Page 87 of Life Or Death

I toss Jess the keys to my truck. “You drive,” I say, watching her face light up.

“Really?”

“Doctor’s orders. You’re cleared.” I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face as she practically bounces to the driver’s side.

She handles my truck better than I expected, shifting smoothly through the gears as we head back to the clubhouse. When we arrive, I take her hand and lead her around back where my Harley is parked.

“Get on,” I tell her, nodding toward the bike.

She looks at me, confusion in her eyes. “The doctor said we should wait.”

“I know what the doctor said.” I run my hand along the leather seat. “But he didn’t say anything about what we do while the bike’s parked.”

Her breath catches, and I watch her throat work as she swallows. Then she pulls her lower lip between her teeth, and the urge to ruin her right here and now, with the whole goddamn world as our witness, pulls at me.

“I can’t feel you wrapped around me on the road yet,” I say, my voice dropping low as I step closer. “Can’t feel your arms locked around my waist, your thighs pressed against mine while we eat up the highway. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have you on this bike.”

“Lucifer—”

“Get on.” It’s not a request. “Back against the handlebars.”

She obeys, swinging her leg over the seat and scoots back until she’s pressed against the handlebars. Her skirt rides up her thighs, and I grab her knees, pushing her legs open even wider.

“Any pain?”

She shakes her head.

“That’s a good girl,” I praise.

I yank her hips forward, pulling her to the edge of the seat, and bury my face between her thighs. Her panties are soaked already, the thin fabric clinging to her, and I drag my teeth across the cotton, feeling her jerk against my mouth.

“Oh my god,” she gasps, her head falling back, the sun kissing the column of her throat.

I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties and peel them down her legs, tossing them aside without a second thought. Then I’m on her again, my tongue splitting her open, pressing flat against her clit.

“Someone’s going to see,” she pants, but she’s grinding against my mouth, chasing it, and the hypocrisy makes me grin against her.

“Let them.”

I suck her clit into my mouth and flick my tongue across it, fast and relentless, and she cries out, her fingers white-knuckling the handlebars. The bike rocks beneath her, and I reach up to palm her breast through her shirt, pinching her nipple until she’s writhing, desperate, her hips rolling in tight circles.

“Lucifer . . . I’m close . . .”

I pull back just enough to watch her face contort, and then I sink two fingers inside her and curl them upward, finding that spot that makes her scream every single time.

She shatters. Her back arching off the bike, her thighs clamping around my head, and she comes with my name on her tongue. I ride her through it, my fingers working in and out, my mouth sealed over her clit, sucking gently until she’s pushing me away, oversensitive and shaking.

I stand slowly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and she’s still trembling, her chest heaving, her skirt bunched around her waist.

“Look at you,” I murmur. “So fucking perfect. So fucking mine.”

I unbuckle my belt, and her eyes drop to my hands, watching me free myself from my jeans.

“Stand and bend over the bike,” I growl, my fist pumping my cock. She does as she’s told, and I thrust into her in one brutal stroke.

We both groan. Her from the stretch, and me from the sheer fucking perfection of being inside her.

“Fuck,” I hiss, my hands digging into the flesh of her ass. “You feel so goddamn good.”