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“If you weren’t such a good kisser, I’d punch you for that,” she rasped.
He grinned. “So violent.”
“That’s nothing compared to what I will do if you don’t take me back to your place so we can finish this. I’m off the clock.”
“Who says we have to wait that long?” he asked as he lifted her onto the desk behind her.
“Absolutely not,” she hissed. “These clubhouse walls are paper thin.”
He chuckled because he couldn’t deny what she was saying. Instead, he reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head before going for the clasp on her shorts. She knocked his hands away before taking over the task while grumbling under her breath.
It wasn’t until she lifted her hips and slipped the shorts off that he was spurred into action.
Fuck.
He was so done for.
Harley reached for his shirt, pulling his mouth down to hers. She pushed her tongue into his mouth with a whimper that pounded need through him.
His hands grasped her hips, and he slid her ass forward to the edge of the desk and onto his rock-hard erection.
“I take this as a yes?”
He wasn’t going to let her hide. He ground his hips into her, one hand cupping her breast, his thumb honing in on her puckered nipple. He wouldn’t allow her to hide her growing feelings for him. With each day that passed, it became more and more apparent. She wasn’t even trying to return to her room at the clubhouse anymore.
Her head fell back. She spread her thighs wider and pressed her slick heat closer. “Yes. I want this. I want you. I don’t want to wait.”
Her sincere gaze burned into his while she waited, poised, like him, on the edge of a new precipice. But he was as powerless to this physical need as she seemed. He slanted his mouth across hers, pouring his passion, his honor, and his commitment into the kiss that stole a throaty gasp from her throat.
He shrugged his cut off and placed it on the back of the chair beside the desk. As soon as he was back in front of her, she impatiently grabbed the hem of his shirt. His hand slipped between them, his fingers probing beneath her drenched panties. He pressed his mouth to hers as he found her clit, primed and plump, and rubbed the pad of his thumb there as he tore his mouth from hers and said, “Do you trust me...to make this good enough for you that when we make our walk of shame, people will still be jealous?”
Fuck, what was wrong with him? Why push this? She was ready, begging him.
Her hips jerked, and she reached for his belt.
“Yes.” Her mouth traced his jaw, his neck, and between his pecs. She groaned, her face buried in the hair on his chest. “Yes, Trigger, I do.”
Appeased for now, he ripped at his fly, the scent of her arousal as potent as the hit of his morning coffee, his stamina at its limit.
“Quick... Hurry.” Her frantic hands freed him from his boxers, shoving his clothing over his hips as she returned her mouth to his with nibbling kisses that drove him perilously close to the edge.
He left her briefly to reach for his wallet to locate a condom. When he returned, tearing into the foil with his teeth as he crossed the room, she’d shimmied out of her panties.
She didn’t seem to care any more than he cared that her ass was crushing paperwork underneath it, and they were in jeopardy of knocking things to the floor.
Within seconds, he filled her, and they groaned together, chests heaving as if they’d held their breath for too long. The rightness of it, of her, made his head swim—euphoria or trepidation? He couldn’t tell and didn’t want to look too closely.
Then he set a pounding pace that drove them both to a torrid climax that left Harley wailing loud enough for the whole clubhouse to hear.
And by the time they’d regained enough bodily function to redress and make the walk back to his place, Harley held her head high as they made their way by a barrage of whistles and cheers. Her cheeks might have been red from embarrassment, but it didn’t take away from her smile or blissed-out expression.
