Marked as His (6 page)

“Show me, love.”

She tugged up her top and twisted to let him see more flowers, leaves, and script down her side.

His finger was on her again, trailing along the lettering. “Latin.”

“You know it?”

He nodded. “The past brings strength to the future.”

His low words ignited her. When he turned her toward him and caught her chin between thumb and forefinger, she was powerless to stop him.

They rolled onto the bed with her sprawled atop him. He looped his arms around her head and applied pressure to her nape, drawing her down, down until their mouths touched.

She moaned and he growled as their lips met. Passion flowed. He hooked a leg around her thighs to hold her in place.

Damn, she was in trouble.

•●•

She probably didn’t even know she was releasing those sweet little whimpers—or wiggling against his erection. If she didn’t slow down, he wouldn’t be able to. The vulnerability in her face as she let him kiss her…it did things to a man. His heart had taken up a new rhythm the moment he’d read her tattoo.

Tommy had hurt her bad. Whatever had happened, Paxton wasn’t sure. All he knew was the man abandoned Santana and her mom when they needed him most. The pain still lived in her eyes.

He swiped his tongue over the seam of her full lips, urging her to open. The instant she parted for him, he plunged inside. As he swept the hot cavern of her mouth with his tongue, he lost himself. He was floating in a way he never had with alcohol or even the few blunts he’d smoked in high school. No, Santana provided her own kind of psychedelic experience.

Her tongue touched his, timidly at first. And then she was gripping his shoulders, yanking cloth, as she took what she wanted.

His balls clenched tight to his body and he lifted her on his hips. She rolled with him, pressing down. God, so good. He was gonna blow if she didn’t slow.

“Uncuff me. I need to touch you.”

She stopped dead and looked deep into his eyes. A shiver rolled through her. Was she even understanding his words? Her eyes were blurred and her mouth hung open, inviting more kisses.

“Where’s the key, love?”

“My front pocket.”

With a lift of his brows and a grin, he dived into her pocket. Good thing his fingers were long. The thin cloth of her pocket slid against her skin—the most erotic thing he’d ever known. He panted with lust and found the pocket empty.

As he moved to the other, she rolled to give him better access. What he wouldn’t give to have use of both hands. He growled as his fingertips met the warm metal. He extracted the key and Santana took it from him.

When she fitted it into the lock, she stared into his eyes. “Don’t try anything.”

“Try to stop me.”

She unlocked one cuff and his hands parted. Then she set about releasing the circle of metal around each wrist. The instant he was free, he grabbed her and flipped her.

“Take off my shirt,” he said a split second before stealing her mouth. As their tongues dueled, he understood how bad this could go for him.

Suddenly Paxton’s lie held true. If Tommy found out Paxton had bedded his daughter, he
would
be dead.

She ripped off his cut and tossed it aside. When she pinched the cotton of his T-shirt and yanked it over his head, she fell still.

Slowly she traced his body with her hands—arms, shoulders, chest. Each tattoo on his body took on new meaning under her touch. God, what had she done to him?

“Take mine off,” she whispered.

His heart flipped and sped off. He didn’t waste a beat getting to her skin. He followed the lines of her tattoo down into the waist of her jeans.

“There’s more.” He slid down her body and unfastened her jeans. Ripe scents of lust smacked his senses. She moved with him, allowing him to strip her to a pair of skimpy panties. Hot pink, for fuck’s sake. He was a dead man.

He ran his hands over the thin elastic holding them up. “We match. That has to mean something.”

“Let me see you.” She gripped his shoulders with a strength that would have surprised him from any other woman. He let her have her way, lying still while she removed his boots and jeans.

She kneeled on the bed, chest heaving, hair tumbling around her. “I can’t believe you did all these.” Her gaze travelled over his tattoos everyplace he could reach.

“Lots of room for your art.”

Her eyes cleared and a mask fell over her face. Ice-cold water washed over him and too late he understood he’d flipped a switch in her. She climbed off the bed and left the room.

Five minutes passed, then ten.

“Dammit,” he muttered. What had he said or done to pull her out of that headspace? She’d been consenting, as into it as he was.

“Santana,” he called.

No answer.

He may as well have been shackled. This torture was far worse.

Santana strode the short length of her kitchen then pivoted and strode back. She opened the refrigerator door, wanted nothing, and closed it. After five more revolutions of the kitchen, she was even further from peace than she’d been before leaving a half-naked man in her bed.

What had she been
thinking
? Passion and hormones and a set of muscles had lured her in. And deep down she felt bad about what she was doing. Yeah, she’d tied up a welder or two and threatened worse things if he continued to harass her.

But this whole kidnapping thing wasn’t her.

The worst was Paxton didn’t really seem like the villain anymore. He was just a club guy trying to do a job for her father. Besides being tough as nails, he was a great kisser.

She glanced at the bedroom door. He was free—unbound. Why wasn’t he storming out, grabbing her, and taking her to the Hell’s Sons motorcycle club?

Yet he wasn’t. Was it some alpha, chest-thumping display of power—you come to me? Or was he weaker than she believed?

She couldn’t help but think it was the former. He wasn’t weak. He was trying to crank her engine to his speed.

Drifting to the kitchen window she looked out on the small courtyard with a swimming pool and hot tub. A lone swimmer lapped the blue waters.

Different worlds. She didn’t belong in the other one. Dark men with pasts who didn’t stand up for the most important thing in the world—family.

With soft footsteps she returned to the bedroom door. Paxton lay on his back, arm slung over his eyes. His chest heaved as if he’d just sprinted miles.

His warm touch had felt so right. And it had been so long since anyone had treated her with respect.

Funny how she never would have connected that word with a Hell’s Son. Maybe Paxton was different.

She closed the distance between them and slid onto the mattress. He jerked his arm away and made a noise in his chest, deep and dangerous. She wasn’t afraid though.

“Are you going to cuff me again?”

“No.” She scooted close to him and hesitated for a heartbeat, searching his eyes before resting her head on his chest. His hard arm enveloped her, making her feel safe and protected even as she grew aware of how he could hurt her. Not physically—though he was huge. By lying here she was opening herself up to pain.

“I shouldn’t have kidnapped you,” she said quietly.

His chest rumbled beneath her ear but he didn’t speak.

“This whole scene isn’t who I am. I just want something normal in my life, you know? That’s why I don’t want to hear what Tommy has to say. He’ll just fuck me all up again.”

Paxton’s big, rough hand moved over her bare shoulder and down her arm, then back up with extraordinary slowness. He acted as though he had all the time in the world to lie here and listen to her spill her guts.

“When I was little, my mom got sick. She had this…lung cancer. It was almost unheard of for a person to survive it. I was terrified of losing her. Then the worst happened.”

He tensed.

“She needed my dad to get her through it. In sickness and health? Fuck no, not with him. He sent her packing, told her to take me with her. When we needed him most, he abandoned us.” Tears always surfaced when she thought of this time in her life. While she and her mother were stronger for it, she hated revisiting the memories.

She continued to pour out her tale to Paxton—about how they’d gotten onto a state health insurance program, which had saved her mom since club members and their families didn’t have health care. They paid everything out of pocket with whatever profits they made on illegal activities.

Then she talked about how her mother’s health improved but she never allowed Santana to see her father. Which was good because Santana harbored so much hatred, she might have found a way to hurt him.

“A woman who dumps the bullets from her weapon before she sets it down could hurt her father?” Paxton’s quiet question raised a blush in her. His fingers passed up and down her skin, occasionally dipping into the hollow between shoulder and collarbone.

“No, I never could have shot him. But I knew how to get him in trouble for the things he was doing.” His big pec muscle flexed under her head and she tipped her face up to look at him.

Big mistake. His dark eyes held a tenderness that sucked her right in.

She leaned onto her elbows and kissed him. Softly at first, a brushing of lips. Then he cupped her face in his hands and rolled her onto him.

Need spiked. He growled, and goose bumps broke over her skin. She parted her lips and he drove inside, taking, controlling. He flipped her under him and angled his head to deliver the most delicious, dizzying kisses she’d ever known.

She raked her fingers over his shoulders, down his spine as he rhythmically rocked against her.

“You’re a beautiful woman and I fucking want you. Don’t walk out of this room again,” he grated out between devouring kisses.

Hooking her leg around his back, she moved with him, feeling need build by the heartbeat. Her pussy was soaking wet and pulsating. She skated her hands down his front and clasped his erection.

He raised his head and pierced her in his gaze. “I’ll suck yours if you suck mine.”

“Deal.”

In a blink they were both nude and she was straddling his face, her quivering folds a breath away from his hot mouth. He extended his tongue and delivered a long, slow lick from bottom to top, curling the tip around her hard clit.

She cried out and feasted on the sight before her. Rugged man, the thick muscle circling his hips. She followed the lines of his tattoos down to the short nest of pubic hair cradling the longest cock she’d ever seen.

He’s big all over.

He thrust his tongue into her soaking center and she didn’t hold back. She dipped her head and sucked him into her mouth. She had to open her jaw wide to take his girth but his flavors spurred her on. She wanted to taste all of him, though it was impossible.

Hollowing her cheeks around his length, she drowned in the feel of his scalding tongue on her folds. He lapped circles around her clit then plunged into her cavern once more.

Splaying her hands over his broad thighs, she supported herself as she worked him with her lips and tongue. He smelled so masculine—leather and musk. She burned to get closer.

The bed rocked under their passion. Then he gripped her ass, parting the cheeks. The cooler air and knowing she was so exposed to him rocketed her skyward in a blink. He sucked her nubbin until she quaked. When he eased a long finger into her pussy, it was too much.

Her orgasm rushed up, slammed over her. She cried out around his cock, unable to think about anything but the wild contractions of her pussy and the juices flooding his tongue and finger.

Seconds passed before she discovered she was holding her breath.

He slowed the intimate kiss, dragging his beard over her tender flesh, back and forth over her clit as the last threads of her control snapped.

Before she gathered her scattered thoughts he flipped her into the mattress again. “Let me finish you off,” she panted, gazing at his cock bobbing up and to the right.

With a quick shake of his head, he leaned across to her nightstand drawer and yanked it open. Her vibrator rolled to the front again and he gave a wolfish grin. “Good thing you like
em big.” He stroked his cock from base to fat tip, rolling the veined, purple length through a fist that could be registered as a lethal weapon. Precum beaded.