Twist the Knife (Lost Kings MC #24)

“Will you teach me how to be a good kisser?”

There’s a subject I’m not sure I’m equipped to teach. An unfamiliar oily sensation slides through my chest. Shame? I don’t spend a lot of time kissing, usually too eager to get straight to the fucking. And I don’t want to admit that to Margot.

I trace my finger along her bottom lip. “I bet you’re already a good kisser. Your lips were made for kissing.”

She ducks her head, nuzzling against my chin like a shy kitten. I twist and kiss her cheek. Her lips press against my neck, not kissing or even sucking, more like she’s checking my pulse.

Finally, she brushes her lips along my jaw. I cup the back of her head, turning her so our lips meet. A simple mouth to mouth touch. She hums a soft sound that seems encouraging. Jolts of satisfaction prickle my chest. I slide the tip of my tongue along the seam of her lips but no more.

I bet she thinks she’s bad at kissing because some asshole slobbered all over her face. Who the fuck wants to deal with that? She’s so hesitant, almost innocent, with the soft, long brushes of her lips against mine.

After a few teasing licks, she pushes closer, her body almost fully resting on mine. An encouraging groan works out of my throat. I slide my hand down and grip her ass, holding her against me. She buries her fingers in my hair, teasing her nails against my scalp. A deeper groan of satisfaction eases out of me. Nothing tickles my pleasure center like a woman’s nails against my scalp.

Her lips part and I lightly stroke my tongue against hers. A quick taste and then I retreat.

“Mmm.” She hums and presses her hands to my cheeks, trying to hold me still. “Tell me what to do.”

I circle her wrist with my fingers and drag it back to my chest. “Put your hands on me.”

She hums another happy sound and gently squeezes my pec, then my shoulder and down my arm. She pulls away, breaking our kiss and squeezes my biceps again. “God, your arms are amazing. Like granite.”

Shaking with laughter I lean in and kiss her again. “Thank you.”

She fiddles with the sleeve of my shirt. As bad as I want her hands on my skin, I’m not ready to take it off. I need her writhing and too desperate for my cock to ask any questions about all the scars on my back. And right now she’s still in an exploratory, inquisitive mood.

She hitches her leg higher, her thigh accidentally grazing my hard dick desperately trying to make his presence known behind the fly of my jeans.

“Oh.” Her eyes widen and she drops her gaze to my crotch, which does nothing but make my dick even more eager to show off.

“We’ve barely touched.” Her voice holds a note of wonder— as if a hard dick is a novelty. “We were just kissing.”

“Your sweet body’s pressed against mine.” I trace my fingers against her T-shirt, along the length of her spine, until I’m cupping her ass cheek through very thin pants. Not much else seems to be blocking our skin from touching. Maybe a thin pair of underwear or a thong? “You told me where you want the night to go. So, yeah, my dick’s so hard it hurts.”

“For me?”

I stretch my neck and pretend to search the room. “You see anyone else here?”

She laughs softly. “I feel like I tricked you into this.”

Few women have ever worried about my feelings. I’m more like a carnival ride to most women I’ve encountered. Something wild and scary they enjoy for a few minutes. Then they have a fun story to share for the rest of their lives—all about how the mean, scarred biker who likes to play with knives gave them a few orgasms and sent them on their way.

“You didn’t trick me into anything.” How can she think I don’t want to be here when I’m desperately trying to balance my need to go slow with her and my desire to fuck her to pieces?

I touch my lips to hers again. “I want to be here with you. We should talk about?—”

“Meeerow.” Something bumps against my shin.

“What the fuck?” I yank my legs up, jostling Margot off of me. My gaze lands on a sleek black cat with bright, curious green eyes sitting on the edge of the chair.

“Meeerow.” The little fucker jumps on me, and casually strolls up my body like I’m his personal balance beam. “Mrrp.” It dips its head and butts my chin to rub its soft silky fur against my face.

“Um, hi there.” I carefully lower my hand and pat the cat’s head.

Margot stares at us with wide eyes. She knows this cat, right? He didn’t just wander in off the streets or come in with its owner’s body?

“Mwrrawr.” The cat purrs like a motorboat and keeps rubbing my chin.

“Gretel, what are you doing?” Margot scoops the cat into her arms. “Sorry, I hope you don’t mind cats. I didn’t say anything because she never comes out of hiding when there’s someone here.”