Page 34 of Contracted to the Bikers

“And she’s all ours,” Rook growls, his possessive streak finally widening to include the others. He spanks me, and I moan, the sound vibrating on Cruz’s cock and making him even harder. “I want to hear you say it,” he purrs.

Cruz frees my mouth for a moment, as eager as Rook for me to confirm I belong to them. This time, I don’t hesitate. “I’m yours. Rook, Cruz, Boone, I’m fucking yours!” The words come out giddy and blissful, right now, I don’t have a care in the world.

“Fuck, yes, Sloane,” Rook grunts as he cums hard, pulling out and painting my backside in his seed.

I have just enough time to catch my breath while, in a moment of unusual tenderness, Rook wipes me clean, kissing the dimples on my back when he’s done. Cruz lies down, pulling me on top of him into reverse cowgirl, but I’m lying down against his chest. The angle feels strange but not unpleasant as he enters me. I realize why he chose this angle, as my entire front is now free for the others to pleasure me while he slowly moves beneath me. Rook teases my clit while Boone, oh so softly, like the touch of a feather, traces the tips of his fingers over my nipples. The touch is electric, so gentle after the rough pounding I just had that it feels incredible for entirely different reasons. It feels so sensitive that I could weep with pleasure, my men now handling me like I am made of glass, a fragile, precious thing.

Ever in touch with my emotions, Boone notices I’m overwhelmed. He kisses me softly on the lips, murmuring, “You okay?”

“Yes, more than okay. It just feels so fucking good,” I admit with a giggle, a very un-Sloane sound.

Boone grins back at me, my joy infectious. All too soon, I feel yet another orgasm blooming inside me, slower yet stronger, building like rain in a storm. “I think I’m gonna cum again,” I admit, feeling worried I can’t take any more, that the pleasure will engulf me before Cruz can find his release.

“Oh, thank god,” he chuckles. “I’ve wanted to blow my load since the second I entered your perfectly fucking tight and wet pussy,” he purrs in my ear, making me blush from the dirty talk.

“Cum with me,” I tell him, issuing a new challenge where we both win.

With all three of my men touching me, I reach my final explosive orgasm as Cruz pumps his own inside of me. My screams of ecstasy soften to moans as I catch my breath, allowing the guys to maneuver me so gently that I’m lying down with them surrounding me, each with a hand on my skin, not ready to break the contact just yet.

As we lie there, calm, content, and satisfied, the tension softens into something more comfortable, like a warm blanket on a cold day. I stare at the ceiling, feeling the weight of everything that just shifted. It hasn’t broken, and it no longer feels fragile. There’s something else, something stronger.

Rook’s arm rests heavily across my waist. Boone is close enough that I can feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing. Cruz is quieter now, still for once, not making jokes; there’s no edge. He’s calm and content.

I turn my head slightly, looking at them. I no longer worry if this will work. Somehow, I know with absolute certainty that it will. We’ve passed the point of no return, but I’m not even looking back. I’m always certain about my decisions, and I’ve never been more certain of anything than this.

Chapter 14

Cruz

If you’d told me a month ago that I’d be sharing Sloane with Rook and Boone—and actually be good with it—I would’ve laughed in your face. Not because we haven’t shared before, we have, but not like this with someone who gets under your skin and stays there. Not with someone who makes it feel less like a good time and more like a commitment, something solid and real. I didn’t picture Sloane as the kind of woman who would be into a setup like this, but then she isn’t like any of the women we’ve shared before either, and this isn’t a casual fling. Which makes the whole situation uncharted territory, dangerous in a whole different way than what we’re used to.

In the three days since we hooked up with Sloane, we can’t keep our hands off of her. It’s been incredible, but we also need to resume club business; we can’t hide away in our blissful bubble forever. Rook hasn’t fully forgiven me, but he’s slowly trusting me again. At least that’s what I’m choosing to believe since he’s assigned me to guard duty today for Jessy.

I roll the throttle as the bike eats up the road, engine vibrating steadily between my legs, wind cutting past my jacket, clearing just enough of my head to keep me focused. Jessy’s school is ten minutes out, and I’m late for the rotation thanks to a block of traffic that held me up for five minutes.

After what happened with the marshals, after the bomb—and especially after Sloane went to Briggs’ office, we don’t take chances. There’s always someone watching, someone close, Rook’s orders. We’re only too happy to obey. Jessy has ingrained herself into the heart of the club, and we’d all gladly take a bullet for her.

I slow as I approach the street, scanning automatically. It’s the middle of the day, the kids are outside playing during their lunchtime recess, and the only cars in the parking lot belong to the faculty. I pull into a spot across from the school and cut the engine, letting the sudden quiet settle around me. Kids’ voices drift from the playground, bright and carefree. A bird sings overhead in the large oak tree that dominates the front lot.

I swing off the bike and pull off my helmet, running a hand through my hair as I scan the playground again. A group of teachers stands chatting at the edges, more focused on gossip than on watching the kids who race around the playground, hollering and whooping as they tag each other and swing from the monkey bars.

Everything looks fine, and for a fraction of a second, I let myself relax. But then it all goes wrong. I know something’s off before anyone says anything—the energy shifts. The air stills, the wind that had been softly swaying the leaves in the trees drops, heavy and thick. Something’s wrong, I know it in my gut as the voices change, becoming loud and urgent. I straighten, already running across the asphalt toward the frantic teachers before my brain fully catches up.

“What’s going on?” I call as I swing open the playground gate.

A teacher turns, her face pale. “We—we can’t find her—”

Everything inside me goes still. “Who?” I ask, but with sickening certainty, I already know.

“Jessy,” she says, voice shaking. “She was just here—she was just—”

No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. Not now, not when we’ve been so careful.

“How long?” I demand, stepping closer, scanning the playground, every corner, every blind spot.

“I—I don’t know—two minutes—maybe—” She clutches the beads of her necklace, expression pained as she realizes the implications of what’s happened. They all knew they needed to keep a more watchful eye on Jessy, but they didn’t, and now she’s gone.

Two minutes. That’s all it takes. They know this. Lone perverts have kidnapped children just as easily, and we’re facing an organized crime syndicate. Rage bubbles beneath my calm exterior. I want to spit and foam, to lose control and make them understand how badly they fucked up, but it won’t help find Jessy. I need to keep my cool.