Chapter 8 - Clarissa
His eyes darken at my words, and for a moment I think he's going to leave anyway. But then his hand slides into my hair, grip firm but gentle. The gentleness surprises me - everything about him is hard edges and danger, but his touch is careful as if I'm a doll he’s afraid to break.
"Last chance," he warns, voice rough. "Tell me to stop."
Instead of answering, I rise on my tiptoes and press my lips to his. The kiss starts gentle, mindful of his split lip, but quickly turns hungry. His beard scratches against my skin in a way that sends shivers directly to my soaked panties.
His leather cut hits the floor with a thud, followed by the soft clink of keys in its pocket. My hands find their way under his shirt, tracing scars and hard muscles. Each mark tells a story I want to learn. He hisses when I touch his ribs where the thug hit him.
"Careful," he murmurs against my lips.
"Sorry." I start to pull back, but he catches my wrists.
"Didn't say stop."
He lifts me onto the counter once more, his strength making my breath catch. My legs wrap around his waist automatically, pulling him closer. His hands find the hem of my work shirt, pausing. Even now, he's giving me an out.
"You sure about this?"
I answer by pulling my shirt over my head. His eyes blink at the sight of my black lace bra - the one nice thing I wore under my work clothes today. Thank god I hadn't worn the old cotton one.
"Incredible," he breathes, running calloused fingers along the lace edge. "You're gorgeous."
Heat floods my cheeks at the raw honesty in his voice. "Your turn."
He pulls his shirt off, revealing a canvas of tattoos and scars. The MC's logo over his heart, what looks like a bullet wound on his shoulder, and countless other marks I want to explore. I trace the club's emblem, feeling his sharp intake of breath.
"Bedroom," I manage to say between kisses. "Down the hall."
He lifts me again, my legs still wrapped around him and carries me there. The late afternoon sun streams through my windows, painting everything golden. His tattoos seem to move in the changing light.
"Still time to change your mind," he says, laying me on the bed.
I reach for his belt buckle. "Not a chance."
I reach up and tangle my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. Our kisses grow more heated, more desperate, as his hands roam over my body. He nips at my lower lip, and I gasp at the sting of pain mixed with pleasure.
He breaks away, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along my jaw and neck.
"You're crazy, you know?" he rumbles, his breath hot on my throat.
"Shut up and touch me," I gasp, arching against him shamelessly.
That's all the encouragement he needs. In one smooth motion, he unhooks my bra and tosses it aside. His calloused palm cups my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple until it tightens into a peaked bud.
I moan, already aching for more of his touch. A growl rumbles from deep in his chest.
"Fucking gorgeous."
I arch into his touch, silently begging for that hot mouth on my skin. He dips his head, taking my other breast into his mouth. I cry out at the feeling of his tongue swirling, teeth grazing ever so gently. My nails rake down his back, and he hisses in pleasure-pain.
One of his hands leaves a blazing trail down my body until he's cupping me through my work pants.
"You're soaked, princess."
"Your fault," I manage to gasp out.
His answering chuckle is dark and sinful. "You ain't seen nothing yet."
My hands fumble with his belt buckle until I finally undo it. He kicks off his boots, letting his jeans pool around his ankles. I take a moment to admire the view—that chiseled body inked with tattoos, the scars telling their own stories of hard-fought battles.
The man is a walking example of hard living and harder fighting.
"Like what you see?" he rasps, boldly cupping himself through his underwear.
I don't bother answering with words. Instead, I hook a finger under the waistband and give a tug. He gets the message, pushing them down and kicking them off.
His cock springs free, flushed and already weeping at the tip. He's... bigger than I expected. A lot bigger. I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. He's thick, veins standing out in stark relief under the purpling head.
As if sensing my hesitation, he cups my face, forcing me to meet his intense gaze.
"We don't have to..."
"No," I interrupt, surprising myself with my boldness. "I want this. Want you inside me."
The groan that spills from his lips goes straight to my core. Keeping his eyes locked on mine, he settles between my thighs, the thick head of his cock nudging at my entrance.
"Last chance," he warns, voice strained.
In answer, I rock my hips forward, taking just the tip of him inside. We both groan at the delicious stretch, the incredible heat of it. I'm already panting, my body aching to be filled completely.
Then, with one long, slow stroke, he buries himself to the hilt, filling me so completely I see stars. He stills for a moment, letting me adjust to the glorious fullness.
"You're going to be the death of me, princess."
Then he begins to move, slowly pulling back before thrusting his hips forward. Each powerful thrust has me whimpering, clinging to his sweat-slicked shoulders.
He hooks one arm under my knee, changing the angle, pleasure and adrenaline shooting through me with his next stroke. I keen, arching into him, nails ravaging down his back.
"That's it," he growls in my ear.
My world narrows to the feeling of him filling me, stretching me wide, relentless in his pursuit of my pleasure. But just when I think I can't take any more, when my release is coiling tighter and tighter in my core, he pulls out completely.
I nearly sob at the loss, at the empty ache he leaves behind. He shushes me with a kiss.
"I've got you," he rumbles. "Not done with you yet."
Before I can question him, he hooks one arm under my knee again, nudging my thighs wider apart. Then he lowers his head. The first swipe of his tongue over my pussy has me bucking against him with a loud moan.
He laps at me steadily, alternating between light teasing and firm, focused attention. It doesn't take long before I'm squirming helplessly, breath coming in harsh pants.
"Steel..." I gasp out, so close to the edge.
But he pulls away without warning, leaving me bereft and trembling. I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off.
"Want that pretty mouth wrapped around my cock." It's not a request.
I nearly come again just from the raw dominance in his tone. Somehow, I manage to nod, sitting up to face him.
He settles back against the headboard, gloriously nude and utterly at ease with his nudity. His cock juts up from a thatch of dark hair, still rock hard and gleaming with my arousal. I suddenly want - no, need - to taste him.
Moving between his outstretched legs, I grip the base of his shaft and lave my tongue over the swollen head. His hips buck up at the contact, a guttural groan tearing free. Encouraged, I take him deeper into my mouth, bobbing up and down in a steady rhythm.
"Fuck, just like that," he growls, one hand tangling in my hair. "Work that hot little mouth."
I redouble my efforts, relaxing my throat to take him deeper. The taste of his skin, the weight of him on my tongue, it's all driving me mad with lust.
Suddenly he pulls me off, leaving me gasping.
"On your hands and knees," he rasps, voice wrecked. "Now."
I quickly obey, positioning myself before him on all fours. He runs an appreciative hand over the curve of my ass before delivering a firm slap. I cry out at the sting, clenching instinctively.
"So goddamn gorgeous," he says roughly. "You have any idea what you do to me?"
His thick length probes at my entrance from behind, already slick with my arousal. With one powerful thrust, he buries himself fully inside me again.
I keen at the delicious stretch, the feel of him splitting me wide open from this new angle. He sets a merciless pace, pulling almost all the way out before thrusting forward again.
Each stroke drags against that sensitive front wall until I'm reduced to a whimpering, incoherent mess.
One large hand fists in my hair, pulling my head back in a way that has me lightheaded and exposed. His other hand smooths over the curve of my ass, squeezing it like he owns it.
"Mine," he growls against the back of my neck. His calloused palm connects with my ass again, hard enough to sting. "Say it."
"Yours!" I cry out, lost to anything but the pleasure-pain of having him use me so roughly. "All yours, Steel!"
With a deep, guttural groan, he hilts himself as far as he can go, stretching me wider than I thought possible. My fingers work my clit in tight, frenzied circles until I'm keening, clenching around his thick length as my climax crashes over me.
But he doesn't let up, doesn't give me a moment to recover. He drives into me harder and faster, hips thrusting mercilessly as he chases his own release.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he grits out between clenched teeth. "Taking me so fucking deep. Gonna fill you up, princess. You want that?"
"Yes!" I sob, overwhelmed by the rough stimulation, "Want you to come inside me, Steel. Please!"
With a broken shout, he slams home one final time. I cry out as I'm painted from the inside, his hot release coloring my inner walls while I hurtle over the edge again.
We collapse in a sweaty, spent heap, chests heaving, minds blessedly blank in the aftermath. He brushes sweat-damp tendrils of hair from my face and presses a tender kiss to my forehead.
In the afterglow, I trace lazy patterns on his chest, following the lines of his tattoos. Each one tells a story - what looks like a date on his ribs, names I don't recognize woven into intricate designs.
"You will be leaving in a few days, right?" I ask, trying to keep my voice casual even as my heart threatens to crack.
He's quiet for a long moment, his fingers running through my hair. The silence stretches until I think he might not answer.
"Been thinking about that," he says finally. "Maybe I shouldn't."
My eyes widen, and I prop myself up on an elbow to look at him.
"What?"
"Maybe I've got a reason to stay." His voice is gruff, almost shy - so different from the dominant man who just took me apart piece by piece.
I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips.
"Oh? The house that important to you?"
He laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest.
"Not talking about the house, princess." His hand cups my face, thumb brushing my cheek. "Talking about the crazy mechanic who isn't afraid of old bikers or their reputation."
"What about your MC?" I ask, heart racing. "Your family? The bar?"
"Funny thing about that," he says, shifting to sit up against the headboard. "I didn’t say anything before, but Hellfire's been talking about expanding. Setting up chapters in other towns." He pulls me against his chest, and I settle into his warmth. "Hope Peak might be perfect. The town needs protection from assholes like the Morrisons."
"A MC in Hope Peak?" I try to picture it. "That'd give Mrs. Peterson a heart attack. And Pastor Williams would probably organize daily prayer circles."
"Probably, but I could fix up Mom's house," he continues, and I can hear the growing excitement in his voice. "Make it the clubhouse. Or maybe..." he pauses, his hand stilling in my hair. "Maybe make it a place for people who need help. People getting pushed out of their homes by suits with too much money."
I twist to look at him. "Isabella would have loved that. She was always taking in strays - human and animal alike."
"Yeah," he says softly. "She would have." His eyes get distant for a moment, lost in memories. "Remember this one time, must've been when I was fifteen or sixteen. Found out she was feeding a few of the neighborhood kids because their parents were working late shifts at the factory."
"She did the same for me," I tell him. "After Dad died and Mom started working doubles at the restaurant. Always had a plate of cookies and a listening ear."
"So what do you think? Think Hope Peak's ready for an MC?"
"Think they better get ready," I say, trailing my fingers along his chest. "Especially if it means you're staying."
His arms tighten around me. "Got something worth staying for, don't I?"