Page 11 of Wicked Ends
“Marcus—I—I!” She looked nearly scared of the feeling inside her.
Her chest was heaving, and I cursed my lack of foresight in taking her right here, without even giving myself the gift of stripping off her clothes so I could see her tits shake when she came. She had a glorious figure, womanly and soft; I was all hard lines and edges, while she was fullness and curves. The contrast between us was a fucking turn-on, but then everything about this woman was.
Her hands tugged at my hair, and I knew that she was close. Her thighs tightened around my head, and she came. Her whole body seized up, like she was plugged into a socket, and I was sending a thousand volts through her. Her pussy gushed in my mouth, wet as a damn fountain, and I drank that nectar down. From her earlier protests, it seemed like not many men had had the pleasure of sipping straight from her source, and that fact only turned me on even more. There was a raw newness about her reactions, a shocked sweetness about the way she came that wound its way inside me, and I knew I’d never forget the expression on this woman’s face as she realized what her body was capable of in the right hands.
I worked her through the orgasm, drawing it out, playing with her until her sensitivity ebbed, kissing her twitching cunt. I straightened up and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
“What were you saying about the female orgasm?” I drawled.
She flushed. She was staring up at me, starry-eyed. I leaned in and kissed her.
“Keep looking at me like that, birthday girl, and I’ll start to think I’m your god,” I said.
She shivered, dipping her chin, suddenly shy.
“Yeah, well, after that, me, too,” she whispered.
I let out a laugh and gathered her into my arms. I needed to be inside this woman, and I’d had enough of the hard bar top.
“Stop! What are you doing?” she protested.
I carried her behind the bar. “Taking you to bed, where I can fuck you properly.”
Her mouth hung open then snapped shut. “Yeah, well, I can walk. You’ll hurt your back.”
That innocent and misguided comment pulled a hearty laugh from me.
“I’d almost be insulted if you weren’t so funny, beautiful.” I arrived at the door to the bedroom.
She reached out for the padlock, anticipating that my hands were busy, full of her.
“You remember the code?”
She snorted. “Yeah, it was hardly easy to forget.”
The door opened, and I shoved inside, kicking it shut behind me.
“You know the code is BS, right?” I set her down on the bed.
She scrambled to her knees. I pulled my T-shirt over my head and tossed it away.
“That door could be unlocked, and nothing would go missing from this room.”
Her gaze was stuck to me. I savored the appreciation in her eyes.
“Because there’s nothing to steal in here but old socks?” she whispered.
I chuckled again. I snapped my belt open and pulled it through the loops of my jeans in one long motion.
She watched with rapt attention. Looping the length of leather, I slipped it over her head and nestled it around her neck, using it to draw her closer to me.
“There’s more than enough to steal in here. A whole fucking lot… but no one would dare. Stealing from here, or hell, entering this room, is going against the MC. Bikers don’t share well.”
“I’m in this room,” she murmured, her eyes falling to my lips. Her cheeks were pink and as pretty as a fucking picture.
“Yeah, well, you’re with me, and when it comes to this, I absolutely don’t share.”
I dropped the belt and let it fall around her, and kissed her hard. My jeans were flung to the side, and freeing my cock from that harsh prison was euphoric. Her clothes went next, tugged off and thrown aside.
