Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
His hand doesn’t leave my back as he guides me through Blacktrope Blood’s hall, the bar noise fading behind us. Boots heavy, steps certain, like he owns the ground we walk on. Like he owns me.
And I… let him.
The hallway’s dim, walls graphitized, doors closed tight. My pulse drums everywhere—neck, wrists, thighs. My brain screams bad idea, but my body? It’s screaming yes.
“Where are you taking me?” My voice sounds steadier than it should, laced with the sass I always wear like armor.
Rook glances down, grin wicked. “To see if your mouth cashes the checks your bratty lips keep writing.”
Heat streaks down my spine. My heels click faster just to keep up with his stride. He pushes through a steel door and we step into a cramped storeroom—boxes stacked high, the sharp scent of bleach mixing with dust.
It’s not romantic. It’s raw. Perfect.
Before I can sass him again, my back hits the door with a thud. His palm plants by my head, the other gripping my hip, thumb pressing into bone hard enough to leave proof. His face dips close, his breath beer and want.
“You sure you want this, Storm?” His voice is rough silk, dangerous.
I lick my lips, tilt my chin up. “What if I’m just paying for my two-hour boyfriend package?”
His laugh rumbles low, dark. “Then I better make sure you get your money’s worth.”
The kiss hits me like fire. My hands fist in his cut, dragging him closer, grinding against the hard line already straining his jeans.
“Fuck,” I breathe when he breaks for air.
“Not yet.” His grin is pure sin. “I like to play with my toys first.”
His hand slides up my thigh, under my skirt, fingers grazing my lace panties. His growl vibrates against my lips.
“Jesus, Storm. Came out ready for me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I shoot back, though my hips betray me, tilting toward his touch.
“Oh, I’m not flattering me.” His finger circles lazy just shy of where I’m aching. “I’m flattering you.”
I bite my lip, breath sharp. He doesn’t give me what I want. Instead, he strokes the inside of my thigh, slow torture, watching every flicker of emotion in my face.
“Beg,” he murmurs.
I snap my eyes open, glare at him. “Not a chance.”
His smirk deepens. “That’s what they all say.”
He dips one finger inside me and my sass crumbles into a moan. My knees tremble, and he presses his body harder against mine to keep me upright.
“You’re wet like you’ve been waiting for me all damn day.” His mouth grazes my ear. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
I can’t. Not with the way his finger curls and drags, the friction just right and just wrong enough.
“Fuck you,” I gasp, clutching his shoulders.
“Working on it,” he drawls, sliding a second finger in. My body clenches, desperate.
His pace builds, then slows. Builds, then slows again. My core tightens, ready to explode, and then he pulls back, leaving me on the cliff.
“Rook,” I hiss. “Don’t you dare—”
“Beg, Storm.” His thumb brushes where I need him most but never stays long enough. “Say you want me to let you come.”
“No,” I grind out, nails raking down his back. “You don’t get to—”
He thrusts deeper, harder, hitting the spot that makes stars scatter behind my eyelids. I bite down on a whimper.
“Still holding out?” he taunts, kissing my neck, biting just enough to make me shiver.
I hate him. I hate how good this feels.
“Yes!” I snap, half-scream, half-plea. “Please, Rook— Let me— Fuck, let me come.”
That grin. That dark, satisfied grin. He finally rubs his thumb over my clit, steady, relentless, and my body breaks. I cry out, shattering around his hand, thighs shaking, head thrown back against the door.
Before the aftershocks fade, he drops to his knees. My skirt’s yanked higher, and his mouth replaces his fingers, tongue greedy, ruthless.
“Oh my god,” I pant, hips bucking helplessly. “I can’t—”
“You can.” His voice is muffled against me, tongue dragging, lips sucking. “And you will.”
He edges me again, pulls back when I’m too close, smirks up at me, then dives in harder. My moans echo off the concrete, shameless, slutty. I don’t care. I don’t want to care.
“Rook,” I beg, fists in his hair. “Please, I’m dying—”
“Beg prettier.”
“Please, Daddy,” bursts out before I can stop it.
His growl vibrates against my skin, primal, like I unlocked something feral. He devours me then, tongue and lips dragging me over the edge until I scream, shaking, tears stinging my lashes.
When I slump against the door, ruined, he stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his smirk devil-wide.
“Storm,” he murmurs, dragging my chin up so I meet his eyes. They’re darker now, wild. “You beg real fuckin’ nice.”
I try to speak, but my voice is gone, wrecked.
“Good,” he says, unzipping his jeans. “Because we’re not done. You owe me.”
My thighs are still trembling, slick between them, my chest heaving. He’s looking at me like he already owns every shiver, every drop, every fucking breath.
Maybe he does.
His jeans hang low now, zipper down, his cock straining hard, thick, flushed. He strokes himself once, slow, eyes on me like he’s daring me to look away.
I don’t. I lick my lips instead.
“You gonna stare,” his voice is dark velvet, “or you gonna do something about it?”
My smart mouth—my favorite weapon—fires up before my brain can stop it. “Maybe I’m just underwhelmed.”
His laugh is a sharp bark, dangerous, and it makes me wetter. “Careful, Storm. Brats get punished.”
“Or rewarded,” I counter, then sink down on my knees before the thought even finishes.
The floor’s cold concrete under my skin, but all I feel is heat. His heat. His size looming, shadow falling over me. I glance up through my lashes, and the look on his face—Christ. Like I offered him water in the desert.
“Fuck,” he mutters, thumb dragging across my lower lip. “You’re on your knees for me already. Should’ve known.”
“Two-hour boyfriend package,” I sass, opening my mouth and licking the pad of his thumb. “Might as well get the deluxe experience.”
He groans low. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”
I wrap my hand around him, and holy hell; he’s heavy, thick, pulsing in my grip. I stroke slow, teasing, twisting my wrist just enough to make him curse under his breath.
Then I lean in, lick the bead of pre-cum from his tip, and smile when his hand fists tight in my hair.
“Storm,” he warns, already breathless.
“Tick tock, big boy,” I purr before swallowing him down.
His hiss slices the air. His hips jerk, then still like he’s holding back the urge to wreck me. My lips stretch around him, my tongue flattening along the thick vein underneath. He tastes of salt and sin, bitter-slick, addictive.
“Jesus fuck,” he groans, head tipping back against the door. “That mouth. Shit—”
I take him deeper, gag once, then push past it, swallowing until my nose brushes his stomach. His hand tightens in my hair, guiding me, but I set the rhythm; slow at first, then faster, slick sounds filling the room, obscene.
I moan around him, the vibration making him curse again, hips flexing despite his control. I love it, love that I can make this cocky, ruthless biker come undone just by sucking his dick.
“Storm, fuck, you’re—” His words break on a groan when I hollow my cheeks, bobbing faster, swallowing him down like he’s the only meal I’ve ever wanted.
His other hand grips the back of my neck, holding me steady while he thrusts shallow into my mouth. My mascara’s probably smeared, spit dripping down my chin. The way he’s looking at me, like I’m the dirtiest, prettiest thing he’s ever seen, makes my stomach twist hot.
I pull back with a wet pop, stroking him with one hand, smirking up at him. “Still think I need to beg prettier?”
His laugh is broken, breathless. “You little fuckin’ tease.”
I suck him back in, harder, faster, swallowing him whole until he’s snarling above me, every muscle in his body tight as wire. His thighs tremble, and I know he’s close.
“Storm, I’m gonna—”
I hum around him, fingers digging into his ass to keep him there. His groan turns guttural, raw. He jerks hard, and his hot release floods my mouth, thick and endless. I swallow greedily, not spilling a drop, keeping my eyes locked on his the whole time.
When he finally pulls free, chest heaving, cock still twitching, I lick my lips slowly, wiping the last of him from the corner of my mouth with my thumb before sucking it clean.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, dragging me up to my feet like I weigh nothing, his mouth crashing to mine. He kisses me like he’s tasting himself on my tongue and liking it.
“You swallow like you were born for it,” he growls against my lips. “Storm, you’re fuckin’ dangerous.”
I grin, cocky and ruined all at once. “Guess you’re gonna have to keep me around then.”
His laugh is sharp, dark, and before I can blink, he spins me, bends me over the stack of boxes, yanks my skirt up.
“Keep you?” His voice is a promise and a threat. “Baby, I’m about to ruin you so bad you won’t even look at another man again.”
And when the blunt head of his cock nudges against my drenched entrance, every nerve in my body screams ready.