Chapter Twenty-Five #2
His fingers join his mouth, two of them sliding inside me with a slick, perfect pressure that makes my back arch off the bed. He curls them, finding that spot deep inside that sends lightning crackling through my veins, and I'm gone.
The orgasm crashes through me like a tidal wave, pulling me under, drowning me in wave after wave of blinding pleasure.
I cry out; his name, maybe, or just sound without meaning; my thighs clamp around his head; my fingers pull at his hair hard enough to hurt.
He doesn't stop. Doesn't slow. Just works me through it with tongue and fingers until I'm boneless and gasping, tears streaming into my hair.
"You’re beautiful," he whispers, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh. "So fucking beautiful when you come."
I can barely breathe. Can barely think. But I know what I want, know what I need, with a clarity that cuts through the haze of pleasure.
“Your cock. I want your cock,” I say. And as I lock eyes with him, I add, “I want you to fuck me hard. I want to moan. I want to scream. I love you, Breaker, and I want to feel every inch of you.”
His eyes darken, something primal and possessive flickering behind them. He rises over me, shedding his pants in one fluid motion, and the sight of him — hard and thick and straining toward me — makes my mouth water.
“You want it hard?" he growls, positioning himself at my entrance. "You want to scream?"
“Yes." The word comes out desperate, wanton. "Please, Breaker. I need you."
He pushes inside me in one long, slow stroke.
The stretch is exquisite. My body opens around him, accommodating his size, welcoming him home. We both groan as he bottoms out, his hips flush against mine, every inch of him buried deep inside me.
For a moment, neither of us moves. We just breathe together, foreheads touching, sharing the same air. The intimacy of it is almost overwhelming — more intense than the physical sensation, though that's devastating enough.
“I love you," he says, the words raw. "Fuck, Riley, I love you so much it scares me."
My heart clenches. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "Then be scared with me."
He kisses me — deep, claiming — and then he starts to move.
The first thrust is slow, deliberate, letting me feel every ridge and vein as he withdraws almost completely before sliding back in.
I gasp against his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders.
The second thrust is harder, faster, and I feel it everywhere — in my spine, my toes, the very marrow of my bones.
“More," I beg. "Harder."
He groans and gives me what I ask for.
His hips snap against mine with bruising force, driving into me with a rhythm that's relentless, punishing, perfect. The headboard slams against the wall, keeping time with our bodies. I'm moaning with every thrust, sounds I didn't know I could make spilling from my lips like prayers.
“That's it," he moans, voice wrecked. "Let me hear you. Want the whole damn clubhouse to know you're mine."
The possessiveness in his words sends a fresh wave of heat crashing through me. I am his. Completely, irrevocably his. And right now, with him buried inside me, I wouldn't have it any other way.
He shifts his angle, hooking one of my legs over his shoulder, and the new position sends him impossibly deeper. I cry out as he hits that spot inside me, the one that makes stars explode behind my eyes.
“Right there," I gasp. "Oh god, right there, don't stop.”
He doesn't stop. If anything, he drives harder, faster, his thumb finding my clit and circling with devastating precision. The dual stimulation is too much, not enough, everything all at once.
“Come for me," he commands, voice ragged. "Come on my cock, Sparrow.”
The orgasm rips through me like lightning splitting a night sky.
My entire body convulses around him, muscles clenching so tight I'm afraid I might break something — him, me, the bed beneath us.
I scream his name, the sound raw and primal, tearing from somewhere deep in my chest that I didn't know existed.
Wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me, each one more intense than the last, and Breaker doesn't stop, doesn't slow, just keeps driving into me with that relentless rhythm that makes me feel like I'm dying and being reborn all at once.
When the tremors finally subside, I'm gasping, shivering, my skin slicked with sweat. He slows his pace, letting me catch my breath, pressing soft kisses to my ankle where it rests on his shoulder.
“You okay?” he asks, and there's a smug satisfaction in his voice that should annoy me but only makes me want more.
“So good," I manage, voice wrecked. “But I want... I need..."
I trail off, suddenly shy despite everything we've done. But the hunger in his eyes emboldens me.
“Tell me,” he says, voice low and commanding. “Tell me what you need, Sparrow.”
I swallow hard, cheeks flushing. "I want you from behind. And I want you to pull my hair while you fuck me."
His pupils dilate, something dark and hungry flashing across his features. "Christ, Riley."
He pulls out slowly, and I whimper at the loss. But then his hands are on my hips, flipping me over with an ease that reminds me just how strong he is. I end up on my hands and knees, trembling with anticipation, and his palm smooths down my spine like he's gentling a wild thing.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs, and I feel his lips press against the small of my back. “You sure about this?”
“Yes.” The word comes out breathy, desperate. “Please, Breaker. I need it. I need you.”
He positions himself behind me, the blunt head of him pressing against my entrance, and then he's pushing in again, filling me completely in one smooth stroke. The angle is different like this — deeper, more intense — and I cry out as he bottoms out, my fingers fisting in the sheets.
“Fuck,” he groans, hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. “You feel even better like this.”
Then his hand tangles in my hair, gathering the strands, and he pulls.
The sharp sting sends electricity sparking down my spine, mixing with the pleasure until I can't tell where one ends and the other begins. My head tips back, throat exposed, and a moan tears from my lips that sounds nothing like me.
“That's it,” he growls and thrusts.
He fucks me hard. Harder than before. Each thrust drives the breath from my lungs, makes me see stars, sends pleasure ricocheting through every nerve ending I possess.
The sound of skin against skin fills the room, punctuated by my screams and his grunts and the rhythmic slam of the headboard against the wall.
“Yes,” I gasp, the word barely recognizable. “Yes, yes, yes —”
He pulls my hair harder, and I arch into it, into him, into the exquisite combination of pleasure and pain that's rewiring my brain. I can feel another orgasm building, impossibly fast, coiling at the base of my spine like a spring wound too tight.
“You're mine," he growls, and the possessiveness in his voice pushes me closer to the edge. "Say it."
“Yours,” I moan. “I'm yours, Breaker. Only yours.”
He groans, his rhythm becoming erratic, and I know he's close too. The knowledge that I can do this to him — reduce this powerful, dangerous man to desperate, primal need — sends a fresh wave of heat crashing through me.
“Come with me,” he commands, voice ragged. “I want to feel you come on my cock while I fill you up.”
The words shatter me.
The orgasm hits like a supernova, whiting out my vision, stealing my breath, making every muscle in my body clench and release in waves of devastating pleasure.
I scream — his name, maybe, or just raw sound — and I feel him follow me over the edge, his hips stuttering as he buries himself deep and pulses inside me, hot and claiming and perfect.
We stay frozen like that for an endless moment, both of us trembling, both of us wrecked. Then his grip on my hair loosens, and his hand smooths down my spine with a tenderness that makes my throat tight.
“Riley,” he breathes, and my name on his lips sounds like a prayer.
He pulls out slowly, carefully, and I collapse onto the mattress, boneless and spent. He follows me down, gathering me into his arms and pulling me against his chest. I can feel his heart pounding beneath my cheek, wild and erratic, matching my own.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. We just breathe together, tangled up in each other, sweat cooling on our skin. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my back, and I press closer, wanting to crawl inside his warmth and never leave.
“I love you," he whispers into my hair.
My heart swells so big it hurts. I tilt my head up, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw.
“I love you too,” I whisper back.
He pulls me closer, arms tightening around me as if he's afraid I'll disappear if he lets go. But I'm not going anywhere. Not tonight.
Not ever, if I have any say in it. And in that same instant, the reality slams into me: If I stay here, I’m not just choosing him. I’m choosing roots. A home. A life.
In the same town where the man hunting me still walks somewhere in the shadows.