Page 108 of Lone Star

“Okay?” He pressed deep, and crooked his fingers, and her body wassinging.

She could feel her brow furrowing, her body almost overcome with sensation, but she wanted more, and told him in a broken murmur. He added a third finger, and kissed her mouth while he stretched her; lazy plunges of his tongue deep into her mouth that matched the thrust of his hand at her sex.

She dug her nails into his biceps, bit at his lip, marveling at how aggressive and needy she felt. It had never been like this with anyone else. “Albie. Come on.”

It was a loss when he withdrew, but then she got to watch him tear open a condom packet with his teeth and roll it on. Watched him stroke himself a moment, hand wet from her, face tensed like he was in pain, hips rolling like he couldn’t help it.

She opened her legs a little wider, and tweaked her own nipples.

“Christ,” he groaned. “Oh, Christ, wait, I’m here.”

Over her again, one hand supporting his weight, the other lining them up. He’d stretched her well, but his cock felt huge compared to three fingers. The pressure was sharp – and then the head slipped inside and her body opened for him. Welcomed him. They both let out harsh breath, and then he was pressing in, in, in, and was fully-seated, better than she’d imagined.

He rested his forehead against hers a moment, holding still. Trembling with restraint.

Axelle tightened her legs around his waist. “It’s okay. I’m ready.”

His breath shivered in the air between them as he pulled back, and then rocked back in. He hissed. “You’re tight. I – damn.” Another withdrawal, and a slow press back. Working her open, going slow. Withdrawing a little much on each retreat – until he pulled nearly out, and then his hipssnappedforward, and he filled her on one fast stroke.

She pressed her head back into the pillow and sucked in a breath, legs tightening on his hips – she wondered, vaguely, if she’d have bruises to show for it.

He did it again. And again. Building a rhythm. She could feel herself grow impossibly wetter; feel the sweat building on both of them, until skin was sliding, and their bodies were meeting with an audible smack.

He pressed his face into her throat and fucked her in earnest. Axelle could only cling to him, delighted, hazy with pleasure, toes curling.

She marveled at the contrasts: the frenetic, desperate thrusts, and the breathy little endearments he breathed into her ear. He was coming undone, unraveling, as pleasure-drenched and overcome as she was.

They were in this together. In the moment, bodies tangled, yes, but in this adventure; this scary week of cartels and guns and bikes and blood. She wasn’t alone in it; she had Albie. She hadthis.

Axelle turned and sank her teeth into his throat to hold back the words that built on the back of her tongue, and she felt him shudder.

“Yes, love, like that.”

Pain and pleasure together. Wasn’t that just the true heart of the club?

Thirty-Four

Fox tightened the last strap of his flak vest and tugged a black sweatshirt on over it. She didn’t make a sound, but when he turned, he knew he’d find Eden propped up in the door of his dorm room. What he didn’t expect was the way she was dressed: black turtleneck, black jeans, her usual Doc Martens. A shoulder and a hip holster, both loaded. She held her jacket folded over one arm, and her hair was pulled back so tight it left her a little cat-eyed.

He’d always thought she was beautiful, had always warmed inside when he looked at her, and traced the contours of her body with his eyes. That had never been in question. But lately, since moving to Knoxville, he’d noticed a lack of – something. An ephemeral, uncatchable thread that always seemed to be sliding through his fingers. The sex was good, but the thrill of work would always be better. Tonight, right now, looking at her ready for work, he felt the old thrill. That spike of desire in the midst of the buzzing anticipation of getting his hands dirty.

His father had picked him to be the prodigal, and for good reason. Fox had never hated Devin for what he was – only for leaving. For never explaining to his children what they were. And when it came to the work, Fox enjoyed it.

Eden got that. Eden felt it, too. It had always been his favorite thing about her.

Pulse tripping, he said, politely, “Going out?”

She smirked. “If you’ll have me.”

“Well, it’s just me and those two robotic wankers. I suppose I could use another adult on the team.”

~*~

With four witnesses staying at the clubhouse overnight, it had become imperative for some people to share dorms. Reese had been told to share with Tenny. Nickel had brought in an air mattress. It was all handled very casually and as if it wouldn’t cause any bother.

Reese was bothered. Even if he did feel rather sorry for Tenny, post-crash, his patience was still a new, tender, developing thing, and Tenny was challenging it mightily.

Reese dipped his fingers into the tin of grease paint on the dresser and dragged them carefully across his cheek, the green-black of it stark on his pale skin. He’d scraped his hair back tightly, so it wouldn’t be in the way, and painted his face with practiced efficiency.

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