Page 105 of Desert Rain
I backed her up until her ass hit the small kitchen counter. The second her hips met the edge I crowded in close, caging her there with my body. Hands, lips, tongue—everywhere at once. I took her mouth like I’d been starving for it since the stash house. She gave it right back, teeth nipping, tongue sliding against mine, fingers digging into my bare shoulders.
I hissed when her palms roamed over my pecs, tracing every ridge and scar like she was memorizing the map of me.
“Damn, baby,” I growled against her lips. “Your hands feel so good.”
She pulled back just enough to look me in the eye, breath ragged. “Oh yeah? How do my lips feel?”
Then she dipped her head and dragged her tongue across one of my nipples, slow and deliberate, before sucking it into her mouth. Hard.
I hissed again, back arching before I could stop it. My hand fisted in her hair, holding her there while she licked and sucked and drove me half out of my mind. Her other hand slid down my stomach and palmed me through my jeans—hot, hard, aching. She squeezed once, perfect pressure, and my hips jerked into her touch on pure instinct.
“I thought you hated me,” I managed, voice rough as gravel.
She looked up, lips shiny, eyes dark. “I don’t have to hate you to want you.”
The words hit me like a cold slap.
I froze.
Everything in me wanted to keep going—strip her right there on the counter, bury myself inside her until neither of us could think straight. But the rest of it crashed in fast. Awkward good mornings. Regan’s new pet project. Sienna wasn’t some club girl who knew the rules and could walk away clean. She was smart, independent, and already tangled up in our world because of Tank’s old lady. One wrong move and this would turn into a mess bigger than either of us wanted.
I pulled back an inch, chest still heaving, her hand still pressed against the front of my jeans.
Sienna stared at me, lips still shiny, breath coming fast.
“What?”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The words she’d just dropped between us—I don’t have to hate you to want you—were still ringing in my ears like a bad engine knock. I stepped back, bentdown, and snatched my shirt off the floor. The blood had dried in dark streaks across the front. I carried it to the kitchen sink like it was the most important thing in the room.
Cold water. Dish soap. I worked the stain fast, rubbing the fabric under the faucet before it could set.
She followed me. Close. Too close. Her anger filled the tiny kitchen like smoke from a bad exhaust. I could feel her eyes on my bare back, tracing the scars I knew were there.
“I’m not just a piece of man candy okay? I have feelings,” I muttered without looking up.
She didn’t snap back right away. For once she didn’t.
Instead she went quiet. I can’t believe I just admitted that shit. But I did. Maybe, I’d just been listening to that podcast Regan is always blaring about getting in touch with feelings and shit more than I meant to.
I glanced over my shoulder. She was leaning against the counter, arms wrapped around herself, hair falling across one eye. The fire was still there, but something else had slipped in underneath it. Something heavier.
“My ex—” She stopped. Swallowed hard. “After him… maybe I just needed to know I was still wanted. Desired.” Her voice cracked on the last word, small and raw in a way I wasn’t ready for. “I’m not… I don’t sleep around, Mason. I don’t do this. Ever. I’m just… lonely. And you?—”
She pushed her hair off her shoulder, eyes shining like she hated every word coming out of her mouth but couldn’t stop them. “You kissed me like you meant it. You looked at me like I wasn’t just some inconvenient scientist you got stuck with in the desert. And for one minute I felt wanted again. Not used. Not discarded. Wanted.”
The water kept running over my hands. I didn’t move.
She let out a shaky breath. “I’m not asking for anything. I swear. I just… after the way he left me, I needed to feel like I still existed to someone. Even if it was you. Even if it was just once.”
The kitchen felt too small. The running water sounded too loud.
I shut the faucet off.
For a long second I just stood there, wet shirt dripping between my fingers, chest tight in a way that had nothing to do with the punch I’d thrown earlier.
“I get it,” I said finally. My voice came out rough, like I’d dragged it over gravel. “My ex… Rylee. She wasn’t just an ex. She was the one I was gonna marry. Saved for the ring. Had it in my closet the day she walked out on me for a car that cost six figures and a country club membership. She wanted a designer nursery and the kind of life that came with it. And I—” I shrugged, the motion feeling too heavy. “I’m just me. Bike grease, scars, and a clubhouse full of brothers who bleed for each other. That wasn’t enough.”
Sienna watched me, eyes wide. Then the smallest smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Soft. Real.
