Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition Elizabeth Knox (cheapest way to read ebooks .txt) 📖

he pulls me back in whether he realizes it or not. “I’m sorry, Jude.” My shoulders slump, and I lose all of the strength I had within me to stand my ground.

“You don’t have a thing to be sorry for.” He bows his head, resting his forehead on my shoulder blade. “You were my home, and I wrecked it.”

My arms wrap around this beast of a man the best they can, and I count silently, needing something to keep me grounded. His words carry the truth; neither of us can deny them. It doesn’t mean we have to like them, though. He needs me as much as I need him, but somewhere along the way, we forgot how to do anything apart from fight, fuck, and drink. We lost the most important thing that made us, us. Untouched love. What remains between us is imperfect. It carries our battle wounds, and the pain always lies just beneath the surface. Our love carries the incredibly heavy scars of our past, so our bodies don’t have to and somedays the weight is unbearable. Today is one of those days. There are too many ghosts of other people pulsating between us to erase the hurtful memories embedded inside my brain.

He whispers, “I fucking hate this.”

“Me, too.” My eyes painfully close and sting with tears. We are both at a standstill in life, but as stupid as it is, I don’t want to be stuck with anyone else. Hence the definition of toxic.

With a deep inhale, I remind myself I’m not this weak person begging to fall to her knees in shambles. Neither is he. “We aren’t this pitiful, Jude.”

“No, we aren’t,” he growls through a wicked smile as his fingers wind tightly in the long tendrils at the ends of my hair, and he yanks my head backward. His hot breath is on my throat in seconds, and his tongue trails the length of my exposed neck.

Instantly my mouth is dry, and my pussy is wet. He shoves my body against the wall, and my nails grind into the leather cut covering his back as a moan soars out of my mouth. My legs fasten around his body, and my boots lock over one another at the ankle. His lips push hard against mine, and they open for his tongue to enter. This is what we do the best—each other. Nothing would come between us if we could go the rest of our lives without speaking another word and were completely alone. That isn’t a possibility, not even by a long shot, so we live in the moments that everyone else ignores. Most people feel the most alive when they experience long bouts of happiness. Cobra and I don’t have that luxury, and so we find happiness in the forgotten moments of life.

“I hate your clothes,” he grumbles with a shake of his head as his rough hands cup my tits through my nineties band t-shirt.

“This is a fucking phenomenal band.” My ankles unhook in protest, and the stiletto heels tap against the stone floor one at a time. My eyebrow arches suspiciously above the other one. It’s one of the first reasons we began talking to one another in the first place. “When did you have a change of heart?”

“Not the band, Mouse,” he laughs, shaking his head, and then the tip of his nose runs along my jawline.

Chills shudder down my body in a shockwave, and I consider dropping the subject, but I stand by my statement. It might not be the most important thing right now, in the heat of the moment, but later I’ll want answers and might not get them. There’s no predicting what will happen between the two of us from one second to the next. It makes me a hypocrite, but I secretly live for the excitement of not knowing what to expect. The better part of the time, I’m happy with the surprises in our life, the other not so much.

“Your clothes in general. Covering this masterpiece is fucking illegal.”

The apples of my cheeks burn in the dim lighting from his words. I’m not as young as I used to be, and things definitely are not as tight as they were when I was twenty. Neither is his if I’m dissecting things. The difference between us is Jude is basically Adonis walking. Always has been and always will be. The man is the best sex imaginable in a pair of jeans, a black cutoff shirt, and leather boots. Add his Harley into the mix with everything else, and it’s hard to believe he’s real. Looking at him, he’s picture-perfect. There are faults to him, some colossally huge fucking ones. Yet when we are together, like this, I don’t want to remember one single damn thing to stop it. It’s like living the night we met all over again.

Silently, I bite the corner of my bottom lip. Adding anything to protest what he said would ruin the beauty between us. The thing is, he isn’t perfect, and neither am I, but we are perfectly imperfect when we are together.

Our clothes fly off in a frenzy around us, landing around the clubhouse. He kisses me softly with compassion at first, and then they become hard and desperate. I need him as much as his body craves mine. Where we are in life is a conundrum. One that neither of us will be figuring out anytime soon. I will probably hate myself for all of this tomorrow, but I’ll be damned if I don’t live in the moment. It’s how I approach everything in life because tomorrow is never a guarantee. I genuinely believe that cliché statement with everything in me.

Cobra leads our bodies, urging me backward until the cool familiar metal of the pool table is against the back of my thighs. He lifts my body with ease with his strong arms and lays me onto the worn felt.

“Fuck,” he seethes. “No shame,” he says breathlessly, propping