Page 52 of Buckle Up, Buttercup

“Almost there,” he pants. “You’re doing so good. How does it feel to ride your best friend, to know we both wanted this for so damn long?”

“Oh fuck,” I manage, shifting my hips and spreading myself wide around him.

He hisses out a deep groan and halts. “Wait, baby. If you do too much of that, I’m gonna lose it and go too hard.”

“Do it,” I groan, wriggling to get more. Everything’s on fire, everything’s tight and achy like if I don’t get all of that dick, I might actually expire.

He plunges faster this time, plunging nearly to the root, cock throbbing inside me as all those piercing do the work of several sex toys.

I press off the inner surface of his wing, using the claw like a handle as I sit down harder on top of him. We let out matching groans as heat flares through me, his piercings nudging me that much closer to exploding.

Hadrian leans forward and pulls my left nipple between his teeth. The shocking pain of his fangs mixed with the hard, cool suction has me mewling and falling forward over his head. I move my hands to his horns and rest on my knees, spread around his waist. The new angle means I get to be in charge of how fast and hard we do this.

And I like being in charge.

Snarling, I sink all the way onto him, a triumphant cry leaving me when he gasps and halts, both hands digging into my thighs.

“Gods, oh fuckkkkkk,” he snaps. “Give me a moment.”

“Say please,” I bark, barely able to give the command but loving that this is my Hadrian, and I can say whatever I want.

He looks up between my forearms, eyes flashing as his tail snakes down to nudge at my back pucker. “Two can play that dangerous game, Miss Tucker,” he says in a low, devastating tone. “I could make you say please right now.”

“You first,” I manage as I slide off him and then sink back down.

His second hiss is more desperate than the first as he reaches his right arm behind him and grips the back of his chair. “Fuck, do it again, little witch. You’re close; I can smell your need.”

“I’m not,” I lie as I rise up and then impale myself for a third time. Now that I’ve adjusted, he feels better than ever.

“Lies,” he barks, flaring his nostrils as he surges forward and closes his mouth around a spot along my shoulder. When he bites, the pain throws me over the edge, and orgasm smashes me from the inside out. My pussy clenches around him, bliss radiating in waves that batter me so hard, time and space disappear. There’s nothing but the kick of his cock as he unloads inside me, the messy slap of his hips against mine and all that cum and honey dripping out of me to form a pool at the base of that magical coke-can dick.

His teeth press harder as he groans into my skin, and that sound prolongs the ecstasy until I can’t see or hear anything. Nothing exists outside of how we’re connected.

I don’t know how much later I begin to notice the chill of the night or the faint electrical hum of crickets out in the field. Hadrian breathes rapid-fire against my neck, his muscles trembling and tense until I slump against him with a desperate groan.

He wraps both wings and arms around me and sinks back into the chair, still buried deep inside me. Aftershocks roll through him, and he moans softly, little thrusts stroking my G-spot and threatening to start this all over.

I can’t talk. Can’t think. Can’t manage anything other than breathing against his neck as I wrap my arms around him. He smells like he’s always smelled—glycerin soap and something deeper and decadent like rich chocolate.

He sighs happily and rubs his head against mine. “The real you is better than any dream I ever dreamt, Bluebell. Better than any fantasy. You’re a gift, little witch.”

Mate. I want him to be mine. I want it with an intensity I’ve never let fully fill me before. But I’m full of that intensity now.

And just like that, it’s “stick a fork in me, and I’m done.” Hook, line, and sinker. Game over. Or whatever other metaphor there might be. Because Hadrian Alkazar started this thing between us, and I don’t think I could go back to a life without him.

Hadrian

When I wake in the morning back in my apartment, soft snores echo from my nest. Which is about the moment I remember I have a little sister. Dismay rushes through me, quickly followed by depthless frustration. I don’t know what to do with a kid. After everything with Bluebell last night I gathered Petra up and drove us all back into town. Both girls slept on the way and my need to protect had me practically feral the whole way home.

I’m in no way set up for this—not here in my apartment and not yet at the ranch. It’s barely livable out there, and with my game schedule, I figured it’d take me the better part of winter to get it fully ready. And that was fine. I’d wrapped my mind around that.

The realization that I was on the precipice of having everything I wanted, and now there are considerably more roadblocks has me frustrated beyond belief. Glancing over from my spot on the sofa, I stare at Petra. She’s asleep in the nest, body curled around a pillow, flopping her tail softly in her sleep. She looks even younger than her nine years.

What am I going to do with her?

Rising, I run my hands through my hair then stalk to the door. I cross the hall and knock on Bluebell’s door.

The soft pad of feet announces her arrival, and when she opens the door, she looks like she slept about as well as I did. Lifting a hand, I drag it along her angular jawline, smiling when she nuzzles into my palm.