Heart Ties (Club Ties Book 2) by Em Petrova Page B

she’d met him she’d dreamed of his chiseled jaw and hard lips, the planes of his back and those hips holding up low-slung jeans.
    She kicked off her shoes and slid her foot up his leg.
    Shock bled into her haze of passion, and he lifted his head, laughing. “Didn’t know it’s not just a titanium foot, did you?”
    “No. How far up does it go?”
    He took her hand and ran it over his bulging thigh muscle to straps and finally plastic that must hold the titanium leg and foot.
    She met his gaze. “How?”
    “Being a dumbass.”
    Ever had mentioned Drake was in Afghanistan. Did he consider losing a limb for his country stupid?
    He was staring at her, eyes clear green pools. “Are you okay with it?”
    This time she took his hand. She guided it over her breast and hardened nipple. His primal groan was a good answer.
    They rolled on the sagging mattress, bodies meshed, rocking and stripping each other. Her black T-shirt and leopard-print bra were no match for him, and his cut and shirt hit the floor.
    Small squeaking gasps emitted from her as he sucked her nipple into his hot mouth. Dizzy with lust, she closed her eyes, but not for long. She wanted to see every tattooed inch of his gorgeous body.
    She traced each with her gaze. Stars that must represent the Marines, curling script across his chest that said Brother at Arms . A Harley insignia on his upper biceps, spider web across his elbow. Wings, flames, the Hell’s Sons’ skeleton on a bike shooting flames from the tailpipe. She followed the inky lines over his flesh, discovering a serpent coiled on his abs and more words— blood brother, freedom .
    His gaze tracked her but he lay dead still. She moved to his hands which spelled out Hell’s Sons with stars riding each knuckle above. The other arm bore a myriad of guns, knives, and a bleeding heart.
    His throat worked as she moved upward. “Do you have a favorite?”
    “I think I do.” Her pulse hammered in her temples, and she opened her mouth over the cross on his neck, right over his Adam’s apple.
    He tasted of salt and man and everything good.
    She kissed from one intricate section of the cross to the opposite, then down and up, licking a path over his smooth jaw. Releasing a long sigh, he tipped his head back to give her access.
    When she reached his mouth, he growled and sucked her tongue deeply. They rolled, his heavy thigh wedged between hers, rocking against her swollen clit until her panties were a useless, soggy scrap.
    His weight pressed her into the bed, and he trapped her hair under one fist. “My turn.”
    Oh God.
    He started at her collarbone where a feminine black vine with tiny pink blossoms curled down to her shoulder, sprouting into reds, blues, and purples. He traced curlicues around each petal, raising the fine hairs on her body. He ended at her wrist and a tiny daisy tattoo on the underside.
    Pinching one finger lightly between his, he raised it to his mouth. As he snaked his tongue around her knuckle and down to the soft flesh below her thumb, she writhed.
    “I can see there’s more, and I’m going to kiss every goddamn flower on this beautiful body of yours. Then I’m going to lick your pussy until you want to ink my name into your skin.”
    She couldn’t breathe or think about anything but his hot mouth on her needy flesh. She moaned. Trapping his face in her hands, she brought him down for a kiss.
    Flavors of lust were the most decadent treat—better than ice cream on a hundred-degree day. Better than birthday cake, not that she’d ever had one.
    He fucked his tongue in and out of her mouth, mimicking the action with his hips against hers. His rigid length rode lower against the crease of her thigh, the head just skimming her throbbing folds.
    Finally, he tore away. Eyes hooded, he studied her face. “I’m sorry I let them hurt you.”
    Unable to speak around the lump in her throat, she shook her head. The tender gleam in his eyes would be her undoing. She arched her