Page 22 of Sparrow

Her mouth hung open and her fingers curled, scratching the cheap wood of the dresser. “Come for me, Sparrow,” Romeo demanded through gritted teeth. “Scream my name and fucking come for me.”

His balls tightened and he really didn’t want to blow first. Just as the first wave of orgasmic bliss hit him, her pussy clenched, and she shook against him. He’d pushed her over the edge with that final pinch to her clit and thrust inside.

“Fuck, Jacob.” She obeyed but with a breathless whisper.

He’d never come simultaneously with anyone before. He thought it was the lie of pornos and movies. But when it happened, it shook him to his core. If he wasn’t holding onto her, and her onto the dresser, he would have collapsed on the floor with the powerful orgasm.

“Next time,” he panted. “Next time, we’re getting naked.”

Her entire body shook when she laughed, and the two of them groaned as the movement taunted his recently spent, and oversensitive dick. Careful not to spill any of the splooge inside, he peeled the rubber down his shriveled member, knotted it, and flung it in the direction he believed the small garbage pail to be. It’d be tomorrow’s problem.

Standing there, in a dingy motel with her, wearing undoubtedly the goofiest of satisfied grins, he realized then, albeit delayed, she’d called him Jacob. Everyone in the club had called him Romeo since he’d gotten his patch. However, it’d only been within the last two years that he’d officially made the switch over himself. Hell, he’d even gotten his mother to call him Romeo, but hearing her call him Jacob felt far more intimate.

He attempted to run his hand through the thickness of her curls, but it immediately got caught in the tangles. Frowning, he did his best to pull his fingers out without snagging too hard. Opting for another gesture, he lowered his head and kissed her freckled shoulder.

“Say it again,” he whispered, watching her reflection in the mirror.

Her brows furrowed as a nervous, crooked smile spread on her face. “What?”

“My name,” he urged, nipping at her.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because you’re the only one that uses it,” he admitted without a moment’s hesitation.

The smile fell as he studied her face, unsure what to make of the expression in the dark. “No one?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Only you,” he assured her. “You’re the only one who knows me like that—who knew me as Jacob. They know Romeo. Why should they call me what they don’t know? You know all of me.”

“Jacob,” she whispered, sending him down an abyss of emotions. He may not have known how to manage them, but he knew what to do with them. His arms slid around her and he squeezed.

This time, he wouldn’t let her run away from him so easily. This time, he’d do all that he could to fight for her.

Chapter 14

Sparrow

If he hadn’t had her pinned between him and the dresser, Sparrow would have fallen to the floor in a sweaty heap. Out of breath, she gulped down air as though she’d just run a marathon. The intensity was like nothing she’d ever imagined.

On top of that, he’d dropped this bomb on her about his name. Road names were standard in the motorcycle club community. Every patched member had them. It wasn’t exclusive to outlaws either, if someone rode in a club, they had a name. The more hardcore the club, the more the name was used. Hell, Sparrow didn’t even know the legal names of some of the Roughneck Riders.

Being trusted with Jacob’s real name hadn’t occurred to her before. They’d been kids when they met before he even had a bike. He didn’t have a road name then. He’d always just been Jacob to her.

Now though, when he gave her permission to use it, it really struck a chord. Some of the Ol’ Ladies in the club didn’t learn their Ol’ Man’s legal names until they got married or had to bail them out of jail. Even then, most didn’t let their women call them anything but their road names.

This was some intense shit.

Just as she began to breathe normally, Jacob spun her to face him and ripped her from her internal musings. Disoriented, with her jeans still around her ankles, her legs twisted, and she needed him to hold her up.

His muscular arms wrapped around her and his mouth crashed against hers for a heart-stopping, hungry kiss. They’d both just came, how could he still want more?

Then again, she hadn’t had enough of him either. She’d spent years wanting him. They had a lot of time to make up.

His kisses silenced the voice in her head that told her to stop. The voice that said it was wrong hushed with the passion he poured into their joined mouths. Nothing else mattered but the two of them. The world outside the motel room ceased to exist. Consequences weren’t a thing.

This moment, this night, their bodies—that’s all that meant anything.

He kissed like a desperate man who needed her to breathe. The way his tongue chased after hers and dominated had her knees giving out. Her body thrummed with the same amount of desire for him it had before he’d bent her over and took what he wanted—what she wanted.

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