Page 18 of Auctioned to the Biker

“Sorry, Daddy,” she moans. Again, I smack her juicy ass, and this time, she bucks her hips. One last spank, and then I massage the sting away. I slide a hand around her stomach and lower it into her folds. She’s soaked for me, her pretty little pussy begging for a nice hard fuck.

I whip out my dick and tease her entrance, running the head up and down her seam, collecting her sweet honey. Grabbing her hips, I position myself at her entrance and slam into her. Hard.

Fucking hell.

It takes everything in me not to come the instant I’m inside of her. I pull out and slam into her again and again. She bucks her hips, meeting me thrust for thrust. We fit perfectly.

My hands slide from her hips and grab her ass cheeks, pulling them apart so I can see her pussy stretch and take my cock as I hammer into her. I keep rolling my hips, pounding into her as I feel my orgasm ready to rip through me.

I reach around and rub her clit, needing her to come first. Micaela lets out a loud moan, and I nip the side of her neck.

“Quiet, babygirl.”

I pull my fingers from her pussy and clap my hand over her mouth. She licks her juices off the palm of my hand, then bites the skin as she trembles and whimpers. I hook my otherarm under her hips, holding her in place while I rut into her, barreling toward oblivion. Micaela moans and grunts, my hand catching most of her sexy sounds.

I pull her earlobe between my teeth and growl. “Come right the fuck now, babygirl. Do it. I want to feel you gush for me.”

I sink my teeth into her shoulder and she snaps, convulsing in my arms and shaking all over. Her pussy chokes my cock so fucking tight. It’s amazing. I want to stay right here, on the edge of bliss, watching her convulse around my huge dick.

But I can’t hang on another second. I thrust into her one last time and explode, painting her pussy walls with my sticky cum. I continue to pump into her, releasing more cum than I even knew I was capable of. I feel her pulse around me again, my release triggering another orgasm inside of her.

Fuck.

Her arms are shaking as they barely hold her above the bench. I cover her with my body, placing my arms on either side of hers. We’re both sweaty and panting as we slowly float back down to earth.

“I love you,” I whisper, spinning Micaela around and folding her up in my arms. “My sweet, sassy babygirl. I don’t know how I made it this long without you.”

She sighs and melts further into my embrace. “I love you so much,” she says, her voice muffled from where her face is buried against my neck. I smile, holding her close. Our hearts beat as one, and I know with every fiber of my being that our happily ever after is just beginning.

EPILOGUE

MICAELA

“Ryan! Gabriel! Melinda! Come upstairs for the family photo!” I shout downstairs to our three oldest kids. They scramble up the stairs, making me laugh when I get my first look at their ugly Christmas sweaters.

It's been a running tradition now for the last decade or so to take a family photo in our ugliest homemade Christmas sweaters. We usually purchase the basic sweater from a thrift shop, then go all out with glitter, sewing, battery-operated LED lights, ornaments, and even some greenery.

Melinda and Ryan are pretty competitive when it comes to making the best worst sweater, while Gabriel usually settles for a quippy holiday joke on his. Alison and Kyle are still a bit too young to be let loose on their own, so Morrison has been helping them this morning while I finish the baking I wanted to get done. After the family photo, it’s tradition to frost cookies and watch a Christmas movie.

“Love the effort everyone put in this year,” I tell my kids as they zoom past me and into the living room where their younger siblings are.

Morrison looks up from the coffee couch where our youngest, Alison, is sitting on his lap. He smiles at the three kids who justjoined him, the love in his eyes so pure and genuine it almost brings a tear to my eye. He catches me looking at him and gives me a wink. My man is somehow more handsome today than he was when we had our first encounter almost fifteen years ago now.

He’s an amazing father, a talented mechanic and artist, and a successful businessman. Morrison tells me all the time that he was coasting through life until I came along and gave him a purpose. He saved me all those years ago, but he makes it seem like I’m the one who saved him.

“Alright, fam, everyone assume the position!” Morrison calls out before setting Alison down and heading toward the camera already set up on the tripod.

He directs the kids and me so we’re all fitting in the frame, and then he sets the timer. My husband slides in next to me, nuzzling into the side of my neck and wrapping his arms around me as he pulls my back against his front.

“Merry Christmas, love,” he murmurs.

"Merry Christmas," I reply, looking at him over my shoulder. He kisses me as the camera beeps and snaps a photo.

“Ewww!” Kyle exclaims, making me laugh.

“Ugh, get a room,” Gabe says sarcastically.

“Um, actually, please don’t. I’m too young to know where babies come from,” Melinda, our fourteen-year-old teases.

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