Mela was startled when Hurley said, voice low and forceful, “Don’t cover yourself. Let me look at you.” The command was clear, certainty infusing his tone. Dropping her arms, she still felt exposed and had to fight the urge to bring her knees up to her chest, but she wanted him so badly. Dios. Aroused, she was hesitant to do anything that would cause him to stop. In the end, desire won out over inhibition, and she sat in silence, legs curled in front of her, arms at her sides. “Fucking gorgeous,” he said in that same greedy, possessive tone. He took a deep breath, and she found her chest rising in an echo of the movement. “Blinding me, you’re so beautiful.”
Moving slowly, he took off his cut, folding it carefully, each motion showing a deep respect for his club. Then with quick movements, he tossed his own clothing aside with far less care than he’d shown hers.
Lifting one hand, he swept his hair back from his face, releasing it as he tilted his head and then reached out to her, each of these actions seeming to take forever until the moment he finally touched her. With a firm grip, he cupped each foot, tugging her legs open, and pulling her down the mattress and towards him.
“Lie down, Mela,” he said softly, running his hands up the inside of her legs and back down, his thumb stroking along the arch of each foot. “Lay back; let me make you feel good.” Gentle caresses, each one stealing her breath. “Let me make it good for you, honey.”
His reverent tone and the constant touches, soothing heat from his hands across her skin gave her the courage to do as he asked. His hands stroked higher across her ankles, then the inside of her knees, sweeping down, then up again, farther, then—frustratingly—back down. He moved and she was devastated, losing all contact with his hands. It was only a moment and then she cried out, unable to still the tremble that swept through her when his thumbs, palms, and fingertips again trailed up and down her skin. Delicious torture, because while she longed for each caress, she couldn’t predict the path his hands would take, her keen anticipation overwhelming, keeping her on edge.
Rising on his knees, he bent over and then his mouth was on her, tracing a heated path up one inner thigh. His breath ghosting across her skin merely a prelude, leaving her gasping at the first bold swipe of his tongue across her intimate lips. With a moan, she lifted her hips, movement compelled by the sensation. Hurley chuckled, deliberate fingers leisurely gliding up and down the folds between her legs. Mela felt the smooth slide, the touch of his work-roughened hands glancing soft as spun silk through the evidence of her desire.
“God, honey,” he muttered, lips brushing across the skin of her inner thigh as he spoke. “You’re fucking drenched for me.” She was. Had been since she opened the van door to feast her eyes on his beauty. With a shift in position, he lapped at her, the tip of his tongue teasing her clit out of its hood as he sucked that bundle of nerves into his mouth. Heat enveloped her, skin sensitized from each touch leaping at the sensations he rained upon her.
“Mmmm.” He made that noise in the back of his throat again, and she shivered. “Fucking drenched. Love it, love the way you taste.” His hands were touching and stroking, then she felt one finger slide inside her, heard the whine escape her lips at the sensation of being filled, but not full. Need more.
Moving slowly, steadily, he pushed deep, and his other fingers spread across her ass, gripping tightly as he thrust in, grinding hard. Then, he stroked out just as slowly, plunging back inside with two fingers, the more generous width stretching her. God, yes.
It sounded like a vow when he said, “Gonna make you feel good.” One arm braced across her hips, holding her in place, he fell into a rhythm, his hand moving, fingers thrusting, hot mouth sucking. He laughed when she lost her grip on the sheet, demandingly threading one hand through his hair, and the vibration against her sex had her drawing her knees up and out, voluntarily opening for him. Promise fulfilled.
“God,” he muttered, pressing his mouth against her, the movement and speed of his tongue and fingers increasing as he flicked and licked— “so good” —drilling inside and then sucking hard, each nuance of movement forcing her towards what felt like a dangerous precipice. “Fucking gorgeous.” His words were nearly inaudible over the sounds of him going down on her, the noises her body made as it accepted every touch, and she realized she was making constant incoherent entreaties of desire and arousal. His fingers slid in and out fast, reaching inside, pumping, seeking as she clenched around him in pulses, waves of pleasure rolling closer. “Come for me, baby. Come on,” he coaxed, lapping at her lips, fingers driving deep. “Let me hear you.”
“Nearly,” she breathed, trying to not fist her hand in his hair. “So good.” Capturing her top lip in her teeth, she closed her eyes, focused on the sensation gathering low in her belly, chasing it, tightening around his fingers, her hand falling away to grasp the sheet.
“So good,” she called again, encouraging him and suddenly she was filled, what had to be three fingers curving up inside her as he ground the heel of his palm into her clit. Full, so full, and that pressure edged the line of pleasure and pain, ripping her free from the moorings holding her back, letting her soar. She cried out when his teeth grazed her, nipping at the inside of her thigh, his weight and grip keeping her still as she climbed higher, thrown upwards to where the air was thin. Breath suspended, cocooned in the darkness behind her closed lids, ears deaf to anything except the rapid pounding of her heart.
“Jesus, honey,” she heard him say from very nearby and realized his mouth was beside her head. Without her noticing, somehow in the past few moments he had moved up her body and was stretched over her. “You’re fucking stunning.”
Need. I need...
The feeling was overwhelming.
Please.
Never before had Mela felt so connected to a lover. Sex was about feeling good in the moment. Not this…need.
Hurley’s hand bumped her belly, working between them and she lifted her hips, seeking. Then he was there, thrusting his cock deep with one long glide and holding, rotating his hips, grinding into her clit while his breath came fast and hard in her ear. Electric shocks rattled through her, centering between her legs as she stretched to accommodate him.
“Come again, honey, come on.” He gritted the words out, forehead to an arm shoved in the mattress. “One more.” Ass rolling, his thick cock plunging deeper, hips shifting side-to-side, then his hand was between them. “Come again.” His thumb unerringly found her clit and pressed hard as his cock withdrew and then drove inside, hard and deep, slamming in and holding there as she rolled over that edge again. She lifted up to meet his movements, offering him everything, her head pushing backwards. The strain in his tone was gratifying when he grunted, “Fuck yeah, gorgeous, fuck me back.”
Again taking the arch of her neck as an invitation, he trailed hard, hot kisses along the column of her throat, working her skin with teeth and tongue. On the sweet downward glide from the orgasm, her arms curved around his back to hold him tightly when with a ripple of power under her palms, he began to move with purpose. Muscled thighs working between her legs, he fucked her with passion and finesse. The air in the van became heated, close, sweat collecting on their skin until she felt his belly slipping and sliding across hers, his arms pressing into the mattress.
Shifting, he moved and found a different angle and approach that caused her to suck in a hard breath because it was so good. Dios. She drove up against him, tipping her hips, and he plunged deeper.
“Fuck, honey.”
Fingers plucking at her nipples, Hurley’s back bowed as one palm lifted a breast to his mouth. He sucked, drawing hard while his hand stroked across her skin. More sensation to overwhelm her, hard teeth and smooth lips nibbling along her jaw. It was as if he were everywhere at once, and she recognized that familiar tension low in her belly with some surprise. “Hurley,” she breathed, bucking up against him again, driving him deeper, “nearly there.”
“Fuck, honey, you comin’ again?” There was an honest, pl
eased note of pride in his voice, and she laughed softly, pulling a gasp from him. “God. Do that again, gorgeous. Laugh for me.” When she did, mouth to the skin of his shoulder, he groaned, the sound so ragged she realized he was losing grip on his control, hips plunging, now wildly chasing his own needs. The knowledge that she could bring this beautiful man here, give him this, draw this kind of passion from him was enough to drag her even closer.
Sounds of their bodies slapping together echoed and she heard the van’s suspension creak and groan, mechanical singing nearly drowning out the noises flowing from her mouth. His mouth on her breast, teeth grazing across her nipple, hard cock deep inside her—everything conspiring to push her over and up and she was flying again. Muscles convulsing, she felt her body stiffen underneath his, anchoring herself with arms wrapped around his shoulders, tensing and clenching around him everywhere they touched.
Skin-covered muscles too addictive a draw, her mouth found the corded side of his neck, muffling her quiet cries and leaving a mark with a sucking kiss as he groaned, thrusting far inside her and holding there, his body bucking with release and pleasure. Pressing deep, and then withdrawing slightly before crashing into her again, hard and relentless. He ground out her name with a voice scraped raw, arms tightening around her as he came.
They rested like that for several minutes before moving. Then slowly, as if he were returning to life, Hurley’s hands stroked down her sides, then up, and down again. Mela’s arms curved around his back, palms pressed against his heated skin. Her thighs cradled his hips as their breath slowed and eased.
“Damn, baby.” The muttered words were gentle, pleased, signaling satisfaction. He shifted away and as he pulled out she barely clamped her lips shut in time to stop the complaining noise she wanted to make. Wanted to give voice to the sorrow at losing the gratification of having him inside her, the intimate sense of connection she felt. A movement between them that she belatedly recognized as him ensuring a condom stayed in place. She realized she hadn’t even worried about protection, hadn’t asked him anything before opening her body to him. Dios, soy loco.
He stretched out beside her, hands gliding across her body for long minutes, each touch slow and lingering, relaxing her. Mapping her flesh with fingertips, she wanted the memory of his caress permanently impressed on her skin.
Hurley hummed deep in his chest, one hand curling around her waist as he tugged her closer. “You need to go to your tent, or can you stay with me?”
Shit.
That single question told her he was back in the prospect headspace. He would now be nervously considering the politics of what they had just done; no longer caught up in the moment of shared passion and craving. His question seemed to imply it would be better for her to disappear. Leave him to sleep and wake alone, granting him plausible deniability if there were harsh questions about fucking the Machos’ princess. Always the same. Everything was always about the club, which is why she never slept with members.
Fuck, she fumed. What was I thinking? Aloud, hiding the wound he’d opened with his rejection, she quietly said, “I never got my tent set up, but I can sleep in my bag, it’s no big deal.” Glad for the sheltering darkness, she tried to still her trembling lips as she sat up, groping for her clothing, looking for a way to escape gracefully.
His hands found hers, bringing her search to a halt as he said, “No, honey. Stop thinking so hard. I ain’t kicking you out. I want you to sleep here, with me, but I don’t want you to be embarrassed in the morning.” Lifting her gaze, she saw the shadows shift as he tilted his head, his hair falling to one side as he asked, “Sleep with me, honey?”
He twisted to lie down, and his hold on her hands pulled her with him, taking them both back down to the mattress. With a relieved sigh, she rested against his side. He wants me to stay. “Let me be your pillow,” he said, reaching to lift her head and slide his arm underneath it, pulling her tighter against him.
He gently pressed his lips to her hair, and whispered, “Sleep, gorgeous.” She had arrived at the campsite already exhausted from both her cross-country ride and the tension of avoiding pursuit. With the encouragement of his sweeping caresses, those factors combined with the aftereffects of their shared passion conspired to pull her under the comforting blanket of oblivion quickly.
Hurley
Jesus. Hurley was stretched out on his back, staring into the darkness shrouding the van’s ceiling. Resting against him was one of the prettiest girls he’d ever met. So gorgeous you’d expect the attitude she’d been throwing at him out by the bonfire. So beautiful you knew to the soles of your boots she wouldn’t be worth it because she’d be busting your balls every single goddamned day, which would mean fucking her wouldn’t be sweet. Fuck, no. A girl like that? Fucking would be revenge. Payback sex, and while he liked a good choke fuck, he wasn’t into hating the bitch he was balling.
Mela was good at her game. So good, you might overlook the signs that she wasn’t really the kind of bitch she liked to play. But he’d been looking, been watching. Oh, yeah. Had my eyes on her. Watching as closely as possible, studying her every move. Ever since she freaked out when he touched her. When her eyes went wide and blank, looking like a deer trapped in the flare of headlights, unsure which way to dart to avoid the danger barreling down on her. Hurley had retreated, fast, because he’d seen that look before. Ruby and Eddie, who belonged to Bear, had that look sometimes. So did Gunny’s old lady, Sharon, and every Rebel knew her backstory.
Mela had come from New Mexico; he’d seen the plate on her bike.
New Mexico meant a lot of things. Duck, one of the brothers from Chicago, had been out there recently. Shit happened to the family of a club the Rebels were not just friendly with, but from what Hurley heard, considered as partners, the Southern Soldiers. Prospects were excluded from church, still, the news made the rounds, and everyone knew that Duck had rescued the daughter of the Soldiers’ president from certain death, smack dab in the middle of a conflict with a Rebel enemy. Diamante MC. He sucked in a hard breath, listening as Mela’s hair shifted, rustling quietly as her head lifted and fell with the movement of his chest.
Hurley had met that chick, knew Mela wasn’t her, but the look in Bella’s eyes was exactly like the burden Mela carried. Someone had hurt her like that, a scar that ran soul deep. His arm tightened, pulling her closer to his side. Her hand moved in response, sliding up his chest to rest directly above his heart. She sighed in her sleep, peaceful, relaxing against him.
So gorgeous. So damaged. So needy.
Damn, she ran hot. Hotter than anything he’d had before. Hot, tight, wet, and willing. Fuck. He scowled up at the ceiling, willing his dick back to sleep. He knew he wasn’t shit in the sack, but he’d never felt that kind of closeness before. Never had been certain, without the woman directing him, what the bitch needed to find the “O” at least once. He’d never intentionally left a woman he fucked high and dry, but if she didn’t get there and didn’t let him know what revved her motor, he wouldn’t go looking for the switch.
With Mela though, he’d been able to read her like a book. She let him explore every inch of her, felt good, tasted better, and fucked like an animal. From the stinging lines scored on his back, she’d liked what they’d done. Not afraid to show him, either. Gorgeous, inside and out, she hadn’t been afraid of him, and he ate up the trust she gave him, pushing them both to the limit. Out by the bonfire, he’d discovered that she could be sweet, and was smart as hell. So fucking smart, he would never know why she took his hand, following him into the darkness. Glad she did, gratified she let him lead her back to this van. A place that had been purgatory before she’d entered. Now, heaven.
That’s what he’d been thinking when he undressed her. An angel had come to rest in front of him. Beautiful, but didn’t know it, and that shit wasn’t an act. He’d been around bitches who pretended they didn’t know what they looked like, falsetto voice as fake as their beauty in the end. Mela wasn’t one of those. She’d
trusted him again, sitting there on the cheap mattress looking like a princess. Like a Greek goddess come to life and she was about to let him touch her. Him, a prospect, but not in her eyes. He didn’t have to earn a place beside her, she was willing to accept him as he was. Arms wide, ready to embrace what he could give her.
Angel. Goddess. Queen.
Mouth between her legs, he’d had to anchor her hips with one arm, holding her in place as he tongue- and finger-fucked her mindless. Never had he enjoyed the intimacy so much as with her. Never had he delved deep inside a woman, again and again, just to hear her cry out, to see how high he could bring her. When her fingers tugged his hair he’d nearly gone insane, mouth clamped hard around her, sucking deep—he shifted, his balls pulling up tight at the memory—until she came, body writhing. I did that to her, he thought, reaching down with the arm not curled around her, gripping his cock and squeezing hard.
He’d serve her every day if she let him. Take his time, learn what she wanted and liked, push hard until she came, shattering with his name in her mouth a million times. His bones sang with the truth that she was as in-tune with him as he was her, and knew instinctively what he needed. Made him feel like a goddamned king. I’d give her the world if I could.
He stretched and snuggled closer, nuzzling into her hair and wrapping her up in his arms as his eyes drifted closed. Fucking gorgeous queen.
Carmela
Disoriented, she startled awake, her heart pounding, and froze in place at the feeling of a large, hot, male body next to her. There was a sudden thrill of fear at the thick arms wrapped around her, one palm cupping her bare ass cheek. Then, as memories of where she was and who was next to her slowly slid into place, her heart rate slowly returned to normal. Hurley had wanted her here, had asked her to stay.
He was sleeping heavily, his breathing deep and even, relaxed and easy in his dreams. Mela reached out with one hand, using the pad of her thumb to trace his features, dragging his chin down, gently parting his lips. Barely breathing, she whispered her goodbye, “Was a good night, Hurley.” Carefully extricating herself from his grip, dressing as quietly as possible, she eased the door of the van open. Once outside, she pulled it closed just as slowly and silently as she could, hearing it latch into place with an inevitability that was so poignant she had to blink away sudden tears.
Biker Chick Campout (Rebel Wayfarers MC) Page 4