Chapter 13
Warmth.
That was the first thing Lydia noticed. The gentle heat beneath her cheek. She snuggled closer, drifting into that hazy space between sleep and waking, where everything was safe and slow and unreal.
It was almost like she was sitting on the flowered sofa in the photo in her album, like the child who slept curled up in the corner of the cushions.
She could imagine the softness of the couch and the smell of roast cooking in the oven on a lazy Sunday, waiting for the man and woman to laugh as they do on the first page in the bottom picture.
Then she shifted.
And froze.
Her leg was thrown over something solid. Muscle beneath denim. Her arm was draped across a broad torso. And her head...
Her head was on someone's chest.
Her eyes flew open.
Baddy.
He was stretched out beside her, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting loosely near her hip like he'd fallen asleep mid-conversation. His breathing was deep and even, chest rising under her cheek in a slow rhythm that made her pulse flutter.
She didn't remember moving.
Didn't remember curling into him.
Didn't remember letting herself get this close.
Heat rushed to her face. She started to pull back, but his arm shifted, tightening slightly, like his body wasn't ready to let her go, even if his mind was still asleep.
Having him this close to her was wild. Her pussy throbbed, and she held her breath in case he could tell what was going on inside of her.
She should move.
But for one suspended heartbeat, she stayed in his arms.
She let herself feel the safety, the warmth, the quiet. The way his heart thrummed beneath her ear. Inhaling the leather scent rolling off him, she kept her eyes closed and pretended to sleep.
It had been so long since she'd woken up feeling safe enough to linger in bed.
In fact, she couldn't remember a time when there wasn't a biker or two in the apartment.
Her mom, though beautiful, thrived on attention.
Most of the men involved with her mom eventually had wandering eyes Lydia tried to avoid.
She swallowed hard and gently eased her leg off his, careful not to wake him. His chest rose under her cheek, then stilled as she lifted her head.
Baddy pulled her back against him, claiming her mouth. Shocked, she froze. Everything about him and what was happening overwhelmed her.
He was older.
A biker.
A man who refused to take no as an answer.
He cupped the back of her neck with his hand and eased his mouth off her until his lips skimmed hers. "Open up, sweetheart."
Her mouth opened. Oh, God.
She was powerless to stop.
Hyperaware of her breasts pressed against him, she brought her leg up higher as arousal curled deep in her pussy.
He moved first, trailing his calloused palm underneath her sweatshirt along her ribcage. With skilled hands, he pulled the material over her head, leaving her topless. A rapid flutter rolled through her, and her nipples hardened.
Her breath hitched when his tongue swept over hers. She arched instinctively.
His hands got busy with his belt buckle. The metallic clink echoed in the quiet room.
She parted his vest. He shrugged out of the leather. She pulled at his t-shirt. The material ripped at the shoulder seam as he yanked the clothing over his head.
Then there was only skin in front of her.
His mouth found her neck. She had no idea what was coming over her. She wound her arms around him, digging her nails into his back.
Outside, a motorcycle engine roared to life down the street. His head came up, and he grabbed the chain at his waist, fumbling with his wallet. He removed a condom, ripped the foil wrapper open, and rolled it on his cock.
She barely got a look at him because she was busy wiggling out of the oversized sweatpants, getting one leg free before he rolled on top of her. He slid into her pussy in a rush.
She gasped. Her body locked down. It'd been over a year since she last had sex. She either forgot how tight she was or he was really big.
Panting, she caught her breath. Having him inside of her was shocking, yet pleasurable. Strange, but exciting.
"Okay?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"Are you sure?"
She swallowed. "Yeah."
His gaze softened, and he moved inside her, testing to see if she had lied. Her eyes rolled, and she fought to keep looking at him. Having him move was... wonderful.
She ran her hands along his sides. The muscles bunched against her palms.
He stared at her breasts, swaying with each thrust. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. He had to be the sexiest man she'd ever seen.
She wasn't sure how to take him. Was this a one-morning stand?
He'd come to her last night. He'd entered her apartment. He'd stayed.
He ground against her clit. Her legs hooked around his thighs, and she moved, finding more pleasure.
Somewhere, normal people were starting their day. Here, the headboard slammed against the wall in a rhythm that matched her heartbeat.
He leaned down, captured her mouth, and swallowed her gasp. His tongue consumed her.
His hips rolled against hers. He was intoxicating, making her drunk. Tipsy. Off balance.
His hands were rough from years of gripping handlebars. He mapped her body, finding spots she didn't realize could tighten her stomach like that. When he bit her earlobe, the sting shot straight to her core.
"Jesus," he muttered, but the way his fingers tightened on her thigh said he liked it.
The bed framed creaked when he flipped her onto her stomach, one arm hooking around her waist to haul her up onto her knees. His chuckle was dark against her spine as she scrambled for purchase in the tangled sheets. "Easy, sweetheart."
The endearment shouldn't have sent heat cascading through her, but it did, especially when he followed it up with fingers twisting in her hair just shy of painful. Every thrust knocked a sound out of her. A moan. A grunt. A prayer.
Each time, she could almost feel him grinning against her shoulder blade.
Morning light sliced through the curtain. His hands spanned her waist, guiding her movements as he plunged into her from behind, over and over. The relentless push and pull coiled her insides tighter until—
His phone vibrated on the bed.
He continued thrusting. When the cell stopped and started again, his growl went up her spine, and his fingers dug harder into her hips. "Fuck that."
He tensed. His rhythm faltered for one heartbeat. His next thrust was deliberate, deep enough to make her back arch.
Silence settled over them again, broken only by skin sliding against skin, the wetness of her pussy coating them both. She clutched the comforter. Her arousal crested, sudden and deep, stealing a sob from her throat. Her whole body tightened and rode the wave of pleasure.
He followed with a groan, forehead dropping to her shoulder blade while his hands stroked over the flare of her hips in rough, wordless approval.
Outside, another motorcycle rumbled past. She should care about the time, about the phone call, about anything beyond the way his heartbeat thudded against her back.
He rolled, wrapped his arm around her waist, and took her down to the bed, turning her over and pinning her wrists above her head. She was malleable and weak.
His breath was ragged against her temple. "Fuckin' hell," he muttered, dragging his free hand down her side like he was memorizing the terrain.
The rough pad of his thumb circled her nipple slowly, and she arched off the mattress with a choked noise. His laugh was a dark huff against her skin. "Greedy."
The phone vibrated again. She flinched at the sound, but his grip tightened around her wrist, holding her in place as his hips rolled in a filthy, shallow grind.
Somewhere in the building, a door slammed. She exhaled heavily.
"I have to work this morning," she whispered.
He went still above her, muscles locking. For one suspended second, she thought he'd pull away. Then his fingers slid between her legs, pressing hard enough to make her cry out. Her hips jerked off the bed, chasing the pressure.
Somewhere beneath the haze, shame flickered. She was no better than her mom, sleeping with a biker.
"I need to see who was calling," he murmured, but his fingers continued to play with her. "And get to the clubhouse."
He took his fingers out of her pussy and put them on his lips, taking a taste.
She scrambled for her sweatpants while he watched her dress through half-lidded eyes. As she got off the bed and moved toward the bathroom, he caught her wrist and dragged her to him.
He caught her chin before she could react, kissing her hard enough to make her stumble back against the dresser. "Thanks, sweetheart."
He let go of her and walked to the window and left the same way he'd arrived.
She lowered herself to the floor and sat there staring at the empty bed. What the fuck had she done?