Stron #2
Or with the way my cocks are behaving, maybe it’s just her I prefer. All of her, that is. She’s exquisite. From the top of her pink hair to her toes and all the in-between. I wonder how quickly I can get her on the back of my bike and to the clubhouse.
I’m brought from my perusal by her poking my chest. “Are you listening to me?”
“I’m not,” I admit. “I’m wondering how quickly I can get you home and into my bed.”
Her eyes flare and her cheeks flush as she gapes at me.
“You can’t be serious!” She splutters, nearly snorting with laughter, her eyebrows shooting up so high that they disappear under her fringe. “You don’t even know my name.”
“I will, when you tell me,” I say, smirking at her. Loving the way she belly laughs, resting her forehead against my chest. My hands fall naturally to her hips, gripping them firmly. I wait until she’s done laughing before reminding her, “So, milseán, what’s your name?”
She tilts her head back, resting her chin on my chest. Her eyes are sparkling with amusement, and her lips tilt up at the corners just enough for a glimpse of her teeth.
I’m happy to see they are normal-looking, unlike the inhabitants of Revolt. Not that I have anything against them, but some of their ladies scare the beejesus out of me with the razor-like sharpness of their pearly whites.
“Lyra,” she replies. “My name is Lyra.”
“Nice to meet you, Lyra. I’m going to kiss you now,” I inform her, not giving her any time to object, lifting her to my height, and slamming my mouth down on hers.
She gasps, allowing me access, and I take it.
Her arms wrap around my neck, and her fingers delve into my short hair.
There’s no second-guessing with my female; she’s all in from the beginning of the kiss.
And that’s what she is.
My female.
I’d known it as soon as I scented her and both my cocks had reacted.
She wraps her legs around me, the warmth of her pussy heating my abs through her clothing.
When she whimpers deep in her throat, I know it’s time to get out of here.
My cocks are hard and weeping. The need to bury myself in her riding me.
We could stay here, but the need to have her in my room, in my bed, is all-consuming.
And from the way my female kisses, she’s not got much experience.
I want to take my time with her, with no interruptions.
Breaking our kiss, I look into her glazed eyes as I tell her, “I’m taking you home.”
“Okay,” she agrees, lowering her gaze to my chin. No arguing, no second-guessing, just straight-up obedience.
“Feck,” I groan, feeling both of my cocks straining against the confines of my leathers at her display of submission. I’ve never considered myself a particularly dominant male, but her eager agreement is doing things to me I didn’t expect.
Spying her cloak in the corner, I snag it off the hook and stride out of the kitchen with Lyra still wrapped in my arms.
“Another one,” Kragor growls, throwing up his hands in disgust. Vena says nothing, just stares at me with cold, hard eyes.
It’s only the two of them and Vorn left here. Brak must still be on rounds.
Lyra turns and looks guiltily over her shoulder at Kragor. She shifts as if she’s about to release her legs and slide down. I tighten my grip on her thighs, keeping her where she is.
‘Nope, not having that. She’s mine for tonight… or forever.’
“I’ll send the prospects over,” I inform Kragor before Lyra can volunteer herself.
Her luminous eyes meet mine, and she looks uncertain as she whispers, “It’s my job, though.”
“Not tonight,” I tell her and give Kragor a look that he reads loud and clear. He tips his chin and pats Lyra on the shoulder, telling her, “Don’t worry about it, cailín deas, we’ll manage, and I’ll see you back here tomorrow.” He arches his brows at me as if daring me to dispute that.
Crafty old man, I have to give him that.
“As long as you’re sure,” Lyra responds hesitantly.
“He’s sure,” I tell her and walk towards the door. Lyra slaps at my shoulder, grumbling, “That was rude, Stron. They’re my family.”
She’s right.
Coming to a stop near the door, I allow her to slide down my body. As soon as her feet touch the floor, she’s flying across the room and throwing herself at Kragor, who catches her. She hugs him and says something that has him smiling.
Vena sidles closer to me.
I wait. Not that I have to wait long.
“Don’t hurt my sister, male, or I’ll eviscerate you.”
She’s a direct female, I’ll give her that. I can’t help but like her and the way she’s so protective of the other females.
Her next words have me paying attention. “And take care with her. She’s innocent.”
My head shoots up and I demand, “What do you mean innocent?”
Vena raises one brow at me as if she finds me lacking. “I mean exactly that, male. She comes from a planet that’s not high in resources and they do things the old-fashioned way. She lived at home until she was taken. I’m sure you can connect the dots, so I don’t have to spell it out.”
‘Holy fecking shite.’
If I was right in understanding what Vena’s trying to tell me, then, ‘My female has never been with a male. I figured she was innocent but not as innocent as this.’
The news spoke to the berserker side of me. It makes me want to beat my chest and roar to all the planets that Lyra will be mine and only mine.
“I see you understand,” she tells me.
“I do, and I’ll treat her like the delicate flower she is.”
“See that you do.”
With those words, she turns and walks away to continue tidying up. Lyra walks back to me and takes the hand I hold out to her with a shy smile. Unlocking the doors, I open them and wait as Lyra waves one last time at Kragor and Vena.
Closing the door behind us, we walk to my bike. Swinging my leg over the seat, I sink onto it, getting comfortable. Helping Lyra on behind me, I hook my hand around her knees and tug her so that she’s plastered against my back, her arms bracketed around my waist.
“Hold on tight, a stór. We’ll be at the clubhouse soon.”
Lyra squeezes my waist in understanding.
Accelerating, we glide out onto the main road. The sliders disappear under the carriage as I pick up speed.
The wind rushes past as we race along the road. There’s nothing more freeing than riding a bike.
I used to think there was nothing that could make you feel more alive than the wind in your hair and the rumble of a bike engine beneath you.
I was wrong.
There’s nothing to make you feel more alive than having your mate’s arms around your waist. The wind rushing past, clearing your thoughts, and the steady rumble of your bike.
The only thing better would have been my brothers riding with us.