Page 48 of Thornhill Road

I also pocketed the promise his statement implied.

When we finished our dinner and the bartender asked if we wanted dessert, Mustang hit me with the same question usingonly those beautiful eyes. Remembering the New York style cheesecake with peaches in bourbon cream I’d seen on the menu earlier, I couldn’t resist.

We split it, then Mustang picked up the check, and we were out of there.

I double checked my phone before we got on his hog and was happy to see no new notifications. This meant I was free to enjoy our ride to the fullest.

On the open road, I cleared my mind and let everything go, just because I could.

Well—everything but Mustang.

I luxuriated in the feel of my body wrapped around his, and the rumble of his bike underneath us. The power of his hog was a reminder of his own prowess, and I looked forward to our next ride—where I was sure he’d take me to new heights of pleasure.

It was after ten when Mustang pulled into my driveway, and neither of us pretended we had a mind to do anything other than to go inside and rip each other’s clothes off.

Metaphorically speaking, at least.

I hoped he wouldn’t rip my top. I liked it far more than the tee I’d spared from a shredding the previous evening.

We were two steps beyond my door when Mustang hooked his arm around my middle and hauled my back against his front. I shivered at the feel of his beard hairs tickling my ear as he spoke.

“Bedroom, baby. Everything off—except the shoes.”

I shivered again. Bigger this time. Then nodded.

He let me go and I hurried up the stairs. I heard him slide home the deadbolt on my front door, but I hardly registered it. I was primed and ready to go. Even the act of walking was a tease, my clit so swollen with desire, one touch and I knew I’d detonate.

I dropped my purse on the floor the moment I stepped over the threshold of my room and flicked on the overhead light.My top was gone a second later, my bra soon to follow. I was stepping out of my shoes in order to remove my jeans when Mustang filled my empty doorframe. His kutte was already gone, and he made quick work of yanking off his shirt. While I shimmied out of my jeans and panties, he tugged his feet free of his boots. When I slipped my blue nail-polished pedicured feet back into my Louboutins, Mustang stopped undressing himself and bathed me with his eyes.

If it was possible to come from a look, I would have.

He practically growled as he ate up the distance between us. One hand splayed open at the small of my back, the other buried in my hair, he brought me close, so close my nipples tingled pleasurably as my breasts smashed against his bare chest, and he kissed me.

No. Hedrankfrom me—and it was heaven.

My hands were everywhere. Up his sides, across his back, over one shoulder, along his neck. I felt crazed with desire, like more than two hours on his Harley with no release had turned me into an unhinged version of myself.

“Mustang,” I whimpered between kisses. “I need you. To. Fuck me. Now. Please.”

He tugged my bottom lip between his teeth before he let me go, reaching for his wallet.

“Belt,” he muttered, extracting a condom.

My hands got to work without delay. I unhooked his belt, then freed his top button and lowered his zipper before he took over. He shoved his jeans and his boxer briefs down past his hips before he rolled on the condom, and then he reached for me.

His hands skimmed the back of my thighs before he took hold, and I understood. I circled my arms around his shoulders as he lifted me off the floor, and we both worked to get my legs wrapped around him. My back hit the wall, his eyes locked withmine, and I felt the tip of his length a second before he impaled me.

He rocked his hips twice.

That’s all it took.

“Oh, god—yes,” I moaned as pleasure ripped through me.

I was still coming when he shifted one of his hands, bringing his thumb to massage my clit. He kept thrusting, and I couldn’t tell if my first orgasm was growing bigger, or if he was already making me come again, but I dug my nails into his back as I squeezed my thighs tight at his sides, my toes curling in my shoes and my back arching as I cried out in ecstasy.

I was panting, my insides still quivering when he readjusted his grip around my thighs and moved me away from the wall. He sat me on the edge of the bed, wrapped a hand around the back of my neck, and the other behind my right knee before he demanded, “Other leg, sugar.”

I let go of his shoulders, spreading my legs wide as I pulled back my left knee with one hand, and used my other to help stabilize myself as he began to pound in and out of me. His thrusts were hard and relentless, and I never wanted him to stop.

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