Page 23 of Butcher's Honor

He doesn't.

He takes me hard and thorough, dragging soul-scorching pleasure from us both. I clutch at his sweat-sheened back and keen into the juncture of his shoulder like a woman unraveled. My nails leave stinging trails, marking him as he marks me from the inside.

When my second orgasm crests like a tidal wave, I nearly black out. Incoherent begging pours from my lips, though I can't say what I'm begging for.

More? Less? I'll surely die if this continues, die if it stops.

"We aren't done," he rasps in a tone that brooks no argument. "Get on all fours."

Still trembling from my last orgasm, I comply, turning over on shaky limbs. His rough palms smooth over my back and my hips, squeezing appreciatively. I feel exposed and vulnerable but utterly safe under his touch.

"Perfect," he growls, positioning himself behind me. "Fucking perfect."

When he enters me again, the angle is impossibly deeper. I cry out, dropping to my elbows as pleasure borders on sweet pain. His thick length fills me completely, stretching me in ways I've never experienced.

One hand grips my hip while the other slides up my spine to tangle in my hair. He pulls just enough to arch my back, and the change in angle has me going insane.

"That's it, baby," he groans, setting a ruthless pace. "Take all of me."

His grip tightens, sure to leave bruises I'll cherish tomorrow. The thought of being marked by him, of carrying physical reminders of this moment, makes me moan louder.

"Touch yourself," he commands, voice rough with need. "Want to feel you come around my cock."

My hand snakes between my legs, finding my swollen clit. The dual stimulation is almost too much, but his encouraging growls urge me on. Every touch builds the pressure coiling in my core, threatening to explode.

"Joey, I'm—I can't—"

"Let go, baby. I've got you."

The orgasm hits like lightning, white-hot and all-consuming. I scream his name as my body writhes, inner walls gripping him like a vice. Behind me, Joey's rhythm falters, his grip tightening almost painfully on my hips.

"Fuck, Ruby," he growls, thrusting deeper. "So perfect, so tight..."

He follows immediately, his own release hot and deep inside me as he collapses over my back. His weight should be crushing, but he feels like an anchor, keeping me grounded as aftershocks ripple through my body.

We stay connected, panting and trembling until our hearts slow. Finally, he pulls out gently and guides me to lay beside him. I curl into his chest, feeling utterly claimed and cherished.

His fingers trace lazy patterns on my spine as he presses soft kisses to my temple. In this moment, I feel completely, perfectly safe. The dangerous biker who terrifies others has shown me nothing but tenderness.

"You okay?" he murmurs against my hair.

I smile, pressing closer. "Never better."

His arms tighten around me. "Didn't hurt you?"

"No," I assure him, tracing one of his tattoos. "You were perfect. Everything was perfect."

He shifts to look at me, something vulnerable in his eyes.

"This isn't just sex for me, Ruby. You know that, right?"

"I know." I lean up to kiss him softly. "It's not just sex for me either."

His relief is palpable in the way his body relaxes. "Good. Because I plan on doing that again. Often."

I laugh, but it turns into a yawn. The emotional and physical intensity of the morning catches up with me all at once.

"Sleep," he says, pulling the covers over us. "We've got time."

---