Page 38 of I Was Born Ruined (Death by Daybreak MC 1)
What am I going to do?
“I can’t believe I’m stuck babysitting a kid,” he whispers under his breath, just loud enough that I know he means for me to hear that. Ire surges up inside of me like a tsunami, just as the water goes from cold to hot and scalds my naked flesh. I throw aside the curtain and step out onto the white rug, moving over to stand in front of Grainger and not caring that I have to tilt my head back to look at him.
“You didn’t seem to think I was a kid two years ago. What’s changed, huh?” Grainger curses, swiping his hand down his face in frustration. “Or at the church just last week. Have you already forgotten about that?”
He looks at me then, and his face is just all sorts of sadistic and savage.
“Gidget, you are in way over your head.” Grainger steps back, his arms rippling with tattoos, his eyes half-lidded and his gaze cruel. “You might have a lush body and perky tits, but you have no fucking clue what you’re doing.”
“Don’t I?” I ask, moving forward until we’re standing front to front. When I breathe, my hardened nipples brush against his chest. Grainge scowls at me, but when I curl my fingers under the waistband of his jeans, he doesn’t stop me. “You’re so easy to read, Cade Grainger.” I find the thick hard length of him, trapped behind denim and straining to get out. As I stroke him with my fingers, I undo his belt with my other hand. The leather whips out of the denim loops with a hiss, and I toss it aside.
He just fucking stares at me.
“Playing games you can’t win,” he scowls, reaching down to grab my wrist. Instead of pushing me away, he uses it to pull me closer. Cade Grainger leans down and crushes his mouth to mine, running his tongue along my lower lip and spreading an ardent wave of heat through my body. My right hand finishes undoing his jeans, and since we’re already so close and I’m already so naked, Grainge just picks me up and parks my ass on my desk.
There’s no door to my room. Nellie is down there. Cat could be home at any minute.
If he caught us like this … I’m not sure what would happen, but Armageddon is a distinct possibility.
Grainge’s eyes are so dark and pretty, his lashes so long. It’s so … not fair. Why would nature dress up a crazy asshole in such beauty? He’s almost … fuck, I don’t want to say irresistible, but that’s the only word that’ll come to mind.
“Who says I’m playing a game?” I ask as I push Grainge’s pants down and free his hard length. He’s sweaty, and he smells like cumin and saffron, black pepper and vanilla. Just a little bit of sweet with all that spice. Too bad none of that translates to his personality. Our eyes are locked as I work him with my hand, watching his breath as it shudders between his lips.
He wants me. I can see it written into every tense line in his face, in the tightness of his muscles, in the hard press of his fingers against my ass.
Only … this doesn’t feel like the hate fuck I wanted so badly. No, it’s like it’s transformed into something else and that’s scaring me.
Grainger must sense it, too, because he reaches up, skims one palm over my full breast, and then shakes his head.
“Oh fuck no,” he snarls, pushing away from me and putting his dick back in his jeans. I try to grab onto his t-shirt, but he tears from my grip and spins away, raking his fingers through his hair. “Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me?” He looks back at me, and there’s the strangest goddamn expression on his face. “Stay away from me, Gidget.”
“Stay away from you?!” I ask, lifting my chin. I refuse to feel shamed by my nakedness. I won’t let Grainger make me ashamed. “You’re the ones who won’t leave me alone! Everywhere I look, there you are. Demons, devils.” I hop down from the desk, grab a robe from the back of my bathroom door and slip it over my shoulders. “All I’ve ever wanted is to be left alone, but Cat won’t let me go. He doesn’t even like me, so why won’t he let me leave?” Tears threaten, but I won’t let them fall. My life is a mess, but at least I have one, right? I bet Posey and Queenie would rather be here suffering than buried in ice-cold ground with nothing to do but dream.
I should be grateful.
Instead … I’m ruination incarnate.
“You’re his daughter,” Grainger snaps, nostrils flared, standing in my bedroom doorway like a prison guard. I’d give anything to go back to that time, so long ago, when I thought the Death by Daybreak Motorcycle Club was a safety net, a group of soldiers to guard a princess. What a joke. If I am royalty, then I’m the heir to a dirty throne of motorcycles and madness. My crown would be made of chrome thorns, and my dress would be sewn of leather. I’d ride a metal beast to battle, and rule the underground of the city with fear and intimidation.
