by Nikki Ryker
I raise a tentative hand and trace the strong, square line of his jaw. Stubble rasps against my fingers, sending a thrill of pure, molten desire pooling between my legs. He deepens the kiss, drawing me even closer to his hard body, gathering me up into his arms as though I might slip away at any second. I don't struggle against him, too intoxicated by the feeling do to anything but draw myself as tight against him as I can manage. My questing hand winds into the mess of thick, dark hair at the base of his neck, tugging lightly while the other comes to rest on his broad shoulder. It feels like trying to seduce a mountain. He makes me feel minuscule in comparison, a feeling I've missed since having Bryan.
He groans against my mouth. I take full advantage, skimming my tongue along his bottom lip, delving into his mouth. He tastes like bourbon, and the caramel notes that underlie the sharp taste thrill me. I can't help a small moan of my own. He doesn't stay still for long, his arms tightening like steel bands around me, his tongue brushing against mine in a sensual stroke. His kiss becomes harsher, more urgent. He kisses me like he's trying to climb inside me.
And with that thought, I can't focus on anything else. My core aches with need for him. I want to feel him thick and hard between my legs. I know somehow that it will be earth shaking. There's so much masculine energy rolling off him on the best of days, drawing my eyes almost against my will. The ache increases with every throbbing beat of my heart. At any moment I expect to collapse into him, my heart unable to take the onslaught.
He breaks away from me just long enough to exhale my name. "Oh God, Cleo. I shouldn't have..."
"Don't you dare finish that sentence, Ryker Fenton."
His eyes dart down to meet mine, an unexpected vulnerability in their depths. He expects me to pull away, to put him at arm's length get again. A crushing weight of shame settles onto my shoulders. All this time, I've shunned him, looked everywhere but at him, when he was the best possible thing that could happen to me. I tug him closer by my grip on his hair, so our lips are only centimeters apart.
"No more talking, I breathe. Just kiss me, Ryker."
He does just that, erasing that distance between us in seconds. His lips descend on mine again, a hungry sound escaping him when I kiss back. He's still nestled between my legs, his waist almost impossible to fit between the gap. Still, I wrap them around his hips as best I can, pulling myself flush to him in every way possible. Only the thin barrier of my panties and the material of his slacks separate us. I can feel him pressed hard against the fly of his pants.
A swell of pride almost chokes me. This is all my doing? I've brought him to this state?
I know I'm not unattractive, but it's been so long since I've had confirmation of it. Between the stretch marks and the added weight, I've decided that no man will look my way again. Ryker doesn't seem to care as he lifts my shirt to skim his fingers across my belly. I squirm self-consciously. If there's ever a moment he'll pull away, it's now, when he sees the imperfections on my body.
If he notices, he doesn't show it. His hand settles just beneath one breast, tracing the underside. I was thrilled that I wasn't able to find a strapless bra in the pile of clothing I'd packed. My nipples pucker in response to his touch, and he notices. A low, masculine chuckle rumbles out of him.
"You like that, hm?"
"Touch me, Ryker, please."
In response he draws away, staring down at the shirt with pursed lips. Seconds later, he seizes the bottom of the shirt, jerking it apart. Buttons go flying, skittering across the carpet and out of sight. A soft cry of protest leaves my lips.
"Ryker, that was your shirt!"
"I don't give a damn."
His eyes rove my chest, taking in the flush that's crept along my skin. He cups one breast in a rough hand, brushing his thumb gently along the swell of it.
"So goddamn beautiful," he breathes.
Then his lips are on me, the warmth of his mouth closing around one sensitive bud. I cry out again, spine arching in ecstasy. Both hands find their way into his hair this time, pulling as the sensations mount higher.
"Ryker, oh God, Ryker..."
Just when I think I can't take a second more, he moves the soft warmth of his mouth to my neglected breast, giving it the same treatment. His tongue laves me, the skin growing taught beneath the onslaught. Each stroke of his tongue sends electric tingles of desire straight to my pussy. The material is drenched. I may have already ruined them.
Ryker's hands and mouth explore my body, touching and tasting me everywhere. He dips his tongue into my navel and it's almost ticklish. When his mouth trails lower I know just what he's going to do. I shaved just this evening, on the off chance he might see me. It had seemed a distant dream at the time. Now it was a reality, and my head spins at how things had changed in just an hour.
He hooks a finger into the waistband of my panties, drawing them down my legs slowly, drawing the torture out. I need some part of him inside me right the hell now. He grins when he balls them into his fist and tosses them away.
"You're so wet already."
How can I be anything but, when he's looking at me like that? When his kisses are a drugging thing? I don't have long to respond though, because he parts my thighs seconds later and then his mouth is on me.
I didn't know it was possible to make the sounds that fall from my lips. I've never felt this, ever. Damian was all about demanding head, but never really reciprocated. Except for shoving two sausage-like fingers inside me now and then, he never paid much attention to my pleasure.
Every stroke of his tongue has me arching into him, trying to get as close as I can to that lovely appendage. I throb with the need to have him inside me. The pleasure is almost painful in its intensity. I teeter on the edge of something I've only ever achieved with my own hand, years ago before my aunt caught me at it and shamed me for doing something so filthy. What Ryker is doing to me now feels far from dirty. It feels right, like we are two puzzle pieces meant to fit together.
He must sense just how desperate I am, because he slides two fingers into me carefully. Again, it's like nothing I've ever felt. Damian's nails always cut at me, until I felt raw. Ryker knows just how to touch me, stroking something that I didn't even know was there. With a half-scream I come apart in his arms, and I fear I might tear his hair out. My orgasm is hard and explosive. White flashes before my eyes and I thrash against his hard body.
When I finally come down, my body is a languid, supple thing. I doubt I can stand at the moment, even if I were inclined to try. Ryker's eyes meet mine, and despite the recent orgasm, my pussy clenches once more with want. God, how can a man this perfect be meant for me? He licks his lips, and his eyes close as if he's savoring the taste of me.
"You're perfect," he breathes. "Every inch of you. I knew you would be."
It's a lie. I'm far from perfect, even without the blemishes left on my body. I'm too meek to live in the dangerous world of the MC without a protector. First it was Cruz, and now I'm clinging to Ryker for my protection. Neither will let me be hurt, but I can't help but feel it's my fault this whole mess began. Cruz wouldn't have been put in the position to fight Damian if it weren't for me. Ryker wouldn't be facing off against him if I had just kept my damn mouth shut about what Trent was doing.
I know this whole thing will come crashing down around my ears, but for now, I just want--no need--Ryker to be wrapped around me. I need to feel him solid and sure inside me. My hands fall to his belt buckle, fumbling in my haste. He stills my trembling fingers with his rough, calloused grip.
"You don't have to do that," he whispers so low I barely catch it. "This is about you, Cleo. I don't need to get my rocks off just because you feel obligated."
"I don't feel that way. I want you, Ryker. I need to feel you inside of me."
"But Cruz--"
"Doesn't matter to me anymore, Ryker. He hasn't for a while. I know he's Holly's. I want you to be mine." I lick my lips and lift my gaze to meet his. "Are you mine?"
"Always,
" he breathes.
He whips the belt off in a move so swift I barely catch it. Then he's popped the button on the slacks and slides them off, giving me a good look at the navy boxer briefs he's wearing beneath. His cock is swollen and stiff, pushing against the fabric urgently. I marvel at just how amazing he looks like that, posed like the world's sexiest underwear model.
I sit up on my knees, shaky but finally able to move. My fingers find the waistband and I slowly peel them off, gasping when he springs free. He's huge. Maybe it shouldn't have surprised me, given his massive size. It's only proportional. I'm not sure how that monster will fit inside me.
He smirks at my trepidation. I think his ego just shot through the roof.
"Holy shit," I mutter. "Do you hunt elk with that thing?"
"Only on Tuesdays," he says with a light laugh.
He takes a step forward and pulls my legs right out from under me. I collapse back into the cushions and he lays his rock hard body over mine. My heart thunders in my chest and I'm almost certain he can hear it. He lays tender kisses on my neck, nibbling and sucking until I'm squirming beneath him.
"Are you ready?"
"Oh God, yes," I pant. I'm not sure how I'll manage it, but I'm going to fuck this man until his eyes roll back into his head.
He guides himself to my entrance and then I have to bite my knuckles to hold in a cry. The blunt head stretches me to an almost intolerable level, and then the first few inches of him slide into me. My world narrows to the feeling of that thick shaft pushing and stretching until he's seated inside of me. My body thrums with renewed desire.
Ryker stills above me with a groan. His expression is rapturous, as if being inside me is some sort of religious experience. He cradles me close, as though I might bolt at any second. Not a fucking chance of that. I can't imagine anywhere else I'd rather be. Even the slight sting of my stitches can't distract me from this moment.
"You're so tight, Cleo. I never imagined..."
When he moves, my vision threatens to flash white again.
He hasn't even picked up steam yet and I'm already close to cumming again. I can feel every contour of him inside me, stroking along that part of me that makes my toes curl and my blood sing. I drag my fingers down his back, carving a trail into his skin. It feels like holding on for dear life, because if I let him go, I will surely drop into oblivion.
When he slams himself home again I feel the thrust all the way to my bones. A whimper escapes my lips. He stills for just a moment.
"Bad or good?"
"Good," I pant. "It's so good, Ryker. Don't stop."
A fierce, wolfish grin stretches his lips for just a second. I thought it was impossible for him to get any sexier. I was wrong. I'd pay good money to see that expression in his face again. Perhaps when we're alone in his home, and he has the inclination to hoist me onto one of his spotless kitchen counters. Perhaps my musings about his home weren't so far off the mark. It seems I could make myself a fixture there, if I wanted to.
Ryker lifts my hips, angling them just so, and his cock hits something within me I never knew was even there. Stroke after stroke he brings me closer to that dazzling white precipice, and it's no time at all before he tips me over yet again.
I'm stunned to realize that even though I've finished, Ryker is far from done. Damian hadn't been all that impressive in the stamina department either. Ryker is still hard inside of me and his rhythm stirs me back into a frenzied need. I sense another climax fast approaching the second. He moans aloud when I press my teeth into the sensitive flesh above his collarbone. It's all I can do to muffle a scream. I've never come once with a partner, let alone three times.
His teeth mark my flesh in kind, and I know I'm going to have one hell of a hickey tomorrow. Belatedly I realize I'll need to wear a high-collared shirt. The court case to determine paternity takes place tomorrow in the late morning. It will look unprofessional to show up with a vivid purple hickey on my neck.
Ryker doesn't give me much time to consider it however, devouring my lips as he hungrily searches for his own release. When I tip over that edge into another bone-shaking orgasm, he comes with me, a hoarse sound of pleasure escaping him.
In the end, I find myself curled beneath one of his arms, damp with sweat and pressed into his equally damp chest. Next time, I'm going to climb on top. I can tell what effort it took to keep his weight off of me.
I chuckle to myself. I'm already counting on a next time. How hopeless am I?
Ryker twirls a lock of my hair around his finger, pressing a soft kiss beneath my ear. "What's so funny?"
"It's nothing," I assure him. "We should get back home and rescue Holly and Cruz from Bryan the early morning terror."
"We'll stay here," Ryker says firmly. "You need rest before court tomorrow, Cleo. Cruz will understand."
And he probably knows we're sleeping off the exercise we just indulged in.everyone knew about Ryker's infatuation before I did. There's probably a pool going on in the MC to see how long it takes brainless Cleo to get a clue. The thought makes me heat with embarrassment.
Ryker rolls my earlobe between his teeth gently, coaxing a soft moan from me.
"Stay with me?" he says in a soft, wheedling tone.
I roll over to face him, draping my arms over his shoulders. The kiss we share is soft, almost chaste, an odd juxtaposition to the down-and-dirty sex we'd just had.
"Always," I murmur.
I take longer than I expect to shake the post-coital languor the following morning. My legs still feel unsteady, though sex has been over and done with for hours. Ryker insisted we turn in after a second vigorous bout of fucking.
I dig in my closet, bare-assed and mussed as Ryker watches in amusement. I chuck a wrinkled blouse at him with a groan.
"I have nothing in here that's court-worthy."
"The little black dress was nice."
I scoff. "It's covered in blood, and it's not going to win me any favors with this judge. She's not into women, that I know of."
"Though that would make for an interesting turn of events," Ryker says, stroking his chin with a playful smile tugging at his lips.
I toss another wad of clothing at him with a light laugh. "Pig."
"But you love me anyway."
I sober for just a second. I'd said it aloud only once, and then it had been a hopeless plea, lost to the wind. Now that it's a real possibility, I choke, the words lodging themselves in my throat. Why is it so difficult to say them? Instead I just nod.
In the end, I find something barely adequate at the bottom of the pile. It's a skirt and blazer combination that my aunt gifted me before her death. The boxy shoulder pads are outdated, the blouse makes me appear as though I'm trying to sell bibles on a street corner, and the skirt barely fits over my newly rounded ass, but it's probably the best I can do.
"How do I look?" I say, turning to him.
He's biting his lip to fight off a wave of laughter, I can tell. Mirth dances in those beguiling eyes as he takes in the ridiculous ensemble.
"You'd look right at home in the Red Hat Society."
The swipe I aim for his bicep is too slow, and he backs away from me, hands up in a gesture of mocking surrender.
"Fine, fine. You look good, Cleo."
"I look like a linebacker."
"But a very cute linebacker," he adds with a grin.
"You don't have to spare my feelings."
"It's going to be fine, Cleo. You've got this court case in the bag. I just wish you were letting me go with."
I frown at my ridiculous pointy shoes. They look like something the wicked witch would wear. Though considering they're my aunt's, that oddly fits. I want Ryker to come with me. However, I'm afraid that Trent might use that against me, claiming that I was bringing strange men around his grandson. Never mind that Ryker and I have been living together for weeks and he never said a damn thing about it. It seems like just the sort of thing he'd do.
"I'm going to be fine," I repeat, tryin
g to convince myself.
My beat-up car is waiting for me in the drive, courtesy of Holly and Cruz, who drove it here in the early morning. I figure it will be better to arrive in reliable if battered transportation than on a bike. The judge doesn't need to know just how closely I'm tied to an MC gang. I watch Ryker in the rearview mirror until he disappears from sight. My chest tightens the moment that he's gone, worry clouding my mind like a thick fog.
There's no way Trent could take Bryan away from me, is there? Not legally.
I'm so absorbed in my thoughts that I don't notice the line of bikes blocking the end of Crescent street until it's almost too late. I slam down hard on the brake, the wheels squealing in protest at my sudden deceleration. I stop just inches shy of the Harley Road King and the figure astride it. When I recognize the grizzled visage, my heart freezes in my chest. Panic rises to choke me.
Trent and a line of others block the passage in and out of this street. I'm surrounded. My spirits sink when I realize what a fool I've been. Did I really expect Trent to let me duke things out in a court of law? He's already tried to kill me once. And now he's trying again, this time with a more reliable weapon strapped in a holster at his back.
He reaches for the gun and I barely have time to duck before the first shot cracks my windshield. A rain of glass slices at any patch of exposed flesh. I'm bloody by the time the deadly hail stops. With slick fingers I try to push open the side door. Brenda is already waiting for me when I tumble out onto the soaked pavement. She grabs a handful of my hair and tugs me painfully to my feet. I want to scream, but know already just what a futile move it is. The side street that runs along Crescent is dark and abandoned. There's a reason that the Spades always dragged traitors and cheats out to this place. There was no one around to hear you scream.