CHAPTER 13 GRETA #2
His fingers slip beneath my shirt at the base of my spine, and his warm touch is a jolt. Every point of contact between us is a spark. My hands circle his neck, our legs bumping against each other.
I want to be closer, fully against him, to feel every muscle and sinew against my body. It’s the music, the punch, the dark charisma of the outlaw. The danger.
It’s working on me.
His eyes watch my mouth, and I know he’s about to kiss me, here among strangers. I pull back an inch, and his gaze bores into me.
Then he lets go of my back and takes my hand. We cut through the crowd of dancers for the door.
I recognize Stoney talking to the Rebel Death guards. “You got this?” Iron Jack asks him as we approach.
“You know I do,” Stoney says, his gaze touching on me before returning to the dance floor.
A guard without an inch of hair says, “Rumors are we might see Kin tonight.”
That stops Jack cold. “You seen any?”
“Not a one. They are a sorry lot.” The man rubs his hand over his smooth scalp. “Cowards, every last one of them, other than maybe Anarchy. I expect they’ll run if we so much as glance at them.”
Iron Jack nods. “I’m still watching them. One showed up at the Leaky Skull claiming they didn’t kill Steel and Theron.”
The bald man shakes his head. “They’ll weasel out of anything. We’ll let you know if they poke their idiot heads out.”
“Seriously,” Stoney says. “I’ve got this. You done took a bullet. You’re good. I’ll round everybody up when it’s time.”
The other guard looks between us and grins. “Your whole club’s out front, so you might want to take the side door if you’re trying to be discreet.” He shrugs. “Or not.”
“Go through the bridal suite,” Stoney says. “You’ll exit right under the water wheel near your bike.”
Discreet? About what? What is happening here?
Iron Jack pulls me toward another door on the side wall. Inside, the bridesmaids’ makeup cases and various bags have been stashed.
We cross it quickly for a door in the corner. Iron Jack jerks it open into the night.
When we step outside into the cool air, I turn to ask him, “What is going—”
But that’s as far as I get before his mouth lands on mine. The ground swoops again as I sink into him, losing my grip on the regular world.
The music is a low backdrop now, behind the low chirp of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl.
Iron Jack is less controlled than he was on the first night in the bar, when he kissed me with an audience.
His hands grip the back of my head, tangling in the waves of my hair.
He presses me back against the smooth wood wall, and this time I feel the difference, him hard and bulging against my belly.
It’s been twelve years since I was with anyone but Jude. Dating, engagement, ten years of marriage. I forgot how heady it is to get hot with a stranger.
I surge with a long, pent-up need. I don’t even know how long it’s been. Six months since Merrick and Diesel kicked Jude out of our house. But it had been a while before that.
Iron Jack drags his mouth away. “I want to hear the sound you make when you come. Do not be shy.” Then his hands are up my silk shirt, squeezing both breasts. “I’m going to learn what makes you lose your mind,” he says.
It’s already happening. He kneads me in his hand, tweaking a nipple, his glittering eyes watching my face.
I suck in a breath, then lose myself in a long, aching groan as he keeps working the tender tip.
“You like this. Is it better wet?” He yanks my shirt up and lowers his head to take the breast in his mouth, sucking hard.
My knees fail to keep me upright, but he’s got me, wrapping one arm around my back.
I’m rushing so hard that I can’t keep up with all the sensations, his mouth hot and insistent, his hair tickling my skin, his arm holding me up.
Now that his mouth has taken over for his hand, he slips his fingers down to the waistband of my jeans. I suck in my stomach, but he kneads the skin there until I stop being self-conscious about the soft belly and relax again.
Then he easily pulls the button free and unzips my jeans. He pauses against my breast to say, “I don’t ask for permission, but push me away and I’ll let go.”
Then he bites lightly on the already sensitized nipple, and I cry out, loudly enough to startle some nocturnal creature that skitters through the tree overhead.
I open my eyes wide, taking in the stars. They’re so clear and bright, like a cosmic optometrist has shown me a new, perfect adjustment to my vision.
Then his hand slips into my panties, and I gasp as his finger slides into my body. He adjusts, finding my clit right away and commencing a slow, deliberate pace both inside me and against the sensitive nub.
I’m losing control. My body quakes against him, and my voice calls out. I want to be careful and poised and take his attention with grace.
But I can’t. He tugs at my nipple with his teeth right as another thrust drives home. He adjusts the motion on my clit, and he’s figured out what works, what’s taking me out of composure and into the wildest recesses of my mind.
“Jack!” I cry out, my body clenching down on him so hard that I can feel every knuckle of his fingers. Then the shuddering begins, starting where he works me and traveling up my belly until my head buzzes with it.
The stars turn and flash as I say his name again and again and again. What is happening? Why is it going on so long?
I let out a sob of shock, in awe of what is happening to me as my body continues to spasm. It’s not as intense as it was, but it draws out like a long, luxurious dream.
I grasp Iron Jack’s shoulders like he’s the only thing saving me from falling into an abyss. “What’s happening?” I manage to say. “It isn’t stopping. It’s not over.”
“No, darlin’. I like to keep the party going.”
“How?” My breath comes in gasps.
He keeps moving his fingers, and the pleasure still pulses, like a vinyl record that is stuck in the same groove.
“I’m going to fuck you over my bike now,” he says. “And you’re not going to stop this orgasm until I decide.”
He can do that?
“Yes,” I tell him. “Let’s do that.”
This I’ve got to see. And feel.
Holy shit.