He slipped a second finger inside me, and I wrapped my leg around his hip to give him better access. I dropped my head back on my shoulders, raising my face to the ceiling and closing my eyes as I concentrated on the sensation building in my core. It had been almost nine months since I’d been touched like this, and I was barely hanging on to my control.
“That’s it, sugar, ride my fingers. Come all over my hand, and then you can come on my cock.”
His low, growly command, coupled with the thumb now pressing firmly as he rubbed my clit, sent me over the edge. I pulled myself up and buried my face in the leather of his cut as I moaned his name, my body shuddering with the intensity of my orgasm.
He wrapped his free arm around me, crushing his other hand between our bodies as I rode out my release. I smiled dreamily as he dropped a soft kiss on the top of my head, then shuddered again as he slowly slid his fingers from inside me.
Once I loosened my grip on his shoulders he took a half step back, grinning devilishly as he raised his left hand to his mouth and slowly – deliberately – licked his fingers clean.
I flushed to the roots of my hair as he grinned even wider. “You taste even sweeter than I could have dreamed. Now, hop down from there, sugar. I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours imagining you bent over, being able to grab on to the sweet ass of yours while I fuck you from behind.”
Before I could move, he grabbed me and set me on my feet. He quickly unfastened his belt, opened the button on his jeans and lowered his zipper, then motioned for me to turn around. “I need to be inside you before I lose my damned mind.”
I whipped around to face the island, reaching for the waistband on my leggings, only to freeze as the sound of a car pulling into the driveway could be heard through the open window above the kitchen sink.
“Shit, that’s my kids!”
I whirled around and frantically pushed against his chest, and he groaned in frustration as he backed up enough to put some distance between us. As he quickly zipped up and fastened his belt, I ran my hands over my hair to smooth it down, then straightened my shirt and tried to slow my racing heartbeat as the car doors opened and then slammed closed.
I stared at King in horrified bemusement as he calmly reached for a sugar cookie and took a big bite, looking completely unfazed by the fact that those very fingers had just been inside me, and that my kids almost caught us fucking on my kitchen counter.
He winked at me right as the sound of the front door opening registered, then bent his head to whisper, “These are fucking delicious, but the sweetness I tasted was definitely you, sugar.” He popped the last bite of cookie into his mouth, then turned to wash his hands at my kitchen sink as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
My mouth dropped open in shock at his brazenness, then snapped shut as I heard the two voices guaranteed to kill my libido. I panicked as I spotted my apron on the floor and managed to kick it out of sight behind the island just in time.
“Mom, that smellssoooooo good. I’m starving.” I whirled around to face my daughter, who came to a halt so quickly that Hunter almost ran into her as he asked whose truck was in the driveway. They both looked at King – now calmly drying his hands on a paper towel – with almost identical expressions ofwariness for a split-second before recognition kicked in. They probably remembered seeing him in the photos at Pop’s house.
King squeezed my shoulder as he stepped around me to greet them, only to stop short at the sight of my ex-husband waltzing into my kitchen like he owned the damned place. Clayton rarely bothered to get out of his precious Mercedes G-wagon – that he only bought because he thought it made him look rugged and manly – when he dropped the kids off, so he was clearly just being nosy after seeing the strange truck parked at my house.
King glanced over his shoulder at me, catching me as I tried to hide my discomfort at seeing Clayton in my home, especially after what King and I had just been doing. Judging by the amused quirk of his lips, I failed in that mission.
Before I could say a word, Clayton decided to spread his very own brand of supercilious bullshit all over everyone in the room.
“Ella, are you OK, darling?” I didn’t bother trying to hide my indignation at his faux concern, or the implication that I must be in danger because there was a big, bad biker standing in my kitchen. Clayton had made his reservations about Pop and the MC quite clear shortly after I moved in, letting me know that he didn’t approve ofhischildren “consorting with such riffraff”. Yeah, he really was that pompous. He hadn’t always been like that, and I’d long given up wondering what had triggered such a change in him.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” I arched a brow at him, just daring him to voice his ridiculous concerns, but knowing he was too much of a coward to outright insult a man like King.
As predicted, Clayton ignored my question, his eyes narrowing on my lips in suspicion before his jaw tightened inanger. Judging by the way my lips were slightly throbbing, I was sure they were red and swollen, leaving no doubt that I’d just been thoroughly kissed. Hopefully, it wasn’t obvious that it had gone much further than that.
He glared at me, then drew his shoulders back as he tried – and failed - to make himself look more imposing before introducing himself to King. My ex-husband was just a smidge over six-feet tall, although he claimed to be six-one. King topped him by at least two inches and probably forty pounds of pure muscled yumminess. Clayton was an attractive man and kept himself in shape with endless rounds of golf and racquetball at the club, but his slim build and narrower chest and shoulders – which he hated with a passion – were no match for King.
“Dr. Clayton Chadwick,” he told King with an imperious nod, and I didn’t miss the fact that he didn’t offer a handshake, the stupid chickenshit.
King snorted and glanced at me again, clearly questioning my taste in men if the look on his face was any indication. I just shrugged, because I couldn’t exactly refute the notion that my ex-husband was a twat of the highest order.
“King Morgan,” he returned the introduction, his voice a low, deep rumble that made my knees weak just listening to it. He didn’t bother to offer his hand either.
Clayton eyed King’s cut with distaste, his mouth tightening as he spied the “President” patch. “I see,” he sniffed disdainfully. King stiffened slightly but didn’t give any other indication that he noticed Clayton’s condescending attitude and general asshattery.
“Hunter, I’ve heard a lot about you. Thank you for helping my dad out with his yardwork.” King totally ignored Clayton’spresence as he held out his hand to my son, and I watched with pride as Hunter didn’t hesitate to return the handshake.
“It’s the least I can do since he lets me borrow his lawnmower, Mr. Morgan.”
King shook his head with a chuckle. “No need to be so formal, King is fine.” Hunter flashed him a grin, and King turned to Mia, offering his hand to her as well. She wasn’t quite as confident with a handshake as Hunter was, but she gave it her best shot. I made a mental note to practice that skill with her, so she was comfortable with it in the future.
“Mia, my son Rome mentioned you babysitting for my grandkids a couple of times. I appreciate it.”
“Ethan and Everly are so cute. I just love watching them,” she gushed, and I knew it was true. I enjoyed having them around, too. I missed my kids being that little, so I got my fix by hanging out with Rome’s kids.
