Page 90 of Property of the Hellfire Riders

He pulls away and smirks, “I’ve got you all worked up, haven’t I?”

I blush. “You know you do.”

“God, you’re so beautiful, Izzy.”

His hand cups my ass, his grip firm as he grinds his erection against me. I moan into his mouth, unable to control myself any longer.

My back is pressed against the slippery tiles, and I can feel the water cascading over our heated bodies.

He steps closer, his muscular thighs bracketing my legs, and the hardness of his thick cock eases into me.

I gasp as he fills me, His pace is slow, torturous.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans, his blue eyes locked on mine.

He picks up the rhythm then, driving himself deeper and deeper, harder and harder.

My senses are overwhelmed by the feeling of him inside of me, filling me completely and igniting my every nerve. I can hear the sound of our skin slapping together, the rushing water and our moans filling the steamy air.

“Fuck, Izzy,” he growls, his grip on my ass tightening. His hips pick up the pace, and we move as one.

His hand leaves my ass and finds my clit, rubbing it rhythmically in time with his thrusts.

The pressure builds deep within me, coiling tighter and tighter.

“H-Hawk, I’m gonna…”

“That’s it, baby. Cum for me. Let it all go,” he grunts, and I feel him twitch inside me.

He gives one last, deep thrust, and I explode around him, my orgasm rocking me to my core. His dreamy eyes land on me then.

He lifts me into his arms, shutting off the water.

“Come to bed with me, darling.” He hands me a towel. “I need to make sure you get some rest before we end Reynolds for good.”

22

IZZY

Laina’s close.

All this time. All this effort, and every second we’re closer to rescuing her.

The early morning air is cool and damp, the scent of rain still lingering. The rhythmic hum of the engine is almost soothing, but my mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. I press closer to Hawk, my arms wrapped around his solid frame.

I can’t even think about what hell she's been through.

She’s alive. That’s what matters.

Tank rides beside us. He’d downed several Excedrin and proclaimed he’d never felt better before hopping on his bike after our four hour break at the hideout. Time is not on our side right now, and Reynolds could be anywhere by now.

Vance raises his hand, motioning to head off the road as he follows the GPS.

“Hang tight, darling!” Hawk shouts. I squeeze, securing myself to him.

Sure enough, the warehouse looms ahead, its silhouette dark and foreboding against the early morning sky. The GPS on Vance’s phone confirms it—this is the place.

Hawk slows the bike to a crawl as we near the entrance, the gravel crunching beneath the tires. Tank pulls up behind us, his headlights casting long shadows across the ground.

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