Chapter 8 - Amelia
"What's stopping you?" The words leave my lips before I can think better of them.
What am I doing? Have I lost my mind? I just fled from an abusive husband, and now I'm practically begging another man, a dangerous outlaw biker I've known for less than a day, to fuck me on his front porch? This isn't me. This isn't the careful, cautious Amelia who overthinks everything.
But the way Tank looks at me now… Shock giving way to something primal and hungry makes my body respond in ways I can't control. My nipples harden against the thin fabric of my t-shirt, and I'm horrified to realize how wet I already am, my panties damp with arousal.
The corner of his mouth curls up in a smirky half-smile as he rises from the step, his massive frame towering over me. In the moonlight, he looks like something ancient and powerful, a warrior from another time.
"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice dropping to a gravelly rumble that I feel in places I shouldn't. "Because once we start this, I don't know if I'll be able to stop."
I should run. I should go back inside to my sleeping daughter, forget this moment of insanity, and remember all the reasons why this is wrong. It's too fast. Too reckless. Too complicated.
But God help me, I don't want to be careful anymore.
"This is probably wrong," I admit, standing up to face him. "But it feels right. And I'm so tired of denying myself things that feel right because I'm afraid."
"I'm the perfect man for you to make a mistake with," he finally says, the brutal honesty making me laugh despite myself.
"If you can make me forget everything else, even for a little while," I tell him, “Then I want that. I want you."
His hands find my hips, large and warm even through the fabric of my sweatpants. I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes, and when I do, the night air wraps around us, the breeze whispering through the trees the only sound beyond our breathing.
For a brief, suspended moment, the world narrows to just this: his eyes locked with mine, his hands steady on my hips, the promise of what's to come hanging between us. I feel safe. I feel warm. I feel seen in a way I haven't in years.
It's surreal to think that twenty-four hours ago, this man was a stranger.
The type of man I'd warn Anna to avoid if she saw him on the street.
A dangerous-looking biker with cold eyes and violence in his stance.
Yet here he is now, my protector, my sanctuary, and, if I'm being honest with myself, my salvation.
I really shouldn't judge a book by its cover.
I tilt my head back, exposing more of my throat to him, gazing up at the star-strewn sky as his thick lips press against my cold skin.
My body responds instantly, like a volcano rumbling to life after years of dormancy.
My pussy throbs, juices flowing freely, soaking my already damp panties.
I want his fingers inside me, stroking me to release as I moan in his ear, but I'm too shy to ask for it.
Too conditioned by years with Derek to voice what I want.
So, I wait, trembling with anticipation as Tank's hands move to the hem of my oversized t-shirt. He lifts it slowly, giving me every chance to stop him. Instead, I raise my arms, helping him remove it, exposing my breasts to the cold night air.
I should feel self-conscious. My body bears the marks of pregnancy and years of stress, but the raw hunger in Tank's eyes as he looks at me erases any insecurity. He lowers his head, capturing one nipple in his mouth, and the contrast between the cold air and his hot tongue makes me gasp.
I clench my thighs together, desperate for friction as he feasts on my breasts—kissing, licking, sucking each nipple to a stiff peak. My breath comes in visible puffs in the cold air as I fight to stay quiet.
Derek always rushed through foreplay, if he bothered with it at all. Sex was about his pleasure, his release, his ego. But Tank is taking his time, savoring me, making sure I'm ready, making sure I'm comfortable. The difference is staggering.
One of his hands remains on my hip, anchoring me, while the other slides down, teasing at the waistband of my sweatpants.
He's torturing me, his fingers dancing along the edge, dipping just slightly beneath the fabric before retreating.
I'm seconds away from begging when he finally, mercifully, slides his hand inside.
His palm cups my mound over my panties, feeling the wetness that's soaked through the fabric.
His thumb brushes over my clit, my too-large, too-exposed clit that I've always been embarrassed about.
Derek once called it "freakish" in a moment of cruelty designed to make me feel ashamed of my body.
But Tank doesn't seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn't care.
He simply rubs me through the damp fabric, and it feels good. So good, but it's not enough. I want skin on skin, his fingers directly on my pussy, inside it, until they're coated with my juices.
He continues sucking my breasts as he touches me, and I can't help but place my trembling hands on either side of his head, threading my fingers through his short hair, gripping it as pleasure builds.
I'm losing control of my own body, my pussy clenching against his hand, seeking more pressure, more friction.
"Fuck, you're so wet," he murmurs against my skin, his breath warm against my chilled flesh. "So fucking wet for me already."
"Does that bother you?" I ask, suddenly insecure. "That I'm this wet and we've barely done anything?"
He pulls back to look at me, disbelief written across his features. "Are you kidding me? It's fucking perfect. Shows me how much you want this, want me. I couldn't ask for better."
His words make me even wetter, a fresh surge of arousal dampening my already soaked panties. This is what it feels like to be with a real man, someone who appreciates my desire instead of using it to demean me.
Emboldened by his response, I finally find the courage to ask for what I want. "Touch me," I whisper. "Please. I need to feel your fingers inside me."
"Anything you want, beautiful," he says, hooking a finger in the crotch of my panties and pulling them aside.
His finger finds my clit directly now, circling it with slow, steady movements that have me writhing against his hand. My forehead drops to his shoulder as my legs start to tremble beneath me.
Then, finally, he slides a curved finger inside me, and I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out.
He adds a second finger, pumping them in and out, curling them to hit that spot inside me that makes my vision blur.
I'm so wet I can hear the splashing sounds of his fingers moving in my pussy, juices coating my inner thighs.
"When was the last time you were this wet?" he asks, his voice strained with his own need.
"Years," I gasp, barely able to form words as pleasure builds. "Maybe never."
His fingers slow, though they don't stop entirely. "I can't take much more of this," he growls. "My cock is about to fucking explode in my pants. I need to be inside you."
I should be shocked by his crude language, but instead, it thrills me. I've spent so long being proper, careful, controlled. I want this man's filthy words almost as much as I want his body.
"Well, we can't have that," I tease, surprised by my own boldness. "If you're going to explode, do it inside me."
Tank actually grunts at my words, his free hand clenching into a fist as he takes a deep, steadying breath, his broad chest rising and falling.
"Are you okay?" I ask, suddenly worried I've said something wrong.
"I've never finished inside a woman before," he admits, the confession catching me off guard.
"Always been too careful for that. But with you.
.." He shakes his head, as if confused by his own feelings.
"With you, I want to claim you. Mark you from the inside.
Make sure you know you're under my protection. "
His words should terrify me. They sound possessive, controlling… All the things I ran from. But coming from Tank, they feel different. Like a promise, not a threat.
I place my cold hands against his warm chest, feeling his heart hammer beneath my palms. "You better be sure about that protection," I tell him, surprising myself with my boldness. "Because if you claim me, I'm not going anywhere. Me or my daughter."
"This is fucking crazy," he says, shaking his head. "I've never had a serious relationship in my life, and now I'm thinking about forever with a woman I met a day ago. But I've never backed down from a challenge."
The smile that spreads across my face feels foreign, like it belongs to the Amelia I used to be before Derek broke her. Before I can respond, Tank's hands move to the button of his jeans, undoing them and letting them fall loosely around his ankles.
I gasp at the size of the bulge straining against his black briefs. It looks impossibly large, like he's stuffed a sock down there, but the way it twitches when I look at it tells me it's very real. Despite the cold night air, he's fully hard, ready for me.
Feeling suddenly bold, I push my sweatpants and panties down my legs, kicking them aside. My pussy is so wet that the fabric sticks to me slightly, and when it finally peels away, I can see the glistening threads of my arousal stretching between my body and the discarded clothing.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Tank mutters, his cock visibly twitching beneath the fabric of his briefs. "You're incredible."
I stand naked before him, vulnerable yet strangely powerful as I watch the effect I have on him. He quickly strips off his remaining clothes, and I can't help the small sound of surprise that escapes me when his cock springs free.