Never Kiss an Outlaw(52)

However true, that didn't stop me from blushing like a prom girl as I dropped my khakis. On the table, his rough hand snatched at my waistband, ripping my panties down.

I heard him breathe deep, taking in my scent, everything I couldn't hide from how hot and wet and conflicted I'd been for at least the last hour.

“Fuck. You're lucky I learned a thing or two about discipline with Uncle Sam, alongside these inks. Otherwise, I'd be slamming into you hard and deep, right the fuck here. You'd be out before we even got started.”

His hand touched the small of my back, swept downward, zipping over my bare ass cheeks. Arching my back, I sucked in a breath, held it, and let it steam out my lips.

“Soon, baby girl. Keep that fire hot. Hold it just for me.” He leaned down, numbing my ass with one hand, pouring hot breath into my ear. “Quicker we get this over with, quicker you get this dick inside you. This ain't officially our honeymoon, but I'm fucking you like it is.”

Then his hand slapped my ass, making a clap so loud and harsh I jerked on the leather bench. “Ah! Did you really need to do that to check if I'm numb?”

He chuckled. “Nah. It'll be a few days before I can give you a proper spanking after this shit, and I know you're gonna mouth off sooner or later. Preemptive strike.”

Asshole. I buried my face in the leather underneath me, the only thing I could do to hide my smile.
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By the time he'd finished, I was out of my mind with pure desire. No, no, that didn't begin to describe it, and neither did all the other euphemisms for dying because I wasn't getting fucked this instant.

Dripping wet. Horny-as-hell. Heat.

They all plucked my nerves. Painted my skin soft, wet, and full of goosebumps.

My own reflection seemed foreign when the mirror twirled in front of me, then angled down so I could see my butt.

“Good?” he growled. “Looks pretty fuckin' amazing from where I'm standing, but it's your ass, darlin'.”

I looked into the mirror. A winged skull with pistols smoking on both sides lay on my upper ass cheek. A proper tramp stamp.

Everything I thought I'd never have on my body, and yet, it seemed right. So strange, wonderful, and wild I couldn't stop smiling.

The text inscribed on the skull's forehead in flaming, tapered black said it all. PROPERTY OF FIREFLY, DEADLY PISTOLS MC, TENNESSEE.

“Wow. You've got some serious talent,” I said, sliding off the bench so I could finally pull up my panties. “I like it.”

“Fuck yeah, you do. Had a feeling you've been wanting to wear my name since the first night I got my hands all over you, babe.”

I stared at the ground, searching for my khakis, saying nothing. He knew me too damned well for his own good.

For some reason, I thought about his time in the service, trying to imagine this big, savage bastard as a soldier. He'd had his share of names, numbers, and tags throughout his life. He'd turned them over for a patch, and a road name, not so different from the transformation happening to me.

It's proof stung gently on my butt cheek as I fastened my belt. He was cleaning up, putting his tools away and pivoting the lamp, when he caught me staring.

“What've you got going in that pretty head?” he asked, giving the bench I'd just lain on a quick wipe.

It needed it, too. I'd laid there for what seemed like a small eternity while he did his work, shaking and sweating, slick between my legs.

I tried to take my mind off it. I walked up to him, laid a hand on his shoulder, and followed his huge bulk as he rose to full height.

“What's your name? I only know you as Firefly. That can't be your real name.”

“Huck,” he said. “Huck Davis. Ma was a real sucker for Mark Twain.”

Huck. Huck?!

I burst out laughing. Wracking my brain to remember the stories I'd read when I was a kid, I came back with all the hijinks and good humor from a simpler time.

Surprise aside, it fit him. Just like a glove.

“Fucking shit,” he growled. “You'd better believe Firefly's the name that I wear proudly. Far as we're concerned, that's the one you're gonna keep calling me, baby.”

“No, no, it isn't that.” I squeezed his shoulder, swept it up, letting my hand wander across his cheek, feeling his rough dark stubble. “I like it. I like it a lot, Huck. You shouldn't be ashamed. It's a wonderful name. It tells me something about the good man behind all the leather and skulls.”

“Yeah, well,” he grunted, collecting his words. “You'd better keep that shit to yourself, unless we're behind closed doors. Don't give a damn what you say when it's just me, you, and a surface for fucking. You can call me fuckin' Shakespeare for all I care, once I'm up inside you, Cora.”