Page 94 of Wolf.e
“Let’s see how well you work under pressure,” he says in his deep timbre, so close to me it gives me goosebumps. “I need a distraction, you fucking shot me,” he adds, and I smirk as I focus, loving this side of him I never see—he seems light, playful…almost.
I push the needle through Gabriel’s skin for the last stitch as his fingers skim over my clit through my spandex shorts, I’m already on fire for him as he plays with me through the fabric. I moan as I tie my last stitch. I set my tools down and look at him, no worse for the wear, his dark eyes say he wants me, and I feel the energy shift in the room as the golden sun peers through the back wall of windows.
Gabriel’s hand moves to the valley of my heaving breasts, and downward over my belly button as I give his wound a final clean, becoming frantic to let him in. He turns his body when he sees I’m done, then abruptly lifts my ass off the counter and pulls my shorts and panties from me. I’m sweat-slicked and panting from the adrenaline of stitching him but I’m soaked just from his touch and proximity. Gabriel growls a deep sound from his chest as he’s met with my desire.
“I forgive you for shooting me…” he says, kissing up the inside of my naked thighs. “And I’ll reward you for hitting your target and for stitching me up. You’ve learned something new, one more thing that makes you stronger, little hummingbird,” he says as his tongue traces up my center.
I let my head fall back, finished with my work and relieved it’s over, I breathe out a moan as my hands move to his hair on instinct. Both of his powerful arms work now to pull me forward onto his face, gunshot wound forgotten.
“Your sweet pussy consumes me,” Gabriel says. “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want this dripping cunt on my tongue.”
I whimper at his words and remember his powerful body ready and willing for me to take aim. The fucked-up thing is it spurs me on, and the way he looks right now, between my thighs, ominous and wounded, his words and his tongue have both desire and adrenaline racing through my blood.
My heart quickens in my chest as he feasts on my pussy with the fervor of a man who could’ve just died. It’s like it makes him even more hungry for me as he trades between pulling my clit into his mouth and lapping up every drop I offer him.
Gabriel pulls me to the brink of coming and then adds two fingers to my pussy, working them in and out of me in time with my bucking hips. I rock forward to the edge of the counter, slapping my hands backward onto it for stability, knocking some of our tools to the floor as he moves the flat of his tongue over me with perfect pace and pressure. I start to lose control. My legs shake and I shudder as a tight coil of lust rolls through me.
“Give memyreward now,” he says as he moves his fingers, hitting the spot inside me that offers me no choice but to fall apart within seconds of his command.
“Come on my tongue with my name on your lips, give me every last fucking drop,” he growls as I do just what he says.
“Gabe…” I cry, shortening his name, his response is to suck my clit into his mouth so hard I feel lightheaded.
“Again,” he says in a low rumble.He likes it.
“Gabe…” I repeat, his praise pushes me over the edge once more. He tosses my legs over his shoulders, I’m unable to hold them myself. I come hard on his tongue, just as he wanted, trying not to tear the stitches out that I just put in.
My orgasm continues as Gabriel doesn’t let up. I grip his hair so tightly I know it must hurt, but he doesn’t seem to care or even notice.
My high crests and I open my eyes, loosening my grip on his hair, staring up at the wood beams of his ceiling while my breath returns to normal. I look down at him, still sitting between my legs, a beautiful god all of my own. My gaze moves from him to the floor where our needle and forceps lie, and as he kisses the inside of my thigh, a tiny smirk plays on my lips.
“Think this area is still sterile?”
Chapter 47
Brinley
The Glen Eden rally is something I really can’t describe.
I take in the sights, the sounds, the smells and I can’t believe what a world this is—the bikers world. I simply had no idea the way it encompasses people.
It’s not just a hobby, it’s who they are.
It’s not just a vibe. It’s a culture.
As we pull into the otherwise quiet hamlet of Benson, Georgia, and stop at the light in a sea of bikes, I feel like I belong as Gabriel’s large hands settle against my jean clad calves. He strokes them gingerly as we wait for the light to change and a warm feeling of peace washes over me. For being such a heartless, cold blooded biker president on the outside, his inside is surprisingly thoughtful, protective, and downright fucking addicting.
After living with him for a month I know Gabriel can’t help it. He simply oozes masculinity and power in everything he does. He’s the provider, the caretaker, and the king of thisworld. When he touches me like this as I’m nestled behind him, while he’s front and center leading his club, I feel like his queen.
I’m almost sad when the light finally changes, and he releases my legs to move his hands back to the handlebars. The further into town we go, the more incredible and over the top things become. There are vendors everywhere, women everywhere, some in fishnet shirts with nothing underneath, some in no shirts, and almost everyone wears leather like it was a prerequisite to get into the town. There are apparel tents, bike part tents, bikes themselves, Harley Davidson is here, Indian Motorcycle, even BMW has a bike viewing area set up. There are beer tents and food trucks. It’s full of chaos and laughter and feels like a party all amidst more club colors than I’ve ever seen. Clubs from all over, every part of the country, all different nationalities, even clubs from Canada joining in.
All to celebrate their love of riding. It’s truly exhilarating to be a part of.
We ride through the whole town before hitting the outskirts where the party continues, as we’re pulling into a campground of sorts, but it’s on the property of someone Gabriel knows. The music is already going, and people have tents put up everywhere between the trees. There are portable bathrooms and people barbecuing. It’s like the owner has thought of everything.
“Pres,” a gray-haired giant with a beard to match, who Gabriel calls Jack, says. Jack’s smile is wide as we approach him, standing in front of a row of about fifteen yurt style cabins.
I look around as he talks to the man and a few others that have joined as the HOH files in and gets off their bikes. There’s shade everywhere throughout the trees and a massive building in the center of the property. It reminds me of a mess hall of sorts from a summer camp I went to when I was young.
