Page 7 of My Wild Biker

She comes with a cry that she tries to muffle against my shoulder, her whole body locking up.

The way she clamps down around me drags my own orgasm out faster than I expected and I follow her over, hips stuttering, groaning into her hair.

We stay like that for a minute, both breathing hard, my forehead against the wall beside her head. Her legs are still wrapped around me and I'm not in any hurry to move.

Eventually I have to. I lower her back to her feet and pull out. Her legs shake and I steady her with a hand on her hip.

"You alright?"

She laughs, still trying to catch her breath. "Are you kidding? That was exactly what I needed."

When we get to the bedroom it’s as generic as the rest, queen bed with a beige comforter, nightstand with a lamp.

She turns on the bedside light and the glow is softer, warmer. I take a second just to look at her properly this time. Full curves, soft stomach, wide hips, thick thighs. She's not trying to pose or arrange herself, just comfortable in her body and letting me look.

"You're beautiful," I tell her, because it's true and needs saying.

"You're not bad yourself."

I strip off my cut, lay it over the chair in the corner. Pull my shirt over my head and add it to the pile. My boots and jeans take longer but she watches me undress with obvious appreciation, her eyes tracking over my chest and down.

When I'm finally naked she steps close and runs her hands over my chest, traces the scar from a knife fight in Tulsa with her fingertips.

"How'd you get this one?"

"Long story."

"And this?" She finds the puckered skin on my shoulder from a bullet graze.

"That one too."

She looks up at me, curious but not pushing. "Maybe you'll tell me later."

"Maybe."

I pull her down to the bed and she comes willingly, settling on her back while I take my time exploring. I map her body with my hands properly now, learning the weight of her breasts, the softness of her stomach, the way her hips curve. When I slide my hand between her thighs she opens her legs without hesitation.

I work her with my fingers, slower this time, watching her face while I learn what she likes. Firm pressure on her clit makes her gasp.

Two fingers inside her curling forward makes her arch off the bed. When I lower my mouth to her breast and suck while my hand works between her legs, she fists the sheets.

"You're really good at this," she manages between gasps.

"Practice, darlin'."

She laughs but it cuts off in a moan when I bite her nipple gently and add a third finger. I work her higher with steady rhythm, not rushing, just building until her thighs start to shake and her breathing goes ragged.

When she comes this time she doesn't try to be quiet about it. Just lets herself make noise, her back arching and her hand flying down to grip my wrist like she needs the anchor. I work her through it until she finally stills, breathing hard.

"Your turn," she says after a moment.

Before I can respond she pushes me onto my back and straddles my hips in one smooth motion.

The view is incredible. All her curves on display, breasts heavy and full, hair falling around her shoulders. She reaches down and wraps her hand around me, strokes twice with just the right pressure.

She sinks down, taking me all the way, and we both groan. She settles with her hands braced on my chest for a moment, adjusting. Then she starts moving and I forget how to think in complete sentences.

She rides me slow at first, rolling her hips in a rhythm that has my hands gripping her thighs hard enough to leave marks.