Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
LUCIFER
If I never see another fucking doctor’s office or hospital, it will be too soon, but I wasn’t about to let Jess come to her appointment today by herself. Wherever she goes, I go.
I bring her hand to my lips, and I bite at her knuckles.
Three days ago, I rode back from that run like a man possessed.
The moment I saw her apartment building, something inside me snapped.
I’d been running from what I felt for too long.
I pounded on her door like a madman, and when she opened it, I didn’t hesitate.
I told her everything—poured my fucking heart and soul out to her.
“Lucifer,” she whispers, her voice bringing me back to the present.
I look at her. “Yeah, baby?”
“You’re biting my hand again.” There’s amusement in her tone, and I can’t help but grin.
“Can’t help it. You taste good.”
The memory of taking her back to the clubhouse floods my mind.
We barely made it through the door before I had her pressed against the wall, my mouth on hers, my hands everywhere.
I carried her to the bathroom, stripped both of us bare, and watched the water cascade over her skin as we showered together.
Then I bent her over, her hands braced against the tile, and fucked her until her legs gave out and she couldn’t stand anymore.
It was the homecoming dreams are made of but that was just the beginning.
I carried her naked down the hallway to my room, not giving a damn who might see us. Then I dropped her on my bed and took her again, both of us too far gone to care about the open door and the possibility that someone might walk by and see us fucking.
Now, I’m more careful. I make sure to lock the door.
I pull her hand away from my lips and lean closer, my hand sliding up the inside of her thigh and her breath hitches.
“Lucifer,” she pants, a warning in her voice. “The doctor . . . he’s going to come in?—”
Interrupting her, I hum. “You think he’d mind if I fucked you on this exam table?”
Her pupils dilate slightly, and she moans softly, moving my hand back to her knee. “Behave.”
“You shouldn’t have worn a skirt if you wanted me to behave,” I whisper against her ear.
“I wore a skirt because it’s easier for Dr. Patel to examine my grafts,” she says, but there’s no mistaking the desire radiating from her eyes.
“It’s easier for me to fuck you too,” I reply.
Call me a fucking sadist, but edging her is my favorite.
A knock sounds on the door, and Dr. Patel enters before I can push my luck further. “Mrs. Holland. Mr. Holland. I’m sorry to keep you waiting. My last appointment ran a little over.”
He’s all business as he instructs Jess to put her legs up on the exam table. I watch his hands as he assesses the grafts, my jaw tightening when he touches her skin, even though I know it’s necessary.
“Everything looks good,” he says, glancing at his iPad.
“I’ve reviewed the notes from your therapist. The scar tissue is growing a bit thickly, but it’s not interfering with your range of motion, so I’m not recommending reconstructive surgery at this time.
If it becomes more of a cosmetic concern, we can reassess. ”
I look at Jess, trying to read her expression.
She’s self-conscious about the scars, though she’d never admit it.
I’ve seen her trace them when she thinks I’m asleep, and I’ve witnessed the way she sometimes flinches when someone looks too long at her legs.
Not to mention all the long skirts and baggy pants.
“What about tattooing over the tissue?” I ask, my gaze sliding from Jess to the doctor. “Would that be an option?”
Dr. Patel nods thoughtfully. “Once the tissue is fully healed, yes. We’d need to wait about six months, but cosmetic tattooing can be very effective for burn scars like these.”
He turns back to Jess. “I’m also clearing you to drive. No restrictions there.”
I shift in my chair. Clearing her to drive is great progress, but I have a more pressing question. One that’s been eating at me since she agreed to be my ol’ lady. “What about riding on my motorcycle? The exhaust pipe gets hot.”
Dr. Patel hesitates. “I’d feel more comfortable if you waited a bit on that. The heat sensitivity is still significant, and accidental contact with the exhaust could cause damage.”
I nod, filing that information away. We finish up the appointment, and soon we’re walking out into the bright afternoon sun.
I toss Jess the keys to my truck. “You drive,” I say, watching her face light up.
“Really?”
“Doctor’s orders. You’re cleared.” I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face as she practically bounces to the driver’s side.
She handles my truck better than I expected, shifting smoothly through the gears as we head back to the clubhouse. When we arrive, I take her hand and lead her around back where my Harley is parked.
“Get on,” I tell her, nodding toward the bike.
She looks at me, confusion in her eyes. “The doctor said we should wait.”
“I know what the doctor said.” I run my hand along the leather seat. “But he didn’t say anything about what we do while the bike’s parked.”
Her breath catches, and I watch her throat work as she swallows. Then she pulls her lower lip between her teeth, and the urge to ruin her right here and now, with the whole goddamn world as our witness, pulls at me.
“I can’t feel you wrapped around me on the road yet,” I say, my voice dropping low as I step closer. “Can’t feel your arms locked around my waist, your thighs pressed against mine while we eat up the highway. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have you on this bike.”
“Lucifer—”
“Get on.” It’s not a request. “Back against the handlebars.”
She obeys, swinging her leg over the seat and scoots back until she’s pressed against the handlebars. Her skirt rides up her thighs, and I grab her knees, pushing her legs open even wider.
“Any pain?”
She shakes her head.
“That’s a good girl,” I praise.
I yank her hips forward, pulling her to the edge of the seat, and bury my face between her thighs. Her panties are soaked already, the thin fabric clinging to her, and I drag my teeth across the cotton, feeling her jerk against my mouth.
“Oh my god,” she gasps, her head falling back, the sun kissing the column of her throat.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties and peel them down her legs, tossing them aside without a second thought. Then I’m on her again, my tongue splitting her open, pressing flat against her clit.
“Someone’s going to see,” she pants, but she’s grinding against my mouth, chasing it, and the hypocrisy makes me grin against her.
“Let them.”
I suck her clit into my mouth and flick my tongue across it, fast and relentless, and she cries out, her fingers white-knuckling the handlebars.
The bike rocks beneath her, and I reach up to palm her breast through her shirt, pinching her nipple until she’s writhing, desperate, her hips rolling in tight circles.
“Lucifer . . . I’m close . . .”
I pull back just enough to watch her face contort, and then I sink two fingers inside her and curl them upward, finding that spot that makes her scream every single time.
She shatters. Her back arching off the bike, her thighs clamping around my head, and she comes with my name on her tongue. I ride her through it, my fingers working in and out, my mouth sealed over her clit, sucking gently until she’s pushing me away, oversensitive and shaking.
I stand slowly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and she’s still trembling, her chest heaving, her skirt bunched around her waist.
“Look at you,” I murmur. “So fucking perfect. So fucking mine.”
I unbuckle my belt, and her eyes drop to my hands, watching me free myself from my jeans.
“Stand and bend over the bike,” I growl, my fist pumping my cock. She does as she’s told, and I thrust into her in one brutal stroke.
We both groan. Her from the stretch, and me from the sheer fucking perfection of being inside her.
“Fuck,” I hiss, my hands digging into the flesh of her ass. “You feel so goddamn good.”
The bike creaks and sways beneath us as I start to move, setting a punishing rhythm.
After a few more thrusts, I pull out and turn her around.
My hands move to her ass, and I lift her back onto the seat.
I hook my arms under he knees and thrust back into her.
My mouth finds hers, and I lick into her mouth as I fuck her senseless.
Her hand slides between us, her fingers finding her clit, and the sight of her pleasuring herself while I fuck her on my Harley in broad daylight is enough to make my vision blur.
I watch her face, the way her bottom lip catches between her teeth, and she closes her eyes when she hits that rhythm that drives her wild.
I slam into her harder, the bike rocking on its kickstand. We’re making a scene. Anyone walking around the back of the clubhouse is going to see us, but I can’t seem to give a fuck.
Let them look.
“I can feel you getting close,” I murmur, pressing my forehead against hers. “Come for me, baby. Come on your ol’ man’s cock.”
Her breathing turns ragged, her hips meeting mine thrust for thrust, and then she’s there—her inner walls clenching around me, her body locking up. A scream tears from her throat, and my pace quickens.
I thrust into her three more times before I spill deep inside of her. My fingers bruise her hips as I sink my teeth into her shoulder to muffle my groan.
We stay like that for a long moment, both of us trembling, the bike still swaying beneath us. I press my lips to the bite mark on her shoulder, soothing it with my tongue, and she shivers.
“I guess I took you for a ride after all.”
She laughs, and the sound does something to my chest that I’ll never be able to explain. “You’re insane.”
“Insane about you.” I pull out slowly, watching her wince, and tuck myself back into my jeans. Then I help her off the bike, steadying her when her legs threaten to give out. She pulls her skirt down, her cheeks flushed, her hair a mess, and she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
Beautiful and all mine.
My pretty little wife.
THE END