Marked as His by Em Petrova

his hand down to her pussy. His fingers buried between her folds and found her distended clit as if he’d been born to do this. Breaths rasping in a wild forbidden symphony, he circled her clit as he drove into her.
    Plunging deep, deeper, hitching her up, almost lifting her on his cock. Juices flooded his fingers and her inner walls clenched.
    She was coming.
    He couldn’t have stayed quiet if his roar had ended the world. He threw his head back and joined Santana on the other side of heaven.
    Several long heartbeats passed before she roused him. “Paxton…”
    “Yeah, love?”
    “We never hit those garbage cans.”
    He bit into her shoulder to stifle his laugh. Damn, he couldn’t get enough of this woman.
     

Chapter Six
    The handgrips vibrated under Paxton’s fingers and the hot Alabama wind caressed his face. He couldn’t be happier—especially since Santana’s arms were around his waist.
    In twenty-four hours, he’d gone from enemy to lover. He’d made her an accessory in a crime. But he hoped she would let him be more—and put her trust in him. He was as serious as a twenty-car pileup when he said he’d get her out of the club as soon as she felt it was too much.
    He leaned into a turn and she moved too, in tune with him. On a bike, a good woman was so important. She could throw him off and cause a helluva case of road rash. Or she could glide on an even keel with a man.
    Somehow he knew Santana would be option number two. Would he be able to keep her?
    After the Hell’s Sons patrolled the condo, they knew he’d spent the night with Santana. They probably also guessed a “midnight organ fight” was involved. How would Tommy react?
    She shifted closer to him, and he covered one of her hands with his. After she’d run, he’d thought all bets were off. In the past few hours, she’d softened toward him even more, but who knew what she’d do once he got her on Hell’s Sons turf.
    He smiled. She was so damn unpredictable.
    As they rolled through the gates of the club, he felt her tense. He guided the bike into his usual spot.
    He cut the engine but Santana didn’t make a move to get off. With a touch on her leg, he urged her to stand. Then he grabbed her hand and led her across the parking lot to the door.
    She walked woodenly, but he admired that once she made up her mind to do something, she didn’t back down. Running from him, bullets, handcuffs, and other threats had all shown him what a strong person she was. She stood up for herself.
    At the door, he felt as though he were dragging her. He looked down to see her sexy-as-fuck black leather boots digging into the gravel. He stopped and ran a hand down her spine, over the hair she’d left loose.
    “You okay?” he asked.
    “Is he…here?”
    Paxton glanced at the line of bikes. Funny that Tommy wouldn’t be here, knowing Paxton was bringing his daughter in. Maybe Tommy knew something about his daughter Paxton hadn’t at first—giving her time and space was best.
    “His bike’s not here. Come on.” He took her arm and opened the door. Blinking to make the adjustment between bright sun and shadows, he drew Santana inside and let the door close behind them.
    The club was relatively empty. Ace was behind the bar with his dog, talking to Jamison, who had what looked like tomato juice mixed with a beer shot in front of him.
    “That looks like a hangover cure if I ever saw one,” Paxton said, moving around furniture to reach the bar and towing Santana in his wake. “Long night without me?”
    “We held a party in your honor. Thank-Christ-Paxton-isn’t-here-with-his-damn-buzzing-needles party,” Ace said.
    Paxton held out a fist and Ace bumped his knuckles with his own. “Nice, bro. I’ll remember how much you hate my needles next time you want ink.”
    Jamison pivoted on his stool to face Santana. She inched close to Paxton, and his heart did an odd thump.
    Fuck, he wasn’t ready to end this mission. And he was far from finished with