Page 50 of Diary of a Biker Queen

Because I could see and hear how much he needed me to say I did.

I just kissed him. Closed the gap between us, put my hands on his cheeks and claimed his mouth.

The relief in his kiss tore my heart in two again, and I hated that he’d been so worried this might not have been the welcome he would get when he found me in his bed. I had no idea how he’d gotten back inside the Slayers’ gates or how he’d gotten back into this room, though the open window might have been an obvious guess. Especially since the common room was littered with sleeping bodies and getting past them all undetected seemed unlikely.

His kisses took away the panic from the nightmares, until I was soft and pliable in his arms once more. He mumbled sweet things on my lips I couldn’t make out and didn’t need to because the way he touched me so gently, his palm stroking up and down my side before traveling my arm to cup the side of my face so tenderly.

I didn’t ask him any questions. Not because I was scared of the answers. But because I didn’t need to. There would be time for that when the sun rose and the hard light of day sank in.

But here, in the darkness, he was just the man who’d had my back from the minute he’d met me, no questions asked.

The least I could do was give him the same respect.

He kissed me, and I kissed him back just as hard, my body lighting up in a way that had me wondering how I had ever seen this man as nothing more than a friend.

And when he groaned and whispered, “Can I fuck you?” I nearly came on the spot.

“Yes.” The word was so breathy and needy that I was sure I could have said hippopotamus and it would have been obvious that I was consenting to whatever the hell this man wanted to do to me.

“Then roll over.”

I shifted back into the position we’d started in, with him tucked up behind me, his dick between my thighs, driving me mad with friction to my clit but refusing to enter. But this time, his arm came up beneath mine, and he cupped my breast, squeezing the nipple sweetly between his thumb and forefinger while his dick nudged at my entrance, driving me mad.

“Oh.”

The pleasure moved through me, starting in all the places he touched and spreading out like wildfire. His mouth found my neck, and I pressed my ass back against him, urging him on, desperate for more.

“Tell me you want this,” he whispered.

But it wasn’t some sort of attempt at being sexy or domineering.

It was Lynx asking me again, making doubly, triply sure, that sleeping with a serial killer was actually what I wanted.

When I said yes again, I knew I meant it with every beat of my heart.

I’d spent the entire day terrified for him, a big part of me scared I would never see his easygoing smile ever again. And now all I wanted to do was make sure I experienced everything he was, in case he had to leave again.

I wasn’t stupid enough to think we would wake up in the morning and everyone would hold hands and sing “Kumbaya.” Or that the police camped outside the Slayers’ gates, watching to make sure their crime scene wasn’t disturbed, weren’t going to try dragging him out in handcuffs. I didn’t know how much or how little they knew about the Lynx Killer, or even if they suspected Lynx of being him. To them, maybe he was just Torrin Cross. And maybe no one outside this room had told them otherwise.

But I couldn’t know any of that in the moment. All I had was him and the night, and whatever we did with the hours before dawn.

I reached between my legs and gripped his cock, guiding it to my entrance. “I want this.”

Lynx drove his hips forward, forcing me to open for him.

I moaned at the intrusion of his cock fitting inside me like my body had been made for him.

He was huge, which wasn’t unexpected because everything about him was. He bottomed out with a pinch of my nipple as an added bonus, and I melted into his arms. He felt so good, my pussy stretched around his thick cock, that we both just stilled for a moment, him warm inside me while we both luxuriated in the pleasure of the connection.

He kissed my neck over and over, tiny little pecks that turned more insistent while his hips rocked against my ass. They turned hot and open-mouthed, him sucking and biting at me as he thrust into me from behind, his hands massaging my tits the only thing stopping me from sliding away with the force of his thrusts.

I made myself stay quiet, but it was so hard when he felt this good. I hooked my leg back over his, opening myself up, and he lowered his hand from my tits to my pussy, resuming those tight circles on my clit that drove me wild.

We writhed together, but it was barely minutes before we both needed more. When he rolled me onto my chest and hooked his fingers into the crease of my hips, drawing my ass up in the air and giving my belly enough room to rest comfortably, my legs shook with anticipation.

He took his time, slowing things down, making it last, I was sure because he knew neither of us could be sure of what would happen once the club realized he was here. His palm ran down my spine and over the globes of my ass.

“Fuck, Nyah,” he groaned. “I want to do so many things.”