UnCage me (Savage Beast MC Book 8) by Hayley Faiman (e book reader pc txt) 📕

away from me. I don’t watch him, instead, I imagine Pamela somewhere else. I imagine her living a life where she works doing some kind of trade. A nurse, a hairstylist, something else and I shake my head because as much as I want her to do what she wants, I also am selfish as fuck and I want her next to me.

Then Dragon’s words come back to me. A shot at a decent life. She won’t get that with me, no way in fuck.

There’s a noise behind me and I jerk, turning around and bracing for whatever is about to come my way. When I see her, I freeze. She is standing far enough away from me that I can’t reach out and touch her, but she’s close enough that it would only take a few short steps to be near her.

“You’re leaving,” I announce.

She looks down to her feet, then slowly lifts her gaze to meet my own. “After Riot is dealt with,” she says, nodding her head in agreement.

“Then what?” I ask.

Dragon told me what he knows, what she told him, but I need to hear it from her. I need to know what she really wants. I need to see it in her eyes. I need to hear it from her own lips.

“School of some kind. Try to live in the world and survive.”

“Survive? Ain’t you been doin’ that long enough?” I ask.

She blinks, her gaze finding and holding mine. “Yeah, barely,” she admits on a breath.

I shake my head a couple of times, then close the distance between us, unable to stay away from her. I need to touch her. I need to be close to her. I should turn away, tell her good luck, pat her on her head and send her far away from me.

I can’t.

Lifting my hand, I cup her cheek. “Sunny,” I exhale.

Her breath hitches as she tilts her head back to look up at me. She closes her eyes, pinching them closed, then lets out a long breath before she whispers my name.

“Dylan.”

Somehow, I don’t hate my given name on her lips, in fact, it’s the opposite. I fucking love it. Tipping my head down, I press my forehead against hers and inhale a deep breath, taking in her scent and letting it fill my entire body.

“I can’t let you go,” I admit.

“Why?” she asks.

“You’re mine.”

Chapter Eighteen

PAMELA

You’re mine.

He says these words and yet does absolutely nothing to back them up. Slipping my hands between us, I press my palms against his chest and try to push away from him, but he doesn’t let me. Instead, he wraps his arms around me, holding me firmly and close against his chest, trapping my hands between us.

“I’m not,” I whisper. “You keep saying that, then you ignore me, then you push me away, then you go off with Pinkie. So, I’m not really anyone’s, especially yours.”

He doesn’t say anything right away, his jaw is clenched as he watches me for a long moment. Then his arms flex and he brings me even closer. Dipping his chin, I expect him to press his forehead to mine again, but he doesn’t.

Dylan’s lips touch mine. The kiss starts out as soft, sweet almost. It’s closed mouthed and my entire body melts against him. I no longer am trying to push away. He parts his lips and I automatically do the same, then his tongue slides inside of me and I moan.

His hands leave my back, lowering to my hips, then grabbing ahold of my ass before he picks me up. Lifting my arms, I wrap them around his shoulders holding on to him, bracing myself because inside I’m a melted puddle of goo.

Wrapping my legs around his hips I try to keep from moving, but I can’t stop myself, I crave the friction. He walks somewhere, but I have no idea where he’s going, I don’t care either. All I want is his body against mine. All I need is more of this—more of him.

He sets me down on the edge of a hard surface before he yanks his head back, abruptly breaking the kiss. His eyes find mine and his breathing is labored, at the same time I’m panting and trying to hold back a whimper.

“Don’t push me away again, no more,” I say, and if I sound pleading, it’s genuine because I’m close to dropping to my knees and begging.

His eyes search my own, but he doesn’t say anything right away, he doesn’t respond to my words immediately. Instead, he watches me for far too long. There is a moment that passes between us, it’s quiet, it’s full of unasked questions and unspoken promises.

“Not pushing you anywhere. You can’t leave me,” he says, his voice a hardened growl.

“Make me stay.”

My words are meant to be a challenge. A way to force him to think about me, about us, about the long run. I want him to want me as much as I do him.

I need him to prove that this is something more than him just helping someone out. I need him to know that I’m walking away and I tried, that I won’t have any regrets about leaving him, about leaving here.

He growls. It sounds completely animalistic. Something inside of him snaps and I gasp at the sight of his eyes. They’re feral. Everything about him has shifted and he’s completely wild as he looks down at me.

Without a word, he strips me of my clothes. He takes a step back, unbuttoning my shorts and roughly sliding them down my legs. He tosses them somewhere in the room. My shirt is next. I reach for the hem, but before I can take it off, he has it gripped in his fingers and rips the fabric from my body.

I’m not wearing a bra, as nice as the girls were, that’s one thing I don’t have… bras. I have panties and clothes, but no bras. So mine is in the wash, and judging