Chapter 29 Marietta
MARIETTA
Idon’t have time to be nervous. I’m slipping from one sensation to the next, Merrick’s mouth and fingers taking me all the places he’s so good at doing.
My hands hang on to the edge of the dresser as his teeth tug at a nipple. The pull creates a jagged line of pleasure straight down to where his thumb is caressing my clit.
My body is buzzing with the thrill of being here in his room, our room really, since Iron Jack gave it to both of us. We have a place. A bed.
And here I am on the dresser.
But I like it. It’s who we are. Going at it wherever we want. Behind his bar. On the stage.
It’s hot. He gets me.
He moves from one breast to the other, his fingers working me fast and steady. I will go over the top any second, but I don’t want this part to end.
I open my eyes, his dark hair right below my chin, his back a long line angled in front of me. He wears the cut, and I reach over to press my hand against the skull and roses of the Wild Hair patch.
I’m in a biker club. With Merrick. And we’re a couple, at least for a while.
The emotion of it almost pulls me out, but then he nips at my breast, and that’s it. I’m yanked back into the pleasure, my legs shaking, quivering under his fingers. It’s happening, the cresting wave that starts low beneath my belly and cascades out.
“Oh God, oh God,” I cry, with enough sense not to say his name. I don’t want to draw the attention of the club, and the walls are bound to be thin. Merrick’s name will be noticed.
We’ve been here before, and I love it, the pulsing through my core, the throb against his palm.
He pulls away to grin up at me, and even as I still feel the lingering waves of the orgasm, my tummy turns over at what might be next. Is it going to hurt? I know what Merrick is like when he touches me, but when it comes to sex itself, will he be rough?
He kicks off his boots, and I realize, for once, I will get to see all of him. This sets me into action. I hop off the dresser and push on the leather cut, shoving it off his shoulders.
He chuckles at this, pausing to let me pull the T-shirt over his head.
I’ve felt his muscles when we rode the motorcycle, but now, they are right in front of me, smooth and hard.
I run my fingers over his chest, discovering every curve and angle. His shoulders are round and strong. I have the urge to bite the muscle of his upper arm, so I do, nipping hard on his bicep.
“I didn’t know you were a little vampire,” he says with a laugh.
“You started it,” I tell him and decide to do more, going up his arm and standing on tiptoe to bite up his shoulder to his neck.
He captures my head with his hand and drags my face to his, mouth on mine.
We kiss, skin to skin, and heat flashes over me everywhere we touch—chest, belly, arms.
His other hand clasps my bottom, squeezing me over the panties. Then he presses me against his crotch, and I feel him hard inside his jeans.
That’s going in me.
I push against it, remembering what it was like to tease my body against his on his stage. We were so close to doing it then, and lightning hot need bolts through me at the thought of going there again. I shouldn’t be afraid. I won’t.
I reach for the buckle between us and tug it loose. Then the snap of his jeans, the zipper. I reach for him and pull him out so I can hold him, hot and throbbing, in my hand.
The kiss gets more demanding. He presses my head so that he can search more deeply inside my mouth. Everything spins and whirls. I’m lost in this wild, heady world of his lips, his body, his hands.
His cock twitches in my palm. I want to play with him, do all the things, before we go on to the rest of it.
I pull away and drop to my knees, his erection right in front of my face. The lights are on full blast, so I can see every vein and ridge more clearly than the night I buckled him to the pole.
I’m less tentative this time when I take him into my mouth. I remember how he reacted. I can already do this in ways that he likes. I slide him along my tongue and open my throat so he can sink farther in.
His hands grip my hair, and I come back to the end, swirl my tongue along the tip, and go back down.
He groans, and then he’s the one who might out us, saying my name over and over. “Marietta, Marietta, Marietta.”
Let them know. I shouldn’t care. It’s what I’ve wanted. And I’m finally here.
I move faster, down to my throat, out to the tip. I feel dizzy, the motion heady and hot. I control him. I’m making him want me. We are everything to each other in this moment.
I keep going, wondering wildly if he’ll spurt in my mouth and what I will do, when he pulls my head away.
“I’m going to lick you until you come again,” he growls, lifting me up by the waist.
But he doesn’t stop when he brings me to standing. My feet leave the ground as he tosses me onto the bed.
I’m airborne for a moment, my hair aloft, body in flight. I land on the fresh blanket and sheets with the pillows under my head.
He strips off his jeans and boxers and kneels over me. “Spread those knees, cherry mouse. I want to hear you cry out one more time before I become your very first lover.”
My legs fall open, and he leans down to press his open mouth against the crotch of the silk panties. His breath is hot, and I grab fists full of the blanket, writhing beneath him.
I want more contact. No barrier between us. I don’t bother worrying about what anyone can hear. “Merrick. Please.”
He chuckles as he grasps the lace of the panties and slides them over my thighs and down past my ankles. I have no idea where they end up, and I don’t care because, in mere seconds, his mouth lands on me, his tongue flicking inside.
He’s different, unafraid to delve more deeply. My back arches as he separates the folds so he can press his face hard against my skin.
I shiver, then shake, my body vibrating with the anticipation, knowing what he can do to me.
Then a finger slides in, pressing beneath his mouth. I hold my breath, expecting pain, but I only feel an intensifying need. Something unfurls down deep, an urgency. I lift my hips, seeking relief from it. Wanting more.
In romance books, virgins always orgasm, sometimes multiple times, but I’ve read the reviews. Real people say it’s not possible. It can even break the mood of the story because it’s so unrealistic.
I don’t know what to believe after reading story after story about this very moment. What version will I get? Is the truth somewhere in the middle?
Merrick reaches in even farther, and I sense some pressure, but then he sucks on the tip of my bud, and all I can feel is the sudden pulse of the orgasm crashing over me in a wave. It didn’t care about my worries. My body was feeling its own thing.
My breath is fast and shallow as I ride it out. Merrick keeps licking gently, but his fingers are still firmly inside me.
I’m out of the pleasure and back into the fear. What if I do something dumb? Like say, “Ow” or push him away in a reflex?
Or cry.
Ohh, now, I’m nervous.
But he senses it, lifting his head. “You’re in control here. We won’t do anything you don’t want to do.”
But I want to. “I’m nervous.” I bite my lip. “I think it might be … bad. Maybe for both of us.”
He shifts up and over me so his face is near mine. “Trust me, it will be perfectly good for me. And I’ll do everything I can to make it as good for you as possible.”
“Have you been with a virgin before? How did it go?”
He shakes his head. “Not once.”
This is surprising. “So, it’s kind of a first for both of us.”
“It is.”
I’m not sure if I’m relieved I’ll be the first one, or if I wish he had some frame of reference. But it doesn’t matter. He reaches over to the dresser and pulls the strip of condoms from the drawer. “We’re going to go slow.”
“It’s not a rip off the Band-Aid situation?”
He tears open the package. “I don’t think so, but if you want me to speed it up, let me know.”
I nod, watching him roll the condom on.
He tosses the wrapper.
I squeeze my eyes shut, legs spread, waiting for the inevitable. But nothing happens.
I open one and peer up at him.
He’s grinning down at me.
“What?” I ask.
“You look like I’m about to give you an enema.”
I smack his shoulder. “Don’t talk about enemas when you’re about to break me in like a wild mule.”
“Wild mule, huh?” He grabs my wrists and presses them into the bed. “Running through the woods, your mane flying?”
“Mules don’t have manes, silly. Just a line of short hair.”
His cock presses against my thigh. “So, mules are to horses like a trimmed bush is to natural?”
“I don’t have any bush,” I tell him.
“So, you’re a naked mule.” He shifts, and he’s aiming square where he needs to go.
“This is not very sexy talk.” But I have to giggle.
“It’s not, huh?” He leans down to kiss me along my jaw. “How about if I tell you that you have the sweetest bare pussy I’ve ever licked?”
Something rushes through my body down to where he’s pressing inside me. “That would be better.”
“And that I thought about it nonstop since the first time I touched it.” He pushes in a little farther.
“You did?”
His mouth makes its way down my collarbone to draw in a nipple for a deep suckle.
I suck in a breath, my chest lifting to meet him.
He releases me. “And I can remember the very first time you flashed the bar.”
“Oh! It was so—”
“Fucking hot.” He slides farther inside me.
“It was?” I shift my arms, and he lets my wrists go so that I can hold on to his back.
“And now that I have you, and you are mine …” The pressure is tighter between us, and I grip him hard. “You’re going to dance for the others in my bar. Show off that body like you love to do.”
“You’ll let me?”
“And every time. Every single time, I’m going to do one thing.”
A sharp dart of pain shoots through me, but I need to know what he’s going to do. So, I ask, “What is that one thing?”
“I’m going to walk you through the tables in your tiny red outfit, all the way to Hookup Heaven.”
The pain is receding now as his body is flush against mine. “We’ll go there together while the bar is open?”
He nods, sliding back out.
I relax. The pain part is over. “And we’ll hook up?”
“Every time you dance. I’ll do this.” He presses up inside me again.
It doesn’t hurt now. And he’s deep, so deep. “Yes, like this.”
“You’re doing all right?”
“Yes. It hurt for a second, but it’s passed.”
“Good.” He slides out, then up again. “Still good?”
The need rises in me again, different, far within me, stronger, more intense. “Yes, please keep going.”
He does, keeping the pace even and steady.
I lift my legs to wrap around his back and lock my ankles. “Faster, please, Merrick. I’m good. I want more. More.”
He does as I ask, picking up the pace.
The sensation is a mix of pleasure and an occasional pinch. But as we go along, moving together, it’s good, it’s enough. I can see where this is going. I can see how much better it will be.
I’m prepared for this to end, to reset and do more when I’ve recovered. But then Merrick reaches between us, thumb on my clit while he’s also inside me.
“Holy shit!” I cry. The two things together are way beyond either thing alone. My hips thrust up into him, the pleasure of his touch eclipsing the mix of feelings from his cock.
He moves faster, with his body and his hand, and I’m lost, more lost than any of the times before.
We’re together, joined by hand and body and skin. He’s in it, not just servicing me, but feeling what I’m feeling, too.
I can see it in his face, in the taut muscles of his arms and back. He breathes fast and hard, and I can feel him twitch inside me.
This is going to happen. He’s going to come, too. Tears squeeze from my eyes, like during the emotional breakdown I had in the bar. I never want this to end. I want to suspend time, stretch it out forever, this connection, this long-awaited moment.
But I can’t stop the rush. My body spasms around him, and I cry out, and he responds with a long, low growl of his own. Our bodies crash together, moving in rhythm, crossing this threshold.
I want to hold on to him, to clutch his neck, so I do, and as we ride out the wave, we hang on to each other. I bury my face against his skin, warm and smooth.
He holds on, still twitching, and everything recedes, the pain, the pleasure, the intensity. I want it back. I want to keep it.
But Merrick shifts me to my side and cradles my head against his chest.
We come apart, and I’m shocked at the loss I feel. I want him back in again. I want to do it again.
But I simply hold on, one arm up around his neck and the other thrown across his shoulder.
The random sounds of the clubhouse slowly filter in. Footsteps. Conversation. The slam of a door.
I long for solitude, a place away from the club.
But this will work for now. We have a room of our own.
No threats. No secrets. No longing.
We’re here. Together.
And we have two weeks.