Her arms tighten. I pull onto the highway and ride west toward the clubhouse, and the woman on the back of my bike is alive and breathing and holding on to me, and that’s all I need to know.
CHAPTER 10
VIOLET
Duke’s hipssnap into me, and I bite my lower lip to keep from screaming.
His hand pins my thigh against the mattress, pushing my leg up and open, and the angle sends him so deep his cock is hitting my cervix. His free hand is braced next to my head, his body covering mine, and every thrust drives the breath out of my lungs.
“Quiet.” His mouth is at my ear. “You’ll wake him up, and I’m not done with you.”
I grab the headboard with one hand. The wood creaks. Duke’s hips grind against mine, and the friction on my clit makes my whole lower body seize.
He pulls back, almost all the way out, and pauses. I make a sound I’m not proud of. My hips chase him, trying to pull him back in.
He slams back in. One long, brutal stroke that fills me completely, and my mouth drops open in a silent scream. He does it again. And again. Pulling out slow, driving in hard, and every time he bottoms out, my toes curl.
“Harder, Duke,” I whisper. “Faster.”
His laugh is low and filthy against my throat. “Ask nicely.”
I dig my nails into his shoulder blade. “Please.”
He drives into me. Hard. Deep. The headboard taps the wall, and I shove a pillow against my mouth and moan into it.
His pace shifts. No more teasing. No more control games. He’s fucking me like he needs it to survive, and my body matches him thrust for thrust, my hips rising off the mattress to meet every stroke.
His hand leaves my thigh and slides between us. His finger presses my clit and works tight circles while he fucks me. My hips tilt up to meet his, chasing my release. His forehead drops to mine. His breathing is ragged, and his thrusts are primal.
“Come on my dick, Violet.” His fingers press harder. His movements get rougher. “Soak my cock. I want to feel it.”
My body obeys him. The orgasm rips through me, my thighs clenching around him, my back bowing off the mattress, and I bury my face in his neck. He groans against my hair and drives in one last time, deep, and holds, and his seed spills into me as he finishes.
He stays inside me. Neither of us moves. His weight presses me into the mattress, and I don’t want him anywhere else. His breath is hot against my neck, slowing down, and his thumb drags across my collarbone.
We lie there. He’s on top of me, and I don’t want him to move. His face is in my hair, and one of his hands is tangled in the sheets beside my head.
“We have approximately four minutes before the kid wakes up,” I remind him.
“Less than that.” He rolls off me and lies on his back. “He’s been waking up earlier.”
“Because you feed him cookies before bed.”
“I would never.” His hand goes to his chest like I’ve accused him of a crime.
“There were crumbs on his pajamas.”
His mouth twitches. He reaches over and pulls me against his side, my head on his chest. His skin is hot and damp, and his arm wraps around me and holds on.
The morning is quiet. It’s been a week since I sat in a truck with zip-tied wrists while my blood dripped onto my shirt. The bruise on my jaw has faded to yellow. The split in my lip closed days ago.
Duke hasn’t left my side. Not once. He sleeps with one arm hooked around my waist, and when I get up to check on Leo in the night, he’s awake before my feet hit the floor. He doesn’t say anything. He listens until I come back to bed, and then he pulls me against him, and his arm tightens, and he goes back to sleep.
Leo’s room is set up now. A real crib, not the pack-and-play. Duke built it while Leo sat on the floor and handed him the wrong screws.
I love seeing them together—father and son.
Duke is quiet for a long time. His fingers rest on the curve of my hip.
