Chapter Twenty-One #2
“More than okay, babygirl,” I say, kissing her gently.
I know my beard is drenched in her juices, but she doesn’t shy away.
“How many are you thinking?” I ask, kissing her jaw. “Ten? Twelve?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of three or four,” she laughs.
“That’s a good start,” I say, making my way back between her legs. “We need to hurry this last one along, baby. I can’t get those images out of my head, and when I come, I want to be buried as deep as your body will let me.”
Not giving her a chance to respond, I dive in.
No sensual playing. No kissing or nibbling. I fucking attack.
I slide three fingers inside her, stretching her while thrusting.
Still not wide enough.
I slide in a fourth finger, and she shouts. But I’m still paying attention.
“So good,” she pants.
Dropping my voice low, I turn animalistic and release a growl that sends her crashing over the edge.
She squeezes my fingers so hard I’m losing circulation.
I groan at the thought of her squeezing my dick that hard.
“Now you’re ready for me,” I say.
Not wanting to freak her out, I quickly remove my pants while she’s still in a post-orgasmic haze.
Gripping her legs, I raise them and place them on my chest, kissing her cute little toes until she comes back to herself.
“Hi,” she eventually whispers.
“I think I have a toe fetish,” I admit softly, nibbling at her toes. “You painted them a pretty pink.”
“Hi,” she whispers again, and I laugh.
“Hi, baby. You ready for me?”
“Mmhmm,” she sighs.
“Then open those beautiful eyes and watch me,” I order, spreading her legs wide. “Grab my cock, baby, and line us up.”
Taking a deep breath, she reaches down and wraps her hand around my cock, her fingers not quite touching.
This was a mistake.
The second her soft hand grips me, I start to pulse.
“Wait,” I say. “Don’t remove your hand, baby. Just don’t move it. I need to fucking breathe.”
After a few solid minutes of deep breathing, I look down to see Abigail pinching her lips closed, her eyes bright.
“Are you laughing at me, woman?” I ask, thrusting forward slightly, using the friction of her hand to torture myself.
“Never,” she giggles. “Can I move now?”
“Not yet,” I groan as I continue to thrust through her palm.
Apparently, I’m a sucker for torment.
“Rub me against your pussy, Abigail,” I groan, sliding my hands down her legs. “Coat me in your juices.”
She does. She presses me flat against her pussy, and we both groan.
“Hold me in place, baby,” I say. “Keep me flat against your pussy so I can rub against your clit.”
Doing as I ask, she holds me in place while I grind against her. I nibble, lick, and suck her toes while her breathing builds.
Thrusting faster, it takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to come as I grind against her clit over and over.
Abigail screams her release, and even though I’m on the verge of coming all over her instead of inside her, I don’t look away.
I watch as her back arches off the bed, her mouth opens wide, and she sings for me.
Fucking beautiful.
“Put me inside you, Abigail,” I growl. “Right fucking now.”
Panting through her release, she does. She moves my dick until my head is against her entrance, and I shove myself in.
Her channel opens wide for me. Not a single bit of resistance as I slide in until we’re flesh to flesh.
Already she’s squeezing me.
My baby is so responsive.
“Tank,” she whispers. “More.”
Moving my hands slowly down her legs until I reach the backs of her knees, I press them forward, tilting her hips higher.
The new position does something to her because she screams again and tightens around me even more.
Instead of pulling back and pounding into her like we both want… I move slowly.
More pre-come leaks from me, and the thought that it’s inside my woman makes me pause.
“More,” she begs. “Please, husband. Harder.”
“No,” I breathe. “I’m not going to fuck you just yet, baby. Right now, I want to make love to you.”
Dropping her legs to my sides, I lean down and kiss her.
Our height difference makes it difficult, but the image of me standing and holding her against the wall flashes through my head.
That will definitely be happening before this night ends.
I take my time making love to her mouth and her pussy for a long fucking time. I’m in no rush.
I’m not sure how much time passes as I move between kissing her mouth, her jaw, her neck, while keeping my hips thrusting in a smooth rhythm.
When the pressure builds too much for either of us, I pause and spend time worshipping her mouth until we regain control.
Then we start again.
Over and over, we dance.
After pausing for the ninth or tenth time, I give her one final kiss before straightening, gripping her legs and pushing forward, nipping her toes along the way.
“Hold on, baby,” I say, my voice hoarse from all the groaning. “If at any point you need me to stop, just say so. Because I’m about to lose control.”
Abigail nods silently.
Our bodies are coated in sweat, and she’s never looked more beautiful.
Her hips thrust upward, impaling herself on my cock.
Chuckling, I grip one of her hips and press her back down.
My grip is rough, and I know she’ll have my handprint bruised on her skin tomorrow.
My cock twitches at the thought.
Releasing all control, I thrust forward so hard the heavy bed slams against the wall.
But I don’t care.
Over and over, I fuck my woman.
Yes, there’s love in my thrusts.
But make no mistake about it… I’m fucking the woman beneath me.
Raw and powerful.
At this pace, it doesn’t take long for my balls to tighten, and I already know my baby is primed for one more orgasm.
I’ve learned her body well tonight.
But still… I wait.
I thrust until I know for a fact I’m about to come.
Seconds before I do, I reach down and pinch her clit with one hand and a nipple with the other.
Her screams drown out my own as she tightens around me, milking every ounce of pleasure from my body.
“Fuck,” I groan as my cock pulses and releases.
My spine locks in a pleasure I’ve never felt before.
Abigail’s pussy is a vice around me, not releasing for a second as I slam home one final time, the last of my pleasure leaving my body.
It takes her a little longer to come down before her body finally relaxes.
“Fuck,” I repeat, falling on top of her, catching myself so I don’t crush her. “Damn, baby.”
“Yeah,” she whispers. “Wow.”
Chuckling, I slide out of her and stand.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
I walk to the bathroom, wet a rag, and return to my woman.
Her eyes are closed, and her legs are still spread across the bed.
I take a second to look at her poor, abused pussy. It’s red and swollen, and I fucking love it.
“Just went to get a warm rag to clean us up,” I say, gently cleaning her before wiping myself off.
I toss the rag aside, climb into bed, and pull my wife close.
“Thank you,” she whispers, tears sliding down her temples.
“I love you, baby,” I say, kissing them away. “Thank you for letting me prove it.”
Before she can respond, there’s a knock on the door.
“Delivery,” someone calls.
“Did you order something?” I ask, getting up and grabbing a robe.
“No,” she says, pulling a sheet over herself.
“We’re in Hawaii,” I groan. “Who’s sending us shit here?”
I open the door, and the worker smiles.
“I just need you to sign here,” he says.
I sign and accept the package.
“Let me find my pants, and I’ll tip you,” I say.
But he shakes his head.
“It’s already taken care of. Have a nice honeymoon, Mr. and Mrs. Davis.”
“Thanks,” I say.
Closing the door, I remove the robe and rejoin my wife.
“Who’s it from?” she asks.
“Not sure,” I lie. “Here. It has your name on it.”
Abigail Davis. Congratulations on your marriage.
I watch patiently as she opens it, already knowing what fucker it’s from.
“It’s a book,” she says, tossing the packaging aside. “Oh! It’s from Patch.”
I sigh, but don’t rush to take it away.
I’d been waiting for that bastard to give her a book at our wedding reception, but he never did.
He waited until we were here for a reason.
“Oh my,” she giggles, falling back onto the bed. “That man is brilliant.”
I pick up the book she dropped and groan the second I read the title.
How to Survive the Biker Who Spent Years Pretending He Didn’t Love You:
A Marriage Guide for the Very Patient Wife
“You can’t read this,” I tell her. “There’s no telling what kind of crack advice he put in here.”
Abigail is still laughing as she grabs her phone, probably texting the girls about the book.
Sighing, I open the damn thing and start reading.
“Out loud,” she demands, and I sigh.
“Chapter One: Understanding the Stubborn Biker Male
Congratulations.
If you are reading this book, it means you have successfully accomplished one of the following:
Survived several years of emotional frustration.
Outwaited a man whose skull is approximately the density of reinforced concrete.
Married Tank Davis.
If the answer is number three, please take a moment to celebrate.
You have achieved what many believed impossible.
The Iron Shadows Vice President has finally admitted he was in love.
Please understand the historical significance of this moment.
Several members of the club believed hell would freeze over first.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“This is slander,” I mutter.
Behind me, Abigail laughs harder.
“Keep reading!”
I sigh and continue.
“Important Facts About Your Husband
Tank Davis is a good man.
He is loyal, protective, brave, and deeply devoted.
Unfortunately, he is also one of the most stubborn human beings currently walking the earth.
This combination creates a unique challenge for the loving wife.
Your husband will likely attempt to “protect you” from the following: danger, sadness, stress, sharp corners, mildly uneven sidewalks, strong winds, and occasionally your own independence.
Please remain calm.
This is normal.”
I slam the book closed.
“That man is dead to me,” I announce.
Abigail is laughing so hard she’s clutching the sheets.
“Read another page!”
“No.”
“Tank!”
“No.”
She crawls across the bed, still giggling, and takes the book from my hands.
“Well, I’m reading it,” she says happily.
I fall back onto the pillows and stare at the ceiling.
“Remind me to figure out how to revoke Patch’s medical license.”
Abigail flips another page.
“Oh my gosh, listen to this one.”
I groan.
“I already hate it.”
She clears her throat dramatically.
“Rule Number One for a Happy Marriage to Tank Davis
When your husband tells you he will “handle it,” this usually means:
Someone is about to be intimidated.
Something expensive is about to be destroyed.
Or he is about to dramatically overreact in the name of protecting you.
Please remember:
This behavior comes from love.
Also, possibly from a minor hero complex.
Either way, the correct response is simple.
Kiss him.
He will immediately forget what he was angry about.”
Abigail collapses into laughter again.
I cover my face with both hands.
“I’m killing him as soon as we get home.”
Mainly because he’s not wrong. If Abigail places her lips on mine, the whole world fades away.
And honestly…
If loving her like that is the worst thing anyone can say about me…then I’d gladly spend the rest of my life proving them right.
THE END