Page 23 of Falling for the Biker
He sets a deep, rolling rhythm that coaxes a second, more powerful wave of pleasure to build quickly, coiling tight in my core. Just as I feel myself teetering on the edge, my muscles fluttering around him, he stops dead.
A desperate, broken sound escapes my lips. “Diesel, please… "
He releases a wicked sound in the form of a chuckle. “Not yet. This is your first, and I want it to be memorable.”
Little does he realize that I’m never going to forget this night.
He starts again, each thrust a masterful stroke pushing me higher, only to still once more when my body clenches, ready to fall apart. He’s teasing me, playing my body with a skill that borders on torture, drawing out the pleasure until I’m mindless with it, until the only thing I know is him, and the devastating promise in his touch.
Somehow, he doesn’t look like he’s any closer to his limit than when he started. The controlled tease is maddening. When he stops again, a frustrated whimper catches in my throat, my body screaming for the release he’s so expertly denying.
Then he moves, and I brace for another torturous, slow drag. But this time, his hips roll. It’s a different motion. It shows me just how much my body has yielded to him, opening up completely.
With each thrust, he pushes deeper, hitting nerves I didn’t know existed. A sharp, perfect gasp escapes me as a new, brighter path to pleasure ignites, promising an orgasm that feels mind-blowing.
“Diesel, don’t stop.” The plea is torn from my lips, my inner walls fluttering desperately around him. “Feels so good—”
His answer is a scrape of teeth against my throat, a sharp sting that only fuels the inferno of pleasure. “Say my name, Ruby,” he growls against my damp skin, his voice thick with his own need.
I don’t need to ask what he means. As his hips continue their relentless rhythm, my body arches, seeking more. “Finn,please.”
The sound that rips from him is a low, guttural growl of pure possession that vibrates straight through my core.
Just as I feel myself beginning to splinter, he pulls out. A sharp gasp escapes me at the sudden, aching emptiness.
The sensation lasts only a second. Without warning, his hands are on my hips, and he flips my body around like I weigh nothing at all. The world spins for a heartbeat.
Before my fingers can even clutch the rumpled blanket, a broken moan falls from my lips as he thrusts back into me, this angle impossibly deeper, more demanding.
Oh myGod.
With my body bent before him, he drives into me with a depth and force that steals the air from my lungs. Each thrust is a jolt of pure, unadulterated pleasure, so intense it borders on pain. The sounds that leave me aren’t moans anymore; they’re sharp, ragged cries that echo off the walls of his home.
His grip is concrete on my hips, his grip sure and bruising, holding me exactly where he wants me. I am completely at his mercy, and the surrender is the most freeing feeling I have ever known. The coil of pleasure that had been tightening in my belly snaps.
I scream as I finally get a release, my vision whiting out. My entire body convulses around him, waves of sensation so powerful they feel like they’re tearing me apart and putting me back together all at once.
He’s shoved me off the edge, but I am not falling alone.
A guttural roar rips from his chest, a sound of utter release. As my own climax still ripples through me, I feel the hot, liquid heat of his own finish pulsing deep inside me. He presses as deep as he can, burying himself to the hilt, his large body shuddering against my back.
For a long moment, there is only the sound of our ragged breaths mixing with the stillness of the air.
He slumps over me, his forehead resting between my shoulder blades, his weight feeling pleasant instead of suffocating.
“Lost myself there.” He slowly pulls back and rubs my body as we separate. “Fuck, I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
If I’m supposed to be in pain, then the smile on my face must make me a masochist. When I shake my head, a look of relief takes over his expression.
As he stops to drink in the aftermath of what we’ve just done, my smile melts away when I notice sweat isn’t the only thing coating our skin.
“Finn, your wound—” Reaching out, I’m the first to notice that the bandage is not only red, but it’s hardly sticking to his skin.
Instead of pulling away and dealing with something that definitely seems pretty important to take care of, he pulls back far enough so I can lie on my back. Hovering over me, something else fills his eyes.
“Guess that makes three now.” Spreading my thighs open, I realize he’s more interested in going another round.
Can I survive another onslaught?
