by Christa Wick
“Keep your right foot on the brake and push down the clutch with your left.” He waited for me to do so then reached across my lap and pulled the gearshift all the way left then up. “Now slide that sweet ass over so I can drive.”
I stared at him another few seconds, my referenced ass and everything around it growing warm at the compliment. Seeing that I had become incapable of movement, Callan licked at his bottom lip. His eyes crinkled in a smile while his hands gave me an assist.
“Seriously, baby, we have to limit our exposure out here.”
I nodded and scampered to my right, mentally scolding myself for being stupid. Even if Callan rendered me dumbstruck with a single smile or warm chuckle, I had to get it under control. We were in the truck and running away because an outlaw group of bikers wanted us dead. If I didn’t stop forgetting that fact, I would get both of us killed.
Still outside the truck with the door open, Callan gave the vehicle a little nudge then jumped in as it started to roll. He waited until we were a few houses down from mine, then turned the key over. I held my breath, waiting to find out if this would be the five in ten times it turned over or the five in ten it stalled out.
The engine rumbled to life like a rheumatic dragon. I exhaled, a small laugh of relief bursting from me. Callan’s hand landed on my knee long enough to give it a quick squeeze and then we were on our way to where he’d stashed his Harley.
6
Avery
We rode until we hit the outskirts of Atlanta, the last two hours without a stop. By the time we found a cheap hotel that didn’t ask for any identification, just cash, I wasn’t sure I could walk to the room on my own. Somehow, I managed to stumble after Callan, my body bouncing almost as much as my bag slung over his shoulder.
Stepping inside the room, he flipped the light on then proceeded to close the curtains that opened onto the parking lot. I followed him in, rubbing at my eyes and looking fondly at the bed. I hadn’t been to sleep since seven the previous morning and the lumpy mattress looked as good as a needle would to a junkie.
I expected Callan to be just as tired, but he slammed the door, locked it then pushed me against the wall. The sudden move frightened me. My mind raced through the last few hours, searching for something I might have done to piss him off. I couldn’t think of anything, but my brain turned on its survival autopilot and the words came out before I could consider the need to say them.
“I’m sorry!”
His brow furrowed but he didn’t back away. He was all the way against me, the muscles that had been flexing beneath my hands for the last twelve hours as he rode the bike suddenly tight and unyielding. His gaze narrowed.
“What are you sorry for, Avery?”
I sucked in a breath. He didn’t sound angry, but then I didn’t have a lot of experience with an angry Callan Tilley. Even at Freya’s with the other Steel Tide members riding his ass, he’d never lost his cool. Only last night at my house had I seen the rage he was capable of, and even then, he had kept a tight rein on it.
“For whatever I did wrong,” I stuttered.
He nodded and then his mouth puckered in a weird little smile.
Unshouldering my backpack, he tossed it between the two beds then settled more of his weight against my chest.
“What you did wrong,” he explained in a drop-dead sexy voice, “was ride my back like you were dry fucking me for the last two hundred miles, baby.”
“Oh...”
My mouth retained the shape of my answer before I knew it, Callan kissed me. He moved more slowly than that first kiss in my father’s kitchen and his hands ventured lower and harder than they had earlier.
“Dry fucking is fun, baby, but it’s just the warm up for the real thing.” He squeezed my mound, the teasing pressure releasing a flood of juices from deep inside me. He let go to run his hands over my hips, a heavy sigh vibrating through his chest.
“You can’t ride in those tight little yoga pants Freya makes you wear, but, damn, I’ve fantasized so many times about peeling them off you.”
My head bobbed as hot air staggered past my lips. “I can put them back on.”
He smiled down at me, his green gaze glittering as our shadows danced on the wall behind me. “You think I’m that patient?”
I didn’t have to think my way through the question at all, his eyes and the hungry way he bit his lip told me everything. I shook my head just as he unthreaded the button on my jeans. He pulled the zipper down then forced his hands inside, his palm flat against each hip.
I took a ragged breath in as I realized this was really going to happen. Callan Tilley was going to strip me naked and...
The thought snagged inside my head. I didn’t want to think or care about whether this would be lovemaking or raw sex. We were on the run. Any feelings we might have been nursing before everything went crazy were better left unspoken for the time being.
It felt weird, though, thinking he might feel the same way. Not once in all my fantasies of Callan had I forced the word “love” past his imagined lips. He was an outlaw, even if he wasn’t anything like the other outlaws I had encountered. Keeping that word buried had kept me safe, not only from Callan but from my own need to please those I loved, or had once loved, at any cost. The moment I let that word escape, I would be powerless and I didn’t know if I could trust Callan beyond a few more hours or days.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pushed against him, my body cresting upward as I sought his ear and gently bit the lobe.
“Fuck me, Callan.”
A groan shuddered through him and then he threw my arms off his body and spun me to my right. The dresser stood just a few feet from the doorway and he bent me over it. My jeans and panties were around my knees a second later.
My stomach lurched at just how ready Callan was to bend me over and take me. Even with the words I had used to encourage him, I expected something slower.
He dropped to his knees, his breath curling along my exposed labia. With my flesh burning for his touch, the air felt cool. I jerked when it hit me.
“Baby, you’re so wet.” His fingers traced a line down each hip, his hand never venturing toward the dripping center of which he spoke. He already had my knees weak from wanting him, but he traced a line along their backs, the gentle touch more than enough to make them bend.
When my bottom dipped down, I knew why he had done it—to bring my wet lips closer to his. I heard him inhale, then felt just the tip of his nose as it brushed against the red, silken hairs covering my sex. His mouth touched me at last, but not where I wanted.
He planted a kiss at the top of each thigh, just below the fold where they joined my bottom. I shifted my legs, hoping I could take a wider stance, but the jeans and panties around my knees kept my legs close together.
“Impatient,” he teased.
I snorted. “This coming from a man who couldn’t wait while I changed into different pants!”
He kissed me again, both sides and just a little higher and closer to the center. “That was before you let me see this, Avery.”
The back of his fingertips brushed the wet hairs, the sheltered flesh so sensitive that I tightened immediately. Pinching my swollen labia, he separated them and blew softly against the melting flesh they had shielded from his view.
“This isn’t something a man should rush.” He punctuated his words with an open kiss against my sex, his lips wide and his tongue questing. His tongue found my hole while one of his thumbs found my clit. Gently rubbing that hard spine, Callan pushed his tongue into me as far as it would go. Firmly embedded, it began to wiggle.
The last of my sanity popped like kernels in a microwave.
Grabbing the edges of the dresser, I pressed my face hard against the cool surface of the wood. I needed to scream, the pleasure was that great. I’d only had my own hand before this, my attempts frustrated as often as not because I didn’t want to be alone.
I had wanted Callan those nights I touched myself, and n
ow I had him.
“Please,” I begged. I’d never heard a sound so plaintive or genuine pass my lips. I would beg him as much as it took to get him to finish, to make me orgasm and then fill me with his cock.
His tongue retreated and he returned to kissing at the periphery of my aching pussy. His hands moved down my body to help me out of the jeans and panties. Then he had me spread my legs wide. I wondered then whether he would stand and unzip his own jeans, but he wasn’t done teasing me.
One thumb pushed inside my pussy. With his own legs spread to where he all but sat on the ground, he angled his face up. The pose allowed his tongue to flick and slurp along my clit. I moaned another plea.
He just chuckled at me.
“I’ve never been a fast eater, baby.”
My cheeks heated at the joke. He really was eating me, making a full meal, his teeth nibbling at my tender, swollen labia before his tongue would return to tracing a hard line up and down my clit. Keeping his thumb hold on my pussy, he made sure I couldn’t move or control the encounter. He made me his to devour and he was taking his sweet time, bringing me to the edge, measuring my gasps and moans and how hard and often my pussy tensed before he backed off, softly laughing at my wailing need.
My release ungranted, Callan stood. I waited, certain he would take me now, that I would hear the slide of his zipper any second. Instead, he scooped me up like a rag doll and took me to the bed furthest from the door. He placed me sitting at the edge. Taking a spot between my open legs, he drew my denim jacket down just enough to trap my arms against my sides.
His mouth covered most of one breast, the t-shirt and bra blocking the contact of our flesh but not the sensation. He bit, lightly, and brought my nipple to full attention. I squirmed against him, trying to free my arms while I rubbed my wet pussy against his chest. Our clothes grew saturated, my t-shirt from his sucking at my breast through the fabric and his shirt from the heavy flow of my juices as he made me want him more and more.
When his hands finally went down to his jeans to unfasten them, I impatiently stripped my jacket off and reached for the bottom hem of my t-shirt to pull it over my head. He stopped me with a growl and the upward, predatory slant of his gaze.
I blinked, eyes watering with frustration. He wasn’t done teasing me—not by a long shot.
Callan stood, lifting me off the bed and molding my legs around his waist. His damn jeans were still on and the cotton briefs beneath, but I could feel the fat top knob of his erection poking at my sex.
“Is that sweet pussy going to drool all over my underwear, baby?”
I whimpered. If he kept talking like that, I would flood the damn carpet before he allowed my climax.
Chewing lightly at my neck, he slid one hand under the back of my t-shirt and unhooked my bra before he braced both arms around me for support.
“Take this shit off now,” he commanded.
All I had left were the t-shirt and bra. I stripped them away, my body completely naked while he had only removed his jacket and unzipped his jeans.
He shifted me higher up his body, my legs hugging his torso. My pussy pressed hard against the top of his abdominal muscles while my breasts heaved level with his face. He captured one nipple and tugged at it with his teeth.
“Baby, I don’t know how to fuck other than rough,” he warned.
My eyes rolled back in my head at all the possibilities his words conjured.
“I can handle it,” I whispered. My whole life had been rough, why should sex be any different? I knew whatever Callan did, I would enjoy it. Every nerve ending in my body was wide awake and screaming for more. There was no way I wouldn’t like what he was about to do.
His hand maneuvered under my bottom to push down his jeans and briefs far enough to free the head of his cock. He nestled the fat tip against the entrance to my pussy, his strong grip preventing me from pushing down onto him.
“Let’s find out if you really can.” He breathed the challenge into my ear then placed me gently on the bed.
Knowing my gaze was locked on his lower body, Callan made a show of exposing the entire length of his cock before he stripped his t-shirt off. I licked my lips as more moisture pulsed from my pulsing hole to wet the bedspread beneath me.
The guys in the Steel Tide might call him Last Drop, but the women that hung out at Freya’s and the clubhouse had another nickname for Callan Tilley.
They called him The Tube.
7
Avery
“Let me see you again.”
Callan moved his legs as he spoke, prodding my knees apart then using his hands to make sure I had my thighs spread wide. His gaze fell fiercely upon my skin as he studied my wet pussy. With one thumb on my clit, he started a gentle exploration of the hole below. Two fingers in, a twist, a curling withdrawal.
“How many men have you let in here, Avery?”
His tone was possessive without being accusatory.
“I haven’t,” I answered.
I wasn’t ashamed to admit it, not with the way he looked at me. I knew then my virginity wasn’t because I was undesirable to most men. I was invisible because I wanted to be—but not with Callan. He could see what I tried to hide and I didn’t want to hide from him anymore.
“Didn’t think you had,” he said and dropped to his knees.
Seeing his cock disappear beneath the line of the mattress, I growled my frustration at him. “What are you doing? I want you in me!”
A cocky grin shaped his lips into the sexiest smile I’d ever seen.
“I told you, baby girl, I’m a slow eater.” His lips parted but he didn’t place them against me. Instead, he slipped two fingers inside once more. “And I need this sweet pussy wet and stretched before I sink my cock into it.”
“Wet isn’t a problem,” I groaned, relaxing into the mattress and telling my brain to let Callan fuck me exactly as he wanted to fuck me.
“But tight is,” he agreed and slid a third finger in before his mouth descended to cover the rest of my sex.
My hands crept to my thighs then onto his head, their direction navigated by the need centered between my legs. I wanted to hold him tightly against me, but his hair was too short to effectively knot my fingers in. But I could push and rub at his scalp, my hips lifting and squirming as he sucked at my clit and fucked his fingers deeper into my pussy. I froze, trembled, collapsed then tightened all over again.
He buried himself down to the base knuckle, flexing to make them feel a whole lot thicker than just three wide. He twisted, the pads pushing up on some spot I could never hope to reach on my own. My pussy suctioned around him, wet joining with tight so that I could hear the slurp of my own juices as he pushed in and out.
“Callan...” I let the points of my nails dig at the back of his head, my threat that of a clawless kitten. Screams, unmistakably erotic, began to leave my throat. My torso convulsed in slow rolling waves as he kept me right at the edge of release.
Out came three fingers, in went four. Any more and his whole hand would be inside me.
“Yes, Callan, please,” I moaned. “Please let me come so you can fuck me.”
His assent rumbled from his mouth to my clit. He sucked harder, flexed wider, pushed deeper. I brought my legs up, my heels digging into the small of his back. I couldn’t imagine so much pleasure rolled into one moment, one heartbeat.
Exploding, I whipped my hands up to my face, my nails dragging at my bottom lip. My upper body tried to roll on my side in escape but Callan held on, forcing me to ride the crest of my orgasm, his mouth and fingers still lashing against and inside me.
“Callan!” Tears rolled down my cheeks—too much pleasure turned to joy that turned to salt I could taste on my tongue.
Relenting, he released me and quickly stripped the rest of his clothes away. One arm cradling me, he lifted my body until I was at the center of the mattress and then he forced my legs apart and settled between them.
“You come like a banshee in the rain, b
aby. All wet and screaming,” he teased as he positioned his cock to enter me. “Are you ready to come again?”
“Yes,” I whispered, throat raw from my cries of pleasure. “I need you in me. I need you to make it real.”
“It sure sounded real.” He pressed his chest against mine, flattening my breasts until I didn’t think I could draw another breath.
“Real for you.” I ran my hands over the thick-muscled arms that could lift and control me so easily, then down to the powerful muscles of his thighs and ass. “I want it to be real for you, to have you wet and screaming.”
He still wasn’t in me, his hand positioned between us and blocking my attempts to wiggle onto his cock. I couldn’t understand why he would hold back. Doubt crept in.
Had I done something wrong?
“Don’t you want me?” My lips quivered with the question. He shushed me in answer, his mouth moving over the skin of my shoulder and neck in a whisper of kisses. “Please, Callan. Do you want me?”
“More than anything, Avery.” His weight lifted until he supported his body on one arm and could look at me. Shadows darkened his gaze. I didn’t know if it was the light in the room or if it was his mood and I had somehow placed those shadows inside him.
“But what you said is right.” His hand stroked at and in my pussy, making sure I stayed lubricated and stretched. “Taking you, filling you…that makes it real. I thought I could get you someplace safe, give you half the money I took from the Steel Tide and let you walk out of my life because you’ll be better off without me.”
I shook my head. Years of watching him from afar and I hadn’t known until right then how badly I had always wanted to be a part of Callan’s life.
“You’re not dumping me somewhere,” I told him.
My whole life, I wasn’t sure I had ever had someone who loved me. Maybe my mother in small increments of time, rare seconds stolen between shots of booze and cigarettes.