Ride Me Hard: A Biker Romance Serial (The Devil's Host Motorcycle Club Book 1) (4 page)

I want to tell him to shut up, that I don’t care, that he shouldn’t be telling me this while my pussy is rippling around his fingers. But it would all be lies and he’d know it. And then I’m breaking hard over the edge of bliss. No thinking. No understanding. Only being. “Yessss.”

He pulls free of my body, and suddenly his fingers are in my mouth, slick with my juices and pungent with my own flavor—familiar and strange. “Lick them clean, baby.”

My cheeks burn and my clit throbs as I suck every last drop of myself from his fingers, hollowing my cheeks and swirling my tongue.

Like a good girl.

“You wouldn’t be Star anymore. You’d be Noah’s woman.”

His fingers stay in my mouth when he wraps himself around me on the small bed.

We lay like that for a long time—fully clothed, fully aroused…cuddling? Is that what this is? As ridiculous as it seems, the answer is yes…almost.

Whatever it is, it isn’t enough. If I’m going to be his, why isn’t he taking me? I wriggle my ass against the hard length of his erection in a lewd invitation.

He slips free of my mouth and clamps his hand down on my hip. “Be still. We’ll fuck when I’m ready. Right now we’re going to sleep.”

Burning up with wanting, desperate for more, I stuff it all down. I let the exhaustion I’ve been battling overtake me. I do as I’m told.

I
wake up
to late morning sunlight slanting through metal blinds and Noah’s hard body still burning behind me. He rolls us over so I’m straddling him on my creaky twin bed. It’s just a mattress and box spring on a metal frame, there’s no headboard or footboard to anchor it in place, and it sounds like something off a Halloween sound-effects tape. If he fucks me hard and fast, the way I want him to, it’ll leave gouges in the floor. I want that. I want to mark this shitty apartment so the next time my landlord is snooping around, pawing through my things, probably jerking off into my dirty laundry, he’ll know someone else was here. That my life is my own.

My dress is bunched up around my waist, and Noah yanks it higher. “Take this off. I want to see all of you while you ride me.”

Lust burns away the haze of sleep. I’ve never been on top before, but I’ve seen it in movies, imagined what it would be like…exposed and awkward. In control. I fumble with the zipper at my back and peel the awful uniform off my body. At the last second I do a little shimmy, twirl the dress lasso-style, and fling it across the room. “Like this?”

“Just like that.” Noah’s smile is the eye of a storm. Bright sunshine in the middle of a hurricane. Unlikely and unsettling in its perfection. “Gimme a show.”

My whole body lights up with his approval. “I’ll try.”

I unhook my bra, and I’m not even worried that it’s one of the sturdy ones I always wear for work, dingy gray from too many trips through the wash with jeans before I learned to rinse them in the sink and hang them over the shower rod. He’s looking at me like I’m wearing one of the laciest negligees I ever saw while window-shopping at Victoria’s Secret. His hungry gaze is sexier on my skin than any silk or satin I could’ve grabbed off the clearance rack.

The wide straps slip down my arms, and my breasts, finally freed, ache to be touched. As if the bastard can read my mind, Noah tucks his hands behind his head. Denying me, making me suffer. He’d said it outside; he likes to watch me squirm. He’d said it just now.
He wants to watch.

I’ve never been so turned on in my life, so I cup my own breasts. I imagine how they’d feel to him. Soft. Smooth. I flick my thumbs over tight nipples and test their weight—heavy. Spurred on by his grunts of approval and the sparks of pleasure, I knead them with my palms. Squeeze them cruelly the way he would. When I pinch my nipples, he lifts his hips off the bed.

“It’s a crime you’re not topless all the time. Perfect. Fucking. Breasts. I’m gonna come all over them later. What are you thinking about while you play with them? Tell me.”

Every inch of my skin is already blushing, yet somehow I pulse hotter. My cheeks. My chest. I feel heavy, like my blood is thicker than normal, like there’s more gravity in the room simply because he’s in it. Maybe there is. It draws words out of my mouth I didn’t even know I had in me. “You. I’m thinking about your greedy hands all over me. Rough and dirty. How you’d pinch and tug and take. How you’d fuck me up.”

“That what you want?”

His cock is hard behind denim, and I grind down on it. My pussy is still so wet and sensitive, I think I could come again just like this with a few jerks of my hips—rocking against the rough fabric trapping his erection. “Unnh. You know it is.”

He hooks an arm around me and crushes me against his chest. I can hardly breathe from the shock of it. He grabs my ass with one hand and the back of my head with the other, pressing my face into his shoulder. I’m trapped in his embrace, spread open and pinned. “I know you—people like you. Hanging around the club, looking for…something. What are you looking for?”

Chest to chest, his voice rumbles through me. I jerk against him, desperate for that friction, the bite of his zipper against my clit. Anything.

“I don’t know.” I lie.

Somewhere distant I hear a bang and realize it’s the front door caught in the wind. The door he kicked in is hanging from its hinges, and so am I.

I bite his shoulder to keep myself from begging him to fuck me already. Or to let me fuck him. I struggle to break free—to do just that—but he squeezes me tighter. Pinches my ass with those greedy hands I’m so desperate for. It’s almost enough to tip me over the edge. “God, please—”

“Whatever you’re running from? I’m not a way out. I’m a fucking self-destruct button.”

“That’s exactly what I want.” I grind down harder—as hard as possible with what little leverage I can manage—and this time the friction
is
pain. A sharp bolt, flashing bright white behind my eyes and fading into something so bone-deep good I’d risk any hurt to feel it again and again. “Fuuuck. This apartment, this life? It’s not worth anything. We can tear it all down.”

“We?” His sigh, heavy and tired, rolls over me. A different kind of bone-deep, like I’ve said the wrong thing. And it’s the same wrong thing he’s heard a hundred times before. He grips my shoulders and pushes me up.

I watch his mouth while he talks, barely hearing the words as they trip over the disgusted sneer curling his lips. “You mean me. Usually I get paid to fuck shit up. We could work something out.”

Somehow I’m smoothing over that snarl, tracing the edges of his mouth where softest skin meets scruff, willing it back to the stormy smile with the tips of my fingers. The smile that left me frightened and giddy. I want that one again.

I don’t know if he hates what he thinks I want from him or if he hates who he is. But I know he hates something, and I can understand either way. Sometimes I’ve got so much hate inside me it’s a wonder there’s room for anything else. It’s an awful feeling, and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. “Not like arson or vandalism. I don’t mean literally.”

His eyes are flat mirrors as I study him. Reflecting nothing and everything. “I do. Did you forget why I’m here?”

“No.” I lie again. Two lies in one morning and I think I’m only getting started. At least they’re transparent and utterly pointless. I’m not really lying, not really hiding anything, just preserving some false shred of modesty.

I
had
forgotten why he was here, in town, in my apartment, in my bed. For hours while we slept. For long seconds while his fingers raked over my clit and that other spot deep inside me, the one that felt like a self-destruct button too, he existed only to make me feel. Each stroke dragged me closer to the abyss.

God, I want him to touch me again, screw modesty. I grab his hands from their resting place on my thigh and pull them up to my breasts.

“Look at you. One little taste and you don’t want to stop. Just say no to drugs, sweet girl. I could have you strung out and working the corner in a fucking heartbeat. Is that the kind of destruction you’re begging for?”

Adrenaline spikes my bloodstream, the butterflies in my belly turning into bats that swoop and whirl and scream into the night. Because this is something I’ve thought about, many times. Not so much the drugs, because he’s right. One taste and I probably would be done for. That particular sweet tooth isn’t just a thread of family history; it’s rooted deep in my DNA from every side. But the other part…the part where I might take money for sex.

I’ve been hungry and alone. There were times I felt so disconnected from my body that I thought it might not even matter who touched me. Fifteen minutes of tugging or grinding and… I shake my head. I get by. It’s what I do. The only thing that separated me from the girls that sometimes wandered between trucks in the parking lot at Jimmy’s before they put in the bypass was that stupid coffee can of savings under my sink and a twist of fate. “Is that what you do when you’re not being an enforcer? Are you a…pimp?”

He tenses beneath me. Flinches. Before he so much as tilts his chin in my direction, I know the answer is no. This was just more posturing.

He squeezes his eyes shut. “I can’t shock you, can I?”

“It’s not all an act—I’m not stupid, but I bet you could shock me more if you stopped trying so hard to scare me away.”

“Fine.” He takes a long look at my body, up and down and back up again. A searching gaze that tightens my nipples and raises the blush that had started to recede. Every flick of his eyes feels like a puzzle piece being snapped into place. “Suck me off.”

“What?” I’d expected him to argue with me, to be even bigger and badder, to bang his chest and prove me wrong. Waitressing taught me to read people pretty well, but maybe I’d miscalculated. I roll off him and stand beside the bed.

Ooof.
I stumble when his hand snakes between my legs and around my thigh, pinning me before I can’t get more than a step away.

“You heard me. You want me to stop trying to scare you away? Get to work. Put that perceptive little mouth of yours on my cock. I’ve been imagining what it would feel like since you hit your knees outside the diner.”

Somewhere in the back of my brain I know I’m supposed to be a little pissed off, but I’m too busy wondering if he can feel the wetness running down the inside of my thigh and thinking about how fucking hot it sounds. “Yes, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir. That’s for bankers and businessmen and shit. Boring fucks who wear ties and drive Volvos.” He flicks open the fly of his jeans while he scolds me, and his heavy palm pushing down on my shoulder lets me know I’m obliged to perform from the floor, not the bed.

He stands up, and I keep my eyes trained on the open flap of his pants, the navy cotton underwear peeking out, the erection barely contained by either. “I call everyone sir at work.”

“This ain’t work.”

Well, that settles one thing. I tug the pants down from his hips and suck in a breath. The ink swirling over his hands and arms swirls over his belly too. Every inch of him that I can see is covered. Except the lowest part of his abdomen…and his cock. Thick and blunt and glistening with precum. Oh, that cock could hurt me. It could choke me. It might do both of those things before our time together is over. I squeeze my thighs together at the thought, because damn if that isn’t exactly what I want.

“You’re squirming and licking your lips, Star. Tell me what’s going on in that busy head of yours or get to it.”

The silky skin of his dick is so hot against my palm. I curl my fingers around the base and squeeze once before licking the tip with the flat of my tongue, catching the salty drops beaded there and whisking them away. I lap at the underside, slicking him from the base of his cock to the ridge beneath the head—and look up at him. For approval? For reassurance? For instruction? I don’t know. For something.

His eyes are shuttered, offering me absolutely nothing. So I push. I tell him what I’m thinking between lazy licks. “Your cock’s gonna hurt me. That’s what I was thinking.”

“No, sweetheart.
I’m
going to hurt you. And you like that, don’t you? Shit. I tried to hold back, but you just won’t let me, will you?” He wraps my hair in his hand and pushes me down.

I open my mouth instinctively, taking the hot length of him between my lips. This is what I want. This invasion.

“I’m going to get so deep inside you—your mouth, your pussy, your mind.” He rocks his hips, nudging his cock deeper still.

I try to take it, but no amount of slow deep breathing can stop the reflex that makes my throat spasm and my shoulders hitch. He grunts, tightening his fingers in my hair, and I know he likes that too. Likes me on my knees, choking for him. Likes me whimpering. He pumps faster, and my eyes water. Fuck, he’s big. I try to pull back, to shorten the strokes a little, but his hand is on the back of my head, pulling my hair, urging me to take more. To take everything he gives me. Forcing me.

My clit throbs. I slip a hand between my legs, and he grunts his approval.

“That’s it, baby. Get yourself off while I fuck your face.”

Yes.