Page 215 of American Hellhound
His hair was in his eyes and he brushed it away with his damp forearm, searching the crowd for –
There was his Mags, watching him with round hazel eyes, lip caught between her teeth. Damn.Damn.
“I’m alright.” He patted the back of Mercy’s hand. “Let up, Monster, I’m alright.”
Mercy smacked him once, all affection, and released him.
A cheer went up from his brothers, screams of delight, boots stomping on the concrete.
He only had eyes for his girl, golden and beautiful, smiling at him.
~*~
The second the dorm room door shut, he was on her.
Maggie laughed into the kiss, hands coming up to rest on his sweat-slick biceps as their mouths slammed together.
“Excited?” she teased when he pulled back. She felt the energy flowing between them, from him and into her, through the press of his lips and the weight of his wrapped hands on her hips.
He was panting, damp hair falling onto his forehead, his eyes blown black, skin shining with sweat. He was feral in that moment, an animal high on bloodlust and victory, driven to mate.
And Maggiemeltedwhen he looked at her like that. Like he wanted to devour her.
“Yeah,” he growled, and dove back in. Sloppy, uncoordinated kisses, as his hands mapped her hips, and belly, and ass. “Shit,” he said against her throat, his thumbs hooking into her waistband. “Baby…”
She was weak with want, but she understood: so was he. He could take her apart piece-by-piece, tease her until she was squirming, wreck her down to the foundations. But not tonight. Tonight he was feral, and he needed hernow.
She unfastened her jeans and shoved them down, awkwardly toed her boots off.
He knelt to help her, deft fingers making quick work of boots, jeans, socks. Sent electric pulses through her as he reached up and skimmed her panties down, the wraps on his knuckles deliciously abrasive against the sensitive skin of her hips and thighs.
Maggie looked down at him, the bunching of his slick shoulders; he seemed bronze-dipped, muscles stark and firm, glazed with sweat. Damn. Ohdamn. Tremors ran up her calves, shaky anticipation.
And then he lifted his head and looked up at her, and her mouth went dry.
Holding her gaze, he slid his hands purposefully up her thighs, up beneath the hem of her shirt, between her thighs where she was already wet for him. He made a low, pleased sound in his throat, sat up on his knees, and put his mouth to her.
“God.” She kicked her head back against the wall. Raked her hands through his sweaty hair. “You areso goodat that.”
His answer was a sly sweep of his tongue that threatened to take her legs out from under her.
She wanted to protest – push him back and urge him to the bed – but how could she argue withthis?What about you, baby?she thought. And then she didn’t think anything, widening her stance, one hand pressed flat to the wall.
He brought her off quickly, relentlessly – and after watching him fight, it didn’t take much, honestly – and she was still coming down when he guided her to the bed, sat down on its edge and pulled her down to straddle his lap. His cock was hard and hot against her leg, even through his jeans.
“You alright?” he asked, voice tight with restraint. “Are you…can you…”
She reached down for his fly, fumbling at his belt.
“Yeah. Okay.”
He made a sound like a dying man when she sank down onto his cock, part-anguish and part-relief, eyes squeezing shut as he was overcome by sensation.
Maggie put a hand in the center of his chest and pushed him back. He went; a feather would have knocked him over at that point.
She braced her hands on his pecs and rolled her hips, languid, easy movements. She was lazy, body humming in the wake of her orgasm, and she took wicked delight in teasing him a little, drawing it out.
He pressed his head back into the mattress, breathing through his mouth, tendons standing out stark in his throat. God, he was beautiful. She felt a tightening in her lower back, pleasure mounting again. He was hot and thick inside her, perfect, just perfect. She wanted to do this for hours.
