“Yes. It’s cold up here.” The goosebumps covering my ass are so pissed they hurt. “We shouldn’t be doing this.” It’s about time my conscience catches the hell up.
Ignoring me, Ryker tugs his shirt over his head, revealing all those deliciously taut muscles and nipple piercings before he flips open his belt, undoes his jeans button, and rips the teeth of his zipper down.
“Wait. What are you doing? Stop it. Don’t—” I plead fruitlessly as Ryker hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his black Calvin Klein’s and shoves them, along with his pants, to his knees, exposing the tops of his corded thighs and a weeping erection that bobs.
Blinking owlishly, I quit gawking at the fine male specimen I vividly remember, and drop my gaze lower. There’s a newer tattoo covering the top of his left thigh. I stare at the colorful image for half a second before I realize there’s my name, Katrina, scrolled across a banner that wraps around the base of a realistic Siberian tiger face, complete with icy blue eyes. It’s extraordinarily lifelike.
“You have a tiger tattoo with my name,” I announce in astonishment. I can’t believe he had Katrina tattooed on his thigh. Right there for all to see. That takes some major guts. “When did you get that?” I point to said ink, keeping my other hand over my unkempt bits.
Ryker shrugs almost bashfully for whatever reason and strokes his length from root to tip. Using his thumb, he massages the pre-cum around his mushroom head before returning to stroke himself shamelessly, as if he has all the time in the world, not caring one iota that he’s standing in the middle of an industrial-sized kitchen inside an MC clubhouse where anyone can walk in and catch him wanking that rod. He takes a step closer, and I put my legs up to block his progression. The pads of my chilly feet press to the middle of his abs. They contract under my touch, and Ryker closes his eyes, jacking his meat harder. A moan rattles in his big chest, reopening the floodgates between my thighs. Hatred or not, his coarse moans are arousing. They always have been. There’s something special about a man who’s not afraid to talk dirty, or moan freely, letting you know his motor’s running hot for you and you alone. As much as I should hate this, it’s sorta flattering that he’s still hard given the way I look and how fat I am. I’ve never felt more beautiful than I do in this moment with his searing blue gaze trained on me. Pupils dilated. Chest heaving for oxygen.
Ryker licks his lips. “I got it the week you left Texas,” he finally answers, his voice chewed up gravel and whiskey. “That’s what ya do for the woman you love.”
“You don’t love me.” The words fly out of my mouth without a second thought. It’s true. He doesn’t. He’s never said love to me before. Not once. I’d remember.
“Don’t tell me who I love, Katrina,” he snarls, eyes blazing.
That’s total bullshit.
A ploy to get into my pants. To be a good little girl and follow him to Texas without putting up a fight.
Yeah right.
That tattoo doesn’t mean love. It could mean lots of things. Not that. I refuse to believe it.
“I’m not buyin’ it,” I return.
Ryker grimaces and stops fucking the tunnel of his fist. Growling in his throat, he bats my feet away and takes up residence between my parted thighs.
Oh. I don’t think so.
“Stop. Back up. I’m done.” I shove Ryker in the chest to keep him out of my personal space. It’s useless. The behemoth doesn’t budge an inch.
Securing my hips in a single practiced motion, he jerks me to the edge of the table, my ass half off the metal, peels my hand from my unmentionables, and before I can register what’s about to happen, he stuffs my neglected hole with his shaft. Pelvis wetly smashes pelvis as he buries himself to the hilt with an agonizing groan.
“Ohhh … G-g-god,” I groan alongside him, accommodating such girth.
So full.
So good.
Too good.
A heartbeat passes and my brain reconnects its crossed wires, reigniting my wick of fury.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I hiss, curling my hand into a fist and punching him square in the chest. A bright red mark blooms there. “I don’t want your c-cock in me,” I lie, delivering another blow.
Over and over, hollow thuds of my assault echo. Yet, Ryker takes what I unleash and returns the favor in kind by jackhammering my pussy harder and harder as time dissolves into nothing. Sweat beads on my brow from exertion. My fists begin to ache, and Ryker still carries on, unfazed by my brutality. As if he knows he deserves what I deliver and then some.
“I—I hate your stupidly perfect dick,” I whimper.
“Liar.”
“I—do.”
“You love it,” he rumbles.
“I hate—” Another slam and my eyes tip into my skull, severing my words.
His feral grunts fill the air.
Ryker’s own sweat dampens his handsome face and bald head.
A twinge of guilt coils in my chest for battering his flesh so badly it’s sure to bruise tomorrow. To stop myself from going further, I drop my hands to the edge of the table and curl my fingers over the lip to hold on.
“Touch me,” he begs. “Put those hands on my chest.”
“Never,” I return, as he adjusts himself to plow into my wetness faster. If only my traitorous body would stop this insanity. Instead, it rides the surge of unbelievable pleasure as he pistons himself in and out of me, owning me just how I remember.
A deluge of memories I have long tried to forget invades my brain. Memories of us screwing on the kitchen counter in my house. On the sofa. The back porch. The bathroom counter. In the back of my car. The restroom at Circle K. So much incredible sex with a man I thought I’d grow old with. Now here I am, losing myself to the same person who makes me feel both cherished and trashy in the same moment. A married man who got me into this mess. Who gave me beautiful children, and a shattered heart. The same person who’s lighting my soul on fire with each potent, heart rendering lunge.
No longer able to hold it, I moan and I moan and I moan, shamelessly succumbing to the wild onslaught.
“Yes. That’s it, baby. Take your pleasure from me,” Ryker encourages, bottoming out. “Your pussy feels so fuckin’ amazing.”
“Oh. Yes. So … gooood, ” I wail deliriously.
“I love this pussy,” he grates, driving home on ecstasy-laden repeat.
My eyes slide closed. Mouth hanging open to breathe. “It … it loves … you, too.”
“Tell me you want my cock,” Ryker demands.
Moaning like a whore and not giving a single damn, I reply, “I want it. I … oh … fuck. Yes! Give it to me. I need to come. Make me come, Ryker. P-please.”
Dropping his forehead to mine, I wrap my legs around Ryker’s hips as the first tear slips down my cheek. Another slam and I’m drowning—in him, in today, in this week, in life. Another drop treks downward as my body floats out of itself. Too much pleasure. Too much him. Too much us … tearing me apart at the seams.
Ryker’s hot breath wafts across my face. “Christ, I love you so fuckin’ much.” To punctuate his declaration he groans my name, sinking his fingers deeper into my hips that’ll surely leave marks.
I’ll love you forever. My double-crossing heart sings in silent riposte, battering my ribs.
A scrap of hope clings to the underbelly of that traitorous organ, touched by his admission. I try to will it away, but there it stays, acting as a lifeline. Whether I believe him or not, it’s the first time he’s said he loves me aloud. It’s a moment I’ll never forget.
More tears leak out of the corners of my eyes. Ryker either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care as he whispers sweet nothings to me.
“I’m never lettin’ you go, ever again,” he husks, and that’s all it takes for my walls to clench around his cock.
“Ryker!” I scream, throwing my head back as a tsunami of ecstasy rips me apart, only to stitch me back together again as the crest of another orgasm takes cont
rol.
Painfully gripping the table for support, my chest thrusts toward the ceiling. Slack-jawed, incoherent noises slip free as I ride the white caps of waning rapture. The blood in my ears thrums, drowning out the world. My muscles feel lighter. The weight on my shoulders gone. I feel invincible.
“What are you doing!?” A blood-curdling screech vibrates off the walls, jolting me back into the present by tossing a bucket of ice cold Vanessa on my endorphin high.
My eyes pop open and I right myself as Ryker continues to own my pussy as if he doesn’t hear the ruckus. Right inside the kitchen door stands his wife, arms locked at her sides. A flash of anger washes over her impeccably made-up face before her glossed bottom lip juts into a pout. I bet she’s wearing false lashes. Those are way too long and black to be hers. Add the designer jeans and a fancy maternity shirt that showcases her tight bump, and she’s the perfect picture of a flawless pregnant woman. If you buy into that idealistic horse shit all those parenting magazines try to sell you with their glowing complexions and tiny bellies. Along with cream that doesn’t stop stretch marks. And gadgets that are supposed to make you a better parent and have a happier baby. I’ll bet ya five bucks she has all that expensive, useless junk on her registry. Nope. I’m not bitter at all. I love my Walmart bouncer and playpen. Who needs a Gucci chest carrier when all I need is a knockoff Moby wrap and five minutes to secure it in place? Don’t forget, fancy belly creams are so last season. My badass tiger stripes are here to stay. Rawr.
Uh … I’m deflecting, aren’t I?
Shaking my head to clear it, Vanessa decides she can’t stop her verbal barrage. “Ryker! Ry-ker!”
Again, he continues to plow my wet pussy. It seems to be having just as much fun. Zings of pleasure flutter through my sex. If he doesn’t slow down, I’m gonna come again, and this time, in front of his wife. I don’t want that.
Feral eyes glazed over, nostrils flaring as sweat pours down his reddened face, Ryker drowns in the moment. I cup his cheek to rouse him a bit. He nuzzles into my palm like a lion, then turns his face and kisses me there. His perspiration dampens my hand, but I can’t seem to care.
“Ryker?” I whisper breathily, and he blinks. A crooked smile lights up his entire face just for me, turning my insides to goo. He’s breathtaking.
“Yeah, Tiger?” he mutters.
“Stop fucking her!” Vanessa screams, bursting our brief intimacy bubble with a needle.
The smile slips from Ryker’s face, and he slowly cranks his head in her direction. An inhuman snarl percolates in his massive chest as his lip curls aggressively. “Get. The. Fuck. Out!” he booms. “You. Don’t. Need. To. Be. In. Here!”
Releasing one of my hips, Ryker two finger points toward the door, his blue beauties narrowed in irritation. Yet, he doesn’t stop that still hard cock from entering me. I bite back a moan as my g-spot starts to tingle. Oh no. This is it. I’m gonna come again. He has to quit moving. No. No. No. I can’t do this in front of her. I open my mouth to beg him to stop. Only it’s too late. A strangled cry expels from my lungs and my pussy clamps down on his thickness. Closing my eyes, I shut out the madness and allow the calm wave of euphoria to wash over me like the finest silk. On and on like a babbling brook, my orgasm ebbs and flows, growing more powerful by the second. Digging my heels into Ryker’s firm ass, I writhe.
“That’s it,” he encourages, a sharp edge to his voice.
Struggling to pull air into my lungs, my stomach tightens, and I curl into myself, gripping Ryker’s shoulders for support. Dear God, why won’t it stop? It’s been so freaking long since this has happened, I forgot it could.
“Ryker,” I rasp.
“Keep comin’ for me, baby. That’s it. Let’s see how long I can make it last.”
“I … I…”
Sinking my nails into his flesh, my forehead rests on his slick chest. Ryker grunts. Violently pitching his hips, my bare ass screeches across the table, moving back an inch or two as our pelvises crash together.
Vanessa’s high-pitched complaints are no match for what’s happening inside my body, mind, and soul. I shudder and moan as ripples of pleasure intoxicate every cell. Ryker’s arms wrap around my shoulders in a loving embrace as he pilots the never-ending assault on my cunt. More clenching. Babbling. Sweat. Unfocused eyes. Ecstasy. Ecstasy. Ecstasy. It envelopes every nook of my being. Soon, I can’t tell what’s right side up. My body’s no longer my own. It’s his. I bite Ryker’s pec to keep from screaming as the muscles in my quaking thighs seize, and my toes flex. It’s too much. He has to stop. I can’t take it anymore.
“Not much longer, baby,” he whispers sweetly to the top of my head as if he knows I’m about to crumble into a heap of nothingness. “I’ve got you.”
“I … can’t.”
“You. Can.” He’s determined. “Your pussy’s still milkin’ me so fuckin’ good. She’ll stop when she wants. She’s not ready to let me go, yet. And my dick needs her to keep on comin’. You need this.”
Tears start to spill in rapid fire. Or perhaps they’ve been constant, and I didn’t realize. A sob clogs my trachea as I survive the most intense orgasm of my existence.
Slowing his momentum, knowing just what I need and when, Ryker draws my orgasm to a bone-melting close. Stuffing his face into my sweaty hair, breath heating my scalp, he pecks me there, buries himself to the hilt, and freezes before the first jet of warm cum bathes my sex. Choking on a moan, a tremor seizes Ryker as he empties the rest of his seed.
“Kat,” he grits, holding me close, his cock flexing deep inside. “Fuck. Kat. Fuck. Fuuuck.”
A lazy smile tugs at my injured lip. That was incredible. Utter perfection.
My boneless legs drop from around his hips, dangling over the edge of the table. A tender sort of warmth curls around my heart, and I sigh a happy little sigh. Extracting my nails from his skin, I try to move away. Only, Ryker doesn’t let me. He holds me like he used to after sex. As if I’m the only person in the world that matters.
A lingering kiss is pressed to my forehead this time. “Damn. I missed you,” he whispers in awe, catching his breath.
Unsure if I should repeat the sentiment, I say nothing and bask in the glow of post-coital bliss. Which lasts all of ten seconds when I realize we’re being watched. Out of the corner of my eye stands a red-faced Vanessa about to blow another gasket.
Ryker continues to ignore her presence and nuzzles his nose to my damp hairline. “I’m gonna pull out, and we’re gonna make a big mess.”
I chuckle knowingly.
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod giddily. “Y-yes.”
Groaning in unison, he slips his still hard shaft from my hole. Quick as a whip, I cover it with my hand to keep the cum from running everywhere. Ryker picks his discarded shirt from the floor, peels my hand from between my legs, and presses the cotton there for me to clean up. I wipe my sticky fingers on the fabric and hold it to my overused pussy.
Taking a step back, Ryker rakes his hooded gaze up and down my relaxed form in appreciation. A kaleidoscope of butterflies take flight in my belly, and I giggle like a school girl, beaming at him, regardless of the pain. Not even Vanessa’s disapproving, heartbroken expression could ruin this for me. I’m too damn calm to care. Once upon a time, the guilt of sleeping with another woman’s man would eat me in two. With her, I could care less. Rats don’t deserve my sympathy. They don’t deserve anything. Not after what I’ve gone through this past week. Self-preservation’s a wicked bitch.
Vanessa clears her throat once, twice, three times.
Slotting himself between my thighs, half-hard cock and balls swinging, Ryker lays a palm on the top of my stomach then leans into peck my uninjured cheek. “That was great, as always. We should do it again sometime.” He winks, and my heart goes berserk at the adorable gesture.
“Um.”
I lift my chin in Vanessa’s direction. It’s not exactly comfortable confessing how great it really was. It’ll put too much
hope in my heart. And I can’t give him that kinda power. Years ago, I trusted him. That trust has long wilted and died. Sex is sex. The sweetness, the affection, all of it, isn’t something I can return. Not if I wish to keep my iron-clad strength. It’s always been me and my girls against the world. A few tender, wall destroying moments during sex isn’t going to change that fact.
Pushing at Ryker’s shoulder, he steps back, and I hop down off the table, my bare feet slapping the floor. As I retrieve my sweatpants and slip them on, Ryker tucks himself back into his jeans and faces off with Vanessa, who still hasn’t moved an inch.
“When I asked you to leave, you should’ve left,” he admonishes.
Taking this as my cue to leave, I set his cum soaked shirt by the sink and shuffle around Ryker and Vanessa, headed for the exit.
“This isn’t over,” he calls to my retreating back.
“It never is,” I mumble under my breath, refusing to let Vanessa’s sneer get to me. I have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing.
Into the hallway I pad, where I breathe a little easier. In my wake, an argument ensues. Despite the need to get far, far away from them, I pause to eavesdrop.
“You fucked her!” Vanessa yells loud enough the entire clubhouse can hear.
“So?” Ryker returns smugly.
“Right in front of me.”
“I told you to leave. Ya didn’t listen. I was busy takin’ care of what’s mine. And that pussy’s mine. So I’m gonna take care of it if I want, and there’s not a fuckin’ thing you’re gonna say right now to change that.”
More butterflies flap as I press my back against the hall wall, slide down it until I’m sitting on my bottom, pull my knees up, and close my eyes as I shamefully listen.
“I-I’m y-your wife,” Vanessa heart-wrenchingly sobs.
My gut absorbs the hit like she’s speaking directly to me. Threading my fingers through my hair, potent guilt starts to claw its way out of the gutter. I shouldn’t care. She deserves it. I loved him before her. He was mine for years. We have kids together. I’m not a bad person. I’m not. I don’t owe her anything. Right? I don’t. Do I?
Hopeful Whispers Page 10