Page 72 of Iron Hearts

“Yes,” I gasped.

He gathered me close and kissed my mouth, along my jaw, and down the side of my neck, stopping and practically attacking that sweet spot when I let out a gasp and went very nearly limp in his embrace.

And no, it was not lost on me that he was practically feeding at the spot on my neck where a vampire would while I was backed up against the bike of Dracula or whatever.

I pressed into him even closer as his hands smoothed along my skin in the gap between my cropped tee and the waistband of my shorts/skirt combo before pressing into my skin and sliding beneath the Lycra or spandex of my waistband or whatever.

He slid his hands below not only my shorts, but my panties as well, and the feel of his hands against my skin in such an intimate place practically had me writhing.

He pressed one of his powerful thighs between my legs and up against me, and I unabashedly writhed against him to try and get some kind of relief from the mounting desire and growing frustration within me.

“Does my baby girl want her daddy’s cock inside her?” he asked me, whispering in my ear, andoh, God, yes – that was so hot.

“Yes,” I whispered breathlessly, on a note of pleading, my arms around his neck, my fingernails scratching the back of his scalp, pulling his mouth to mine once more.

The kissing was impassioned, little moans and groans escaping the both of us as things heated way past boiling point between the both of us.

He skimmed my panties and shorts with their ruffle of skirt like material down, pushing them down, down, down, my smoothly shaven legs and I let him go to take them from me, stepping out of the garments carefully at his urging.

He stuffed them in his back pocket, all the while his mouth moved against my skin, kissing my inner thighs, looking up at me with this insanely intent and beautifully predatory look in his hazel-green eyes as he stroked fingers between my legs, gauging my excitement, making sure I was ready.

God yes, I was ready. I wanted this like I’d never wanted anything in my life, I swear to God.

He stood up, capturing my mouth with his again, and I kissed him with a fervor I didn’t know I even possessed. He put his hands to my outer thighs and dipped, and I trusted him, pressing close, wrapping my arms around his neck and shoulders, as he lifted me, sitting me on the Dracula bike’s seat, spreading me open so the cool air of the garage could kiss my heated and dripping wet pussy.

I shuddered at the sensations, even as he kept himself bowed to kiss me as he scrabbled with his hands at his belt and the front of his jeans.

I leaned head and shoulders back against the wall and spread my legs further, reaching between us to play with myself, slicking my wetness all over, teasing my own clit as he pulled a condom from somewhere on his person, and ripped it open with his teeth.

I let my gaze follow his movements as he took his hard, long, and thick cock in one hand and rolled the rubber down his length, the latex straining around the thickness of the root of his dick, and I was vaguely worried about taking all of him – if I was capable of stretching that much to take him.

Granted, I hadn’t fuckeda lot, and thus felt fairly inexperienced – but also, I’d never had anything as big as he was inside me. Not even a vibrator or a dildo.

“You ready?” he asked me.

“God, yes,” I said on a gasp. “Please, please fucking fill me, Daddy. I want you; Ineedyou.”

He chuckled darkly, and pressed at my opening, my body giving a satisfying little stretch and give throbbing shudder as he kept pressing in, hissing out between clenched teeth, the look on his face as he watched himself disappear into my freshly shaven and bald pussy from that morning one like he was absolutely hyper focused on committing this to memory for all time.

I arched closer to him, head back against the cinderblock wall, hands pressed to the leather seat that was soft as butter, and tilted my pelvisjust soandoh, that was fucking magic.

He gripped my hips and started thrusting, working himself in and out of me, slicking through my wetness and setting a pace that was seriously doing things for me.

I gasped in even little puffs of breath and rocked to meet him on every thrust, careful that the big machine supporting my weight didn’t wiggle too much beneath me, but while it rocked, it barely did, and it felt stable enough.

I trusted that Striker knew what he was doing, and that the motorcycle would support me and our lovemaking, but I would be lying if I said there wasn’t a little thrill of fear that shot through me and somehow, some way, subtly enhanced things for me as well.

I held onto him and writhed, getting the friction just right, but still I was close but maddeningly I just couldn’t quite getthere,you know?

“Touch yourself, baby. Touch your clit for Daddy.” I dropped one arm from around his neck, held onto his vest with the other while I let my fingertips find that bundle of nerves, pressing into it, rolling my fingertips through my own wetness, over my clitoris, the pressure, the friction, delicious. A tingle started in my pussy and I clenched down around Striker’s pressing and stroking cock and he uttered in a strained tone, “That’s it, that’s my good girl. Do it for me, baby. Come for Daddy. I wanna feel you come for me.”

I listened to his quiet encouragement, the intensity of his voice, the panting, the gasping, the sounds our bodies made with him sliding in and out of me, the slicking of my fingers against myself, my blood rushing in my ears, my heart thundering in my chest, the tingle in my nipples and that full feeling low in my belly – building, building,yes!

I threw back my head, let my hand slip from my body and held onto the seat beneath me, and pulled myself against Striker, body stiffening, his arms going around me and holding me tight, as my pussy throbbed and rhythmically pulled at his cock which throbbed deep inside me in counterpoint.

The perfect crescendo to the symphony our love made.

CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN

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