Page 32 of My Reckless Biker

"More," I manage to say.

He pulls back slightly and pushes in deeper, working in increments, letting my body accommodate him. Each thrust goes a little deeper and I can feel my body opening for him, accepting him, taking him in.

When he finally bottoms out, when I can feel him fully seated inside me, we both go completely still.

I'm so full I can barely breathe. Can barely think. Can only feel him everywhere, stretching me, filling me, claiming me.

"Fuck," he says, and his voice is absolutely destroyed. "You're so tight. So fucking perfect."

He pulls back slowly and the drag of him against my inner walls makes me moan. Then he pushes back in, still controlled but with more force this time, and my fingers dig into the mattress.

He sets a rhythm that builds gradually. Long strokes that pull almost all the way out before driving back in deep.

Each thrust measured, like he's learning what I can take, what makes me gasp, what makes my back arch.

I can hear the wet sound of him moving in me, can hear his breathing getting harsher, can hear my own sounds that I'm not even trying to control anymore.

His hand slides up my spine and fists in my hair and he pulls, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to arch my back further.

"There," I gasp. "Right there."

He focuses there, driving into that spot with devastating precision, and I'm climbing again already, impossibly, my body tightening around him.

His other hand slides around to find where I'm sensitive and his fingers work in rhythm with his thrusts and I'm not going to last, can't hold back, and when the second orgasm hits I come with a scream, clenching around him so hard he groans.

But he doesn't stop.

He doesn't slow down. Just keeps driving into me through my orgasm and past it until I'm oversensitive and shaking and pleading incoherently for something I can't name.

He pulls out suddenly and his hands grip my hips and flip me over onto my back on the bed.

I barely have time to process the position change before he's between my thighs and pushing back inside, and this angle is completely different.

I can see his face now. Can see how wrecked he looks. Eyes dark and wild, jaw clenched tight, muscles in his arms and shoulders standing out with the effort of control that's barely holding.

He leans down and his mouth finds mine and we kiss while he moves.

Deep and claiming and almost brutal. His hand slides under my lower back and tilts my hips up and the angle changes again and now each thrust goes deeper, hits different places, and I break the kiss to gasp for air.

"Look at me," he says. It's not a request.

I open my eyes and meet his and the intensity in his gaze makes my breath catch.

"I want to watch you," he says. "Want to see your face when you come on my cock."

The explicit words combined with the way he's looking at me combined with the relentless rhythm of him driving into me pushes me higher again and I didn't think I could, didn't think I had another one in me, but apparently I do.

"Wrap your legs around me," he says.

I do, hooking my ankles at his lower back, and the position pulls him impossibly deeper and we both make sounds at the sensation.

He's so deep I can feel him everywhere, can feel the fullness in my belly, can feel him claiming parts of me I didn't know existed.

His rhythm is starting to lose its precision. Getting rougher. More erratic. I can tell he's close, can feel it in the way his muscles are shaking, can see it in the tension in his face.

His hand slides between us and his fingers find where I'm swollen and oversensitive and he presses and circles with clear intent.

"One more," he says. "Give me one more, Sienna. Want to feel you come around me."