She tangled her fingers in his hair and took a tight hold when his mouth found her breasts. He lingered at her bosom, kissing and savoring her beauty, making her writhe in heated passion. She pushed against him, openly pleading for more. He didn’t hold back. Using his hands and lips, he bathed every inch of her delicate luscious body with passion.
His gaze moved over her as he pushed deep. Never had he seen a more beautiful woman—laid out before him on his Harley in the most provocative pose a man could fathom. The way she clung to him as they joined took him higher until the heat became too much to hold back. He groaned long and slow as his release filled her. She tensed and sucked in a sharp breath seconds before her own climax seized her.
“I love you, angel,” he murmured as they crested the tide of ecstasy together.
She gasped and an expression of sheer bliss swept over her face. “I love you too, baby.”
He pulled her up and wound his arms around her back, drawing her so close they could barely take a breath while coming down from the sexual high. Their eyes met. Hers glistened with euphoric afterglow and he had no doubt his expression paralleled hers. They gazed at each other for several intense moments before merging into a sizzling kiss heavy with tongue. She coiled around him in the most delightful manner. His spirit soared over having this mysteriously alluring woman back in his arms. Nothing had ever felt more right.
They eased from the deeply stirring kiss and wrapped around each other, taking their time to descend from the heavenly rapture of lovemaking. He inhaled deeply at her neck, taking in her light floral scent. Night sounds provided enchanting music, as nature seemed to embrace their union.
After enjoying another round of passion and even more intense orgasmic highs, they clung to one another, panting for breath. Slivers of light from a full moon danced off her hair and her naturally tanned skin glistened with a light sheen of sweat. When she had been completely satisfied in every way after hours of intimacy he eased back while gazing into her sultry eyes.
“Would you like to take a ride?” he asked.
“Where to?”
“I thought maybe you’d enjoy riding down to the farm to bask in some victory.”
“Do you think any of the drug runners are still there? Maybe we should pack a few weapons.”
Trip smiled in adoration. He loved a woman who loved firepower. “I doubt anyone stayed behind after the warning. Draven had obviously split the scene and who knows where the prick is now. But I have no objections to packing heat,” he said with a wink. “What’s your pleasure tonight, my love?”
A delightful sparkled danced in her eyes and she smiled. “I really like that RPG and an AK-47 would be nice in addition to my shotgun…just in case.” She winked. “If they’ve left any evidence of their drug dealings in the barn I’m going to level it. I want no trace of their filth on my homeland.” Her sweet expression of excitement quickly switched to that of rage. “Those bastards were probably in my house sullying my home.”
Sadness washed over him as he shared her grief. “Unfortunately, you’re probably right.”
“I cannot dishonor my parents by allowing the stench of Carter and his white pigs to touch them. I’ll have to rebuild. I have enough money saved to erect a small cabin until I’m able to rebuild the main house. They would live in a tee pee if necessary just to be home again. We are not a fragile people.”
“I’ve noticed that,” he said with a wry grin. “I’ll help you. I foresee a bonfire in our near future,” he teased to help lighten the sorrow.
Her smile was laced with open gratitude. “What about Pike? Aren’t you worried the trail will grow cold?”
Trip shrugged while pondering her words. “Maybe…but—there might be one thing he can’t get rid of so easily. I think Draven unknowingly took on a tracking device.”
“How so?”
“While Gage was fired up over signing the documents he dropped a comment about a rain stick. Apparently Draven and his crew found one while digging on your farm.”
A distant look swept over Shye’s face. “So that’s why the riders came.”
“I assume you knew about them too?”
“Most people in our community have heard of them. I knew about the sacred dances performed with the unique instruments, but many things about our history are a mystery. They are woven into our culture,” she told him. “When you grow up in a tribal environment you hear many stories, learn many legends, and see the artwork passed down through generations. Native Americans express their visions or beliefs through art such as painting, beading, and so on. Everything they make carries meaning. The colors they use, the textures and shapes…all symbolize important details of their story…of their lives.” Her eyes carried the secrets of tales untold when she gazed at him. “I’ve seen many modern rain sticks but the original pieces are extremely rare…like the one I held during my time with the riders. If Pike found one of those ancient relics and kept it, he won’t have a moment’s peace and they will continue following him.”
“Why didn’t they take his soul on the road then?”
“He didn’t have the rain stick with him. They might be searching for the piece. Or…” Her sweet lips curved upward. “Perhaps the riders
are
saving him for you.”
About the Author
Austina Love is a multi-published author with various pen names in many different genres with Extasy and Divine Destinies Books. Currently she resides with her husband and two sweet Maltese dogs.
In addition to writing romantic fiction, her passions include music, dance, culture, and creating new recipes in the kitchen. Always the dreamer, never the realist, Austina takes life one day at a time while battling the daily challenge of Meniere’s Disease.
She has a deep love for animals and nature, believes strongly in the spirit world and values loyalty most of all in people. Her dream is to visit the ocean many times, preferably on a Harley. The love of her life was a very special Bichon Frise and not a day goes by that she doesn’t think of him since his premature passing.
Ambitious and quirky, she loves to laugh. She feels that passion is everything and without passion one is not truly living but merely existing.