” She pulled her head back from his finger. “And bail enforcement suits me just fine. Now, are we done chatting?”

  No, they fucki
ng weren’t. Not by a long stretch. She’d given him some answers, but all they’d left him with were more goddamn questions. Such as why she’d given up her college dreams. Why she’d decided the bail business was where she’d wanted to be. And what had happened to make her decide she didn’t want to be under her father’s thumb anymore.

  Smith leaned forward so they were almost nose to nose. “No,” he said quietly. “We are not done chatting. Another night, Nora. I want it.”

  Her eyes were gleaming, her mouth soft. He almost forgot himself and nipped it.

  “I didn’t hear the P word.”

  “I already said it.”

  “Say it again.”

  “Fuck, no.”

  “Come on, Ace.”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “Nope.” Her gaze dipped to his mouth and then back up again. “As an added incentive, if I hear it again, I might even kiss you.”

  A growl escaped him. “You’re gonna be kissing me anyway, baby.”

  “Stop stalling. Or is the big bad biker afraid of one tiny little word?”

  Fucking sexy, sarcastic little witch.

  Smith lifted his hands and cupped her face between them, lowering his head so his mouth was almost brushing hers. “Give me another night, golden girl. Please.”

  Her golden brown eyes glowed. “I’ll think about it.”

  Then she leaned forward slightly and kissed him.

  —

  Nora woke up with the sun full on her face and absolutely no sheets anywhere on the bed. Beside her, Smith was sprawled on his front, his arms folded beneath the pillow he was apparently hugging, his head turned to one side. As she slowly sat up, he didn’t move, his big body still and relaxed in sleep.

  She felt…good. Better than she had in weeks, which was annoying. Because if it had only been the sex that she’d needed—and since they hadn’t done anything else all night but have sex—then she should have broken the drought a long time ago.

  It wasn’t just the sex, idiot. It was him as well.

  But she wasn’t ready for that thought quite yet, so she ignored it, studying instead the tattoo that stretched across his broad shoulders. A skeleton riding a Harley with the words Graveyard Ministry MC curling along beneath it.