He needed to take a moment.
Just a moment.
“Fuck me, Mick,” she whispered, her green eyes hazy, unfocused.
He grunted as he ground his hips against her. The hot silk that surrounded him made him just about lose his mind. And when she grabbed his ass and dug her nails in while pulling her knees back, he began to move.
He wanted to let loose, slam her hard, spill into her as quickly as possible, but he forced himself to keep a steady rhythm that would make it last more than seconds. Not that it was going to last much longer than that.
He needed a distraction, something to keep him from falling completely into her wet heat and never being able to escape.
But the slower he went, the deeper her nails dug. She arched up, crying out his name, and sank her teeth into his shoulder.
He grunted again, jammed his face into her neck and just let it happen. His body meshed perfectly with hers and they did the age-old dance in their search of satisfying their hunger, both of them racing to their release but trying not to leave the other behind.
She clawed his back, the little noises escaping her lips making him squeeze his eyes shut, fighting the uncontrolled rush that went through him.
Too soon.
Too soon.
His breath caught when she let out a wail as she slammed her hips against his.
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned.
She rippled, pulsed, and if he wasn’t already on his knees, he would’ve been brought there.
“Ivy,” squeezed past his gritted teeth and he pumped hard one more time before spilling inside her, making her his.
As he came down, his senses returning, he mumbled, “Sorry,” into the crook of her neck.
When her body shook against him, he realized she was laughing.
At him.
He lifted his head and stared at her profile. “Nothin’ like laughin’ at a man who just shot a load way too quickly.”
“You come?”
“Yeah.”
“Did I come?”
“Yeah.”
“Nothing to be sorry about then.”
Jag grinned, sliding out and settling against her side. “Yeah,” he said on a satisfied sigh.
Ivy rolled, and an arm snaked out to grab her and yank her back. Her heartbeat went from zero to sixty in a split second.
His chest rumbled when he said gruffly, “Almost fell off the bed.”
She glanced over her shoulder at a heavy-eyed Jag. “Were you watching me sleep?”
He didn’t answer, instead just tucked her closer into his side.
His bed was a twin and definitely not big enough for the two of them to sleep comfortably. Nor was there a lot of surface space to get down and dirty. “Next time we’re in my bed instead of this tiny thing,” she announced, twisting in his arms to go face to face with him. One of his long, heavy legs wrapped around hers and his erection pressed hard between them. “You’ve been hard all night?”
He grunted, which she interpreted as a yes, then said, “Waitin’ for you to wake up.”
The corner of her lip curled. “Sure you didn’t try to kick me out of the bed just so I’d wake up? Think I feel a footprint on my back.”
“Wanted to force you awake, would’ve found a more agreeable way to do it.”
“Mmm. Should’ve then.”
“Though, wouldn’t mind sleepin’ with my dick inside you all night.”
“Not sure if that’s possible, honey.”
His whole body jerked against her at the nickname “honey.” His voice sounded a bit thick when he finally said, “Can’t hurt to try.”
She brushed a finger over his forehead, then traced it along his jawline, down to the hollow of this throat to the silver DAMC pendant he wore on a black cord around his neck. She fingered it, finding it warm to the touch.
Without looking, she knew he stared at her as she studied the tattoos over his shoulders, down his chest, over his arms.
“Crow do them all?”
“No.”
She nodded, even though she was surprised. Crow did almost all of the brothers’ ink. His body art reminded her of the other “bodies” he worked with. “Ever think about doing something other than custom bodywork?”
“Like what?”
She lifted a shoulder slightly. “Anything.”
“Good at what I do. Make good bank.”
“I know you are and I know you do. Not sure what you spend it on though.”
“Don’t spend it. Savin’.”
She lifted her head and asked, “For what?” She could imagine the club members all had a wad of cash hidden somewhere if they lived at church. They didn’t have to pay rent, just their club dues. Most didn’t have many expenses except their bikes, fuel, all that silver and brass jewelry they wore. Tats, too, though Crow didn’t charge his brothers much. They could pretty much eat and drink for free for the most part. Yeah, she could imagine them being able to bank some cash.
“Now a new sled.”
No surprise there. “And before?”
“Think I wanna live here forever?”
“Your own place? Like a house?”
He grunted.
She pursed her lips as she took that as a yes. He was saving for a house. An actual house. Damn. “White picket fence?”
He snorted. “Big-ass garage.”
“A house is a better investment than a bike,” she mentioned.
“Baby,” he said, a brow cocked.
“I know. Bike, brotherhood, then bitches, and then everything else after that.”
“Can’t be Road Captain without a sled. Can’t be DAMC without one, either.”
No, he couldn’t.
“Can’t have my bitch behind me, squeezin’ me tight while ridin’ free, if I don’t have a badass sled.”
“I know you’re looking to fill that spot on the back of your bike.”
“Not lookin’.” He flicked the ends of her hair with his finger. His eyes raised to hers. “Found her.”
Ivy drew in a shaky breath. “One of the things about giving me time is not pressuring me, honey.”
“Say that again.”
“One of the things—”
“No,” he cut her off. “Last part.”
She hesitated, thinking back to what she said. “Honey?”
He pressed his mouth to her ear. “Call me that... not Mick. Call me that... not Jag. Call me that whenever you wanna make my dick hard.”
She closed her eyes, his warm breath tickling the hair by her ear. “I’ll tuck that away for future reference.”
“Do that.” He rolled to his back, taking her with him. She straddled his waist, her hands propped on his chest. “Nice to see this,” he brushed his fingers along the long strands of hair that fell over her nipple, “matches this.” His fingers continued a course down her belly to the small patch of hair she kept neatly trimmed over her pussy. “Fire everywhere.”
“Going to use your hose to put the fire out?”
He grinned. “Don’t ever want to see that fire burn out, baby. Like to see it burnin’ red hot.”
He wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and pulled her down into a deep kiss, his tongue teasing hers. “Guess you’re ready for round two?” she murmured when he finally released her. Though, she seemed to be a little more breathless than him when he did.
“Get rid of those boots yet?”
His question caught her off guard. Should she admit she didn’t? Should she lie? She lied way too much this week.
Fuck it. “No.”
A smile crept over his face. “Good.”
She raised her eyebrows, surprised once again. He made it pretty clear he wanted her to get rid of them. Maybe that had been his temper talking at the time. “Good?”
“Yeah, want you to wear them with a sexy bra and panties. For me. And me only. Got me?”
“Any particular color?”
He didn’t even hesitate. “Black. Match the boots. Make the
panties easy to rip to the side so I can just bend you over an’ fuck you from behind.”
Ivy buried her face in his neck to smother her laugh.
“Supposed to be makin’ you wet an’ horny, not makin’ you laugh.”
“What’s making me laugh is you being so bossy about it.”
“Baby, that ain’t ever gonna change.”
Yes, she knew that. That’s why she needed time to make sure she could deal with that shit on a daily basis. It was one thing to have one of her blood relatives or one of the other club brothers, or even a prick of a prospect, try to boss her around. She could just flip them off and walk away.
It was very different when you had to deal with it on another level. Like the ol’ lady level.
Her sister Bella got sick of being treated like property and being told what to do. That’s why she ended up on the receiving end of a horrific shit storm. One she was still recovering from.
One she might not ever completely get over.
Ivy watched her sister deal with that mess and it was only one reason why she shied away from being tied to a biker.
Their mother, Allie, had also avoided getting sucked too deeply into the DAMC lifestyle, always skirting the edge. Though, she didn’t look down on it since she, too, was raised second generation DAMC, she never wanted to make the complete plunge. Neither did Ivy’s aunt, Annie. After Allie, Annie and Ace watched their father Doc get sent away for murdering a Shadow Warrior in retribution for killing club co-founder Bear, only Ace lived the club lifestyle completely. But then, Ace was a man and a club brother and would never be treated like property.
Jag grabbed her hair and used it to pull her face out of his neck. “You rethinkin’ the me givin’ you time thing?”
Ivy sighed. If she was in her right mind she would. But no one in their right mind would waste that hard-on that currently pressed against her ass. Or no woman, anyway.
She planted her palms on his chest and pushed to a seated position, grinding her pussy into his belly. He grunted and grabbed her around the waist.
“Should I be?”
“Not gonna hide who I am, baby. Never have, never will.”
Yes, but he had no problem hiding his artistic talent in the ceiling above them. “Never, huh?”
“Nope. Get what you see.”
Would she get what she didn’t see? What he kept buried from everyone, including her?
He reached around her, grabbed his cock, and thumped it against her ass. “Right now, though, you gonna get some dick. Gotta problem with that?”
Ivy bit her bottom lip. She definitely had no problem with that. “Are you going to last longer this time?”
Jag slapped his other hand on his chest in a dramatic show of being wounded. “Damn. My woman cuts me deep.”
My woman.
There was something so satisfying about hearing that claim coming from him. But it also scared the shit out of her.
She opened her mouth to respond, but her breath hissed out of her instead. No point in arguing, since, like he said, he was never going to change. She had to accept him the way he was or not.
Right now, she was going to accept his hard cock deep inside her. Deal with the rest later.
Leaning over, she nipped his pec, then moved down until she caught the flesh around his nipple in her teeth. She sank them in gently and he plunged his fingers into her hair. Not to pull her away, no. He groaned as his hips raised beneath her, thrusting his cock between her ass cheeks.
He liked her biting him.
A lot.
She moved to the other one and wasn’t so gentle this time, making sure to bite him hard enough to leave her mark in his flesh.
He barked out a curse and thrust against her again, the precum from the tip of his cock lubing the cleft of her ass, making it easier for him to slide up and down. Heat and wetness slipped from her as he pushed his hand between them, teasing her sensitive clit, slipping a finger inside her.
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned. “Get so fuckin’ wet.”
She flicked each of his nipples with the tip of her tongue, then traced his silver pendant before moving her way down. But he stopped her by pulling on her hair and yanking her up.
“C’mere,” he demanded. “Want your tits.”
She smiled, cupped them, and brushed her thumbs over the hard nubs. “These?”
“None other.”
She shifted forward until one hung just above his face, teasing. He arched up and snagged it in his mouth, sucking hard. She gasped, the pull from his mouth went directly from her nipple to her core, which clenched violently. She needed him inside her. Soon.
Fuck that. Now.
She reared up, lifted herself, grabbed the root of his cock and sank down on him. He grunted and her mouth fell open, her breath ragged as she basked in the fullness and stretch of his cock deep inside her.
Yes, this.
This was worth him calling her his woman.
At the surface, the man beneath her was a misogynist biker set in his ways who worked with his hands, shaped metal, painted it, and made a good living at it.
Under the surface, he was so much more.
That’s what she wanted, what she craved. The man underneath the tough, gruff exterior. The artist who saw the beauty in that metal and created something unique with it. The artist who could draw something breathtaking without a day of professional training.
The man she’d known her whole life who wanted to claim her as his.
Who hinted at buying a house, moving her in. Waking up together, drinking coffee, eating breakfast before they both went their separate ways for the day, only to join up again at night. Fall into each other’s arms, satisfy each other’s needs. Make each other groan, moan and grunt until they were spent, and then later do it all over again.
Would she get tired of him, of his ways?
She couldn’t answer that honestly, even to herself.
But no matter what, there was more to Mick Jagger Jamison than met the eye. More than what he showed the world, his brothers, his family.
And if he only ever showed it to her, she would consider it a special gift to hold on tightly to.
But it would be a damn shame if it ended up being only her that knew him completely.
Her eyes flicked to his and held as she ground her hips hard against him, taking everything he had.
“Beautiful, baby.”
No, he was the one who was beautiful. His lean muscles, his tattoos, his dark hair falling across his forehead, his steel-blue eyes that searched her face.
“Somethin’ wrong?”
She sucked in a breath, then shook her head. “No. Everything’s right.”
His face changed then, became intense, his gaze heated. He lifted his hips to meet her every time she lowered herself.
“Waited for you a long time, Ivy,” he murmured, his fingers teasing, circling her clit. His other hand cupped one of her breasts, squeezing, kneading. Worshipping her. “Long time,” he repeated softly.
Her head fell back, her breath rushed in and out between her lips, her eyes rolled back as his length entered and left her. Driving her to that spot right before the climax would overcome her.
“’Bout time you got some sense.”
Her pace hiccupped and she landed heavily, stopping and dropping her chin to stare at him.
He continued, “I saw it, others saw it. You belong with me.”
At least he didn’t say “to me.”
“Just because we’re compatible in bed, doesn’t mean it’s going to work... out there,” she swung her arm toward his bedroom door. “Out in the real world. If you expect me to change, Mick... If you expect me to suddenly bow to you, become meek and mild, then I won’t need any time at all. This can end right here, right now. Because that’s not me. Never will be me. What you see is what you get,” she parroted him from earlier, feeling the ice run through her veins.
“Know who I got sittin’ on my cock right now. Know who I want o
n the back of my bike. Know who I want warmin’ my bed every night. Know who I want havin’ my kids an’ raisin’ ‘em.”
A mix of amazement, fear and warmth rushed through her. Kids...
Kids.
This man wanted her to bear his babies. She closed her eyes and whispered, “Mick.” She pictured her belly protruding with his child inside her.
Then it hit her and it hit her hard. She wanted that. She fucking wanted that. She felt that all the way deep into her soul with how much she wanted it.
Maybe not now, not tomorrow, maybe not even next year. But eventually. She wanted a little Jag clinging tightly to her hand as he learned to walk. A teenaged replica of Jag by his father’s side learning how to turn metal into something special.
Jesus.
She needed to think this through and not when he was buried deep inside her.
“Though, havin’ babies might stretch out that tight pussy of yours.”
Ivy blinked a couple times, stunned, then fell forward, collapsing onto his chest, her body shaking uncontrollably.
He swept her hair off her cheek, trying to see her face. “You laughin’ or cryin’?”
“I should be coming right about now.”
His chest rumbled under her cheek and she gasped in surprise when he grabbed her hips and rolled them both over, him ending up on top.
“You got it, baby.”
He grabbed her bottom lip between his teeth, tugged it, then kissed her hard, stealing her breath. She hitched her knees back, tilting her hips, encouraging him to hit all the right spots as he took her hard and pounded her deep.
All his words, all her thoughts melted away, leaving just the two of them. Two people who fit together so perfectly, who constantly butted heads and probably would continue to do so for the rest of their lives.
Their lives would never be boring.
“Honey, I’m coming.”
“Say it again,” he grunted into her neck.
“Honey... I’m... coming.” The last word turning into a wail as she jammed her hips up and he met her thrust for thrust. Her head fell back as her toes curled when the orgasm radiated through her, rippling around him, squeezing him tight. Her thighs, her arms, her core held him tight, not wanting to let go.
Down & Dirty_Jag Page 16