Page 24 of Claimed By The Club
Her gaze flicks to the door, verifying it’s closed. Then she inhales sharply, shifting her chair so she faces me fully. Every rational thought in my head says to keep it professional, but my body has other ideas. My pulse kicks up. She sets the laptop aside, resting her hand on my arm.
I can’t stop myself from leaning in, mouth hovering near her ear. “We shouldn’t,” I manage, voice low, not sounding convincing even to myself.
“I know,” she breathes. “But I can’t stop thinking about it.”
A faint groan escapes my chest. In one smooth motion, I slip my arms around her waist and pull her against me, the chair rolling back a few inches. She arches forward, tugging me by the front of my shirt until our lips crash together. The kiss blots outevery bit of logic. There’s only the taste of her, the softness of her hair between my fingers, the desperate way we reach for each other as if we’ve been waiting years, not hours.
Her arms wrap around my neck, intensifying the embrace. My knees buckle, so I brace a hand on the desk to stay upright, ignoring the papers that flutter to the floor. She moans softly when I trace my fingertips along her shoulder, under the strap of her tank top. The sound triggers a rush of need that leaves me dizzy.
We break apart for a split second, panting. She looks up, cheeks flushed. “Door’s locked,” she whispers, anticipation shining in her eyes.
A surge of adrenaline pulses through me, hot and electric. This is madness—slipping into the bar’s back office like thieves, voices and laughter just a thin door away from catching us. But the hunger burning through my veins turns caution to ash.
“Sierra,” I mutter her name, half curse, half prayer, my voice rough with need.
She doesn’t answer with words. Instead, her fingers tighten around mine, tugging me toward the battered couch shoved against the wall. A box of promotional flyers hits the floor with a rustle, forgotten. My pulse roars in my ears as she pushes me down, her body following, all heat and urgency. There’s no hesitation this time—no teasing, no slow exploration. Last night was a spark. This is an inferno.
Our mouths crash together, tongues tangling, teeth clashing in a kiss that’s more possession than affection. Her hands are everywhere—yanking at my belt, nails scraping down my chest, her touch branding me. I groan into her mouth as my own fingers find the hem of her skirt, shoving it up, desperate for the slick heat between her thighs.
“Fuck, Elias,” she breathes against my lips, and the sound of my real name—my name, not the one the Reapers know—sendsa shock through me. It’s too intimate, too raw, but I don’t pull away. Instead, I drag her closer, my cock aching as she grinds against me, the thin barrier of fabric doing nothing to hide how badly we both want this.
I don’t remember who undoes what first—just the frantic slide of zippers, the sharp inhale as my palm cups her pussy through her panties, already soaked. She arches into my touch with a bitten-off whimper, and I swallow the sound with another kiss, my fingers slipping beneath the lace to find her wet, swollen, ready.
“You’ve been thinking about this,” I growl, circling her clit just to feel her shudder.
She answers by shoving my jeans down my hips, her hand wrapping around my cock, stroking me with a grip that makes my vision blur. “You first.”
"I don’t have the patience for games, Sierra. I need you like the air that I breathe,” I groan, capturing her waist.
My voice is a growl, rough and hungry, as I flip her onto her back. Her legs fall open like a fucking invitation, and I don’t waste a second—I don’t ever hesitate. There’s no sweet talk, no gentle teasing, just the brutal shove of my cock into her wet, tight but soft pussy, splitting her open on me with one ruthless thrust.
“Sierra,” I gasp her name, almost coming because she feels like heaven. Her pussy’s so warm, so hot, and it sucks me on so deep. My legs tremble as my hips twitch, holding onto my premature climax.
“Elias… fuck me hard. Do me. Take me on a ride, my big boy,” she grinds out in between pants and moans. Her lips snake around my hips, pushing me in deeper.
“Sierra, you drive me crazy!” I’ve been holding back for a while, but now, I can’t anymore. I press onto the tempting clit in front of me as I pull out and push all the way in with all the force I can muster without breaking my goddamn dick.
She gasps, nails clawing into my shoulders hard enough to draw blood, her hips jerking up to meet me. "Fuck—!" Her voice cracks, and I don’t give her a second to breathe. I’m already driving into her again, deep and punishing, the slick heat of her clenching around me like she’s trying to milk my cock dry.
The couch groans beneath us, the sound lost under the filthy slap of skin on skin, the ragged, broken noises spilling from her lips.
“Yes! Elias!” she screams as if she has no care in the world. I need her to sound like she can’t live without me.
I raise both her legs over my shoulders.
“Good Lord!” she screams, her back arching off the couch as the angle gives me access deeper into her cunt.
“Yes!” I groan, my body shivering in ecstasy are her pussy pulses and tightens like a hand holding for dear life on my cunt. She calls my name over and over.
I can’t stop, and pistons in and out inside her. I fuck her like the world’s burning down around us, like the Reapers are seconds from kicking in the door, like this is the last damn thing either of us will feel before the bullets start flying. And maybe it is.
Her pussy grips me even more tightly, fluttering around my cock as she comes with a choked cry, her thighs shaking as she clings onto my neck. "That’s it," I snarl, my hand fisting in her hair, yanking her head back. "Take it. Take every part of me, from bottom to the top."
The sight of her—lips swollen, eyes glazed, body wrecked—sends me over the edge. I bury myself to the hilt and come with a groan, my forehead brushing against hers as pleasure tears through me, sharp and blinding. My cock pulses inside her, coming deep, and she whimpers, her hips twitching like she can’t decide if she wants more or if she’s already ruined.
For one heartbeat, there’s nothing but us—sweat-slick and shuddering, the air thick with sex and the raw, animal stink of need. Then reality crashes back in—the distant thud of bass from the club downstairs, the rattle of the dying air conditioner, the cold fucking truth waiting outside this room.
But for now? Fuck it.
