Chapter 20
CHAPTER
TWENTY
It was an absolutely terrible idea. Cecilia fully intended to do it anyway.
She didn’t stop to think about all the reasons she shouldn’t let Sloane slip his fingers inside her shorts.
At some point between straddling his motorcycle and discovering that she was his mate, all good sense had been replaced by the desire she’d been failing to smother for days. Maybe even longer than that.
It seeped into every vein to burn away her reservations. Nothing mattered besides the heat and friction of his hands on her skin.
Her flushed reflection stared back at her in the smokey glass of his helmet as he dipped his fingers past the waistband of her panties.
For a big, terrifying virgin, Sloane didn’t appear to be in any rush.
He moved slowly, every muscle tight with restraint.
Her senses were so heightened with anticipation that she swore she could feel the whorls of his fingerprints dragging over the soft skin of her stomach and mons.
“You’re so fragile,” he said, in what she imagined was a murmur. “And warm. Warmer than I thought you’d be.”
Cecilia bit her lip. Despite the fact that Sloane had exactly zero social graces to speak of, he had a devastating way with words. She wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not that she couldn’t hear his real voice when he said things like that.
No, that’s a lie, she swiftly corrected herself, it’s a very, very bad thing. I’m already straddling his dick. I might as well hear his voice while I’m at it.
Trying not to squirm, she asked, “Sloane, is there a way for you to… turn off that filter thingy on your helmet? The voice one.”
His downward path stalled. “I… believe so. Would it please you to deactivate the modulator?”
“Yeah,” she answered thickly, “that would please me.”
Sloane’s left hand shot up to glide the tips of his claws below the curve of the helmet’s jaw. He must’ve hit some hidden mechanism because there was a metallic click. A tiny pop of feedback preceded a bass voice asking, “Are you pleased?”
Cecilia’s breath left her in an embarrassingly loud whoosh. “Yes,” she wheezed, “I’m pleased.”
Sloane dropped his left hand to her breast. Giving it a possessive squeeze, he rasped, “Good.”
Cecilia bit back a groan. Oh, good gods. I’ve unleashed a monster.
She’d gotten a taste of his voice when she smashed his helmet, but it’d been layered with the modulator.
Now she heard it with perfect clarity. Sloane had a deep, husky sort of voice that was far deadlier than his claws or his weapons.
That single, delicious word rolled off his tongue in a way that made her insides liquify.
The part of her that was still somehow aware that this was a vulnerable time for him — and wasn’t that a trip? — prompted her to tell him, “I like your voice, Sloane. I like it a lot.”
He didn’t preen like a normal man might’ve. He didn’t immediately slide into dirty talk or even return the compliment. Instead, Sloane skimmed his left hand down to mold it to the curve of her waist and growled, “It’s yours.”
Cecilia jumped a little when his right hand finally continued on its mission.
Sloane didn’t go directly for the goods.
Instead, he bent her backward over the motorcycle’s handlebars and cupped her in that massive, deadly hand.
Slick skin slipped against his palm when he gave her a proprietary squeeze that made her toes curl.
“I want to please you,” he told her in that rough voice. “I want to earn you. I want to keep you.”
Slowly, like he was afraid she’d stop him, two middle fingers parted her cunt to slide into the hot, wet cleft of her body. Her back arched over the handlebars, every one of her muscles tightening with that single touch.
“I’ll do anything you ask of me,” he promised her. Something in his tone made it feel more like a threat than a plea, which only heightened the painful desire throbbing between her parted thighs.
“Circle your fingers around my clit,” she breathlessly instructed.
Gods bless him, Sloane did exactly as he was told. Cecilia’s hips nearly lifted off the seat as he applied himself to the task.
“Slow circles,” she breathed, rocking against his hand to help him find the best rhythm. “There, that’s… that’s good. Perfect, even.”
Sloane tightened his hold on her waist as his fingers slid through the downright shameful wetness in her panties.
His helmet tilted closer to her face, which probably gave him a great view of whatever expression she made when he experimented with gently pinching his fingers together to roll her flesh between them.
What he lacked in experience, he made up for in sheer determination to learn. With every swivel of her hips and breathy encouragement, he bore down on her with more intensity.
She’d never been the object of such perfect focus before.
Most of the terrible men she tended to choose were often more concerned with their own pleasure than hers.
If she wanted to get off, it was up to her to make it happen.
With her specific… quirks, she didn’t often have trouble getting there, but that didn’t mean she loved doing it all on her own.
That wasn’t a problem with Sloane.
He was everywhere. He nearly smothered her with his bulk when he forced her to bend backward over the handlebars.
The smooth glass of his visor slid against her sweaty throat as he pressed his face into the juncture of neck and shoulder.
His fingers began to move quickly, occasionally dipping downward to explore the entrance of her body before he arrowed ruthlessly back to her clitoris.
Cecilia panted. Her breasts rubbed against the rough fabric of his armored uniform, sending a delicious thrill through her tight nipples.
Desperate for more contact, she blindly pawed at his uniform until she got enough of a grip to yank his shirt…
coat… breastplate thing out of his pants.
When her hands snuck beneath it, she found miles and miles of hot, smooth skin.
Rigid muscle contracted sharply under her exploration. Sloane let out a tantalizing grunt. His fingers spasmed inside her panties, sending a shockwave of sensation up her spine.
Heart hammering, she breathed, “Are you okay?”
Sloane took a moment to answer. His chest, huge and deep and stronger than she could probably wrap her brain around, rose and fell with gulping breaths. “I am… experiencing intense sensation,” he answered.
“Do you want to—”
Cecilia yelped when Sloane slid two fingers inside her. Using the position to grip her from the inside, he growled, “No. I don’t want to stop.”
Her core rippled around his fingers when he ground the heel of his palm down, firmly enough to feel a bit like a punishment. Sloane’s chest rattled violently under her hands. A strange sound came through the speakers in his helmet, one she was beginning to recognize.
It was a purr of pure, animalistic pleasure.
“I love this feeling,” he rumbled. “I love the way you look at me when I have my fingers inside you. No one’s ever looked at me the way you do, Cece.”
Hooking one hand around the back of his neck, she drew him against her naked chest. Her other hand trailed down over his pounding heart and heaving ribs to find the buckle of his utilitarian belt.
It wasn’t an elegant maneuver, unbuckling it with one hand, but she got the job done at about the same time he decided to test out rearranging her insides with his fingers.
The temptation to see him in all his purple glory was a wild thing in her, but she decided that would just have to wait for next time.
Because there’s definitely gonna be a next time, she thought, dipping her greedy fingers past the waistband of his briefs. Burning skin met her fingertips.
The bar of Sloane’s cock was hard and heavy in her grip when she gently extracted it from its prison. There wasn’t a whole lot of space between their bodies, but she was nothing if not determined.
Her fingers tightened, sliding upward to give the damp head her own proprietary squeeze.
Sloane’s rhythm faltered. His fingers curled sharply inside her.
Before she could even begin to worry about his claws, a blinding flash of pleasure made her clamp down hard on the digits.
Cecilia muffled a moan by clamping her teeth on his armored shoulder.
Sloane shuddered. His hips began to roll in a jagged beat, shuttling his cock through her fingers. The bike rocked beneath them, but she didn’t spare a single thought to the possibility of tipping over. He wouldn’t let that happen.
And even if it did… Well, it wasn’t like it would be the first time.
But any memories of other men and other times were too far away to reach her when Sloane stroked the inside of her cunt like that, as if he was hungry for every little ripple and slick glide.
The sounds of their bodies echoed in the concrete garage. Wet, sloppy noises and heavy breathing accompanied the creak of the bike beneath them. Everything she knew, everything she was, narrowed to the string of pleasure that pulled ever-more taut between them.
The pressure built and built until it threatened to explode out of her.
Determined to make this a good time for him, too, Cecilia twisted her wrist, stroking his cock with every bit of skill she’d developed over the years of bad decisions and worse hookups.
It must’ve done the trick, because not a moment later Sloane’s massive body flexed in a fluid wave. His release spilled over her knuckles, hot and perfect, and when her name whispered through that damn helmet again and again…
Cecilia’s back bowed. Her orgasm was as sweet and sharp and dangerous as the man who gave it to her.
Tingles cascaded down her body as a rush of endorphins left her limp over the handlebars.
Sloane had to support her back to stop her from sliding onto the garage floor to create a Cecilia-flavored puddle.
Threading her fingers into the tiny pale hairs that managed to escape the bottom of his helmet, she slurred, “You good, champ?”
Sloane wrapped his arm around her back. Dropping his helmet onto her shoulder, he wheezed, “Affirmative.”