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“Bitch,” he grunted.
When she jerked on it again, pulling it as hard as he had pulled hers, his hand squeezed her mound, his cock jamming hard up and in.
She snaked her other hand down, past his, to find his soaked balls. She could barely reach them, especially with his grip on her throat. But somehow, she managed. She got the soft, slick sac within her fingers and she squeezed. His hips jerked and he grunted against her neck.
Not hard enough to damage, only enough for him to notice. To give him the silent message that he was only in control because she had handed it to him.
Not because he took it from her.
Another bite. This time causing searing pain on the side of her neck.
Everything on her seized. Her heart, her breath, her muscles and then, like a fourth of July firework display, she exploded.
Her mouth opened and something tumbled out. She had no idea what.
Nor did she care.
Neither did he since he was too busy slamming against her, grunting loudly, his face hidden against her neck, sucking on the bite.
With one last thrust, a low and long grunt vibrated against her skin. She didn’t need to see him having his climax in the mirror. She could feel it.
His jaw tightened. His muscles turned to stone. His root pulsed intensely, his cock throbbing deep inside her as he emptied himself.
Marking her inside.
Doing something forbidden.
Not only the sex between enemies, but unprotected sex.
Neither demanding any precautions.
Both of them turned on by how everything was wrong with what happened. How it happened.
If it was so wrong, why did it feel so right?
How was this the hottest and best sex in her life?
It was both nasty and brilliant.
Dirty and satisfying.
So wrong and so damn right.
With a last lick to the bite mark, he lifted his face.
His brown eyes locked with her light blue ones in the mirror. Neither willing to move just yet.
Neither looked surprised.
This wasn’t any awakening. They didn’t suddenly have an unbreakable connection.
This was just raw, animalistic sex.
For her. For him.
Neither would argue that.
It was what it was.
A morning-after mistake. An irrefutable regret.
And of course, a bad decision.
But it was done. It couldn’t be erased.
The apple couldn’t be uneaten. From here the exposed core would only rot.
“This was a fuckin’ mistake.” His voice was rough and scratchy.
“For once, we agree on something.”
“We’re just gonna forget this ever happened.”
“I agree.” She agreed even though she knew it was a lie. Neither of them would ever forget it.
“Nobody needs to know.”
“Agreed.”
“Like nobody, Jet.” For once, he didn’t sound so confident. Worry tinged his words. He was afraid someone would find out.
“Does it sound like I’m arguing? Do you think I want anyone to know I had sex with you?”
“You think I want anyone knowin’ I fucked you?” he sneered.
No, she couldn’t imagine he would. She was sure he wouldn’t want any of his brothers to find out he fucked a cop. She could only imagine to those bikers it would be worse than fucking jailbait or maybe even being gay.
He slipped from her, stepping back, quickly yanking his jeans and boxer briefs back up and tucking himself away before fastening his jeans and securing his belt. Not even bothering to clean himself up first.
When he was done, she turned to face him, her hands on her hips. Not caring he was once again fully dressed while she stood still completely naked, the mix of his cum and her own dampening her thighs. The flesh damaged by his teeth throbbing with every pounding heartbeat. Her ass still stinging from his hand.
Both satisfied and empty from him no longer filling her.
Her eyes narrowed. So did his.
Her chin rose slightly. So did his.
Her mouth curled at the corners. His did not.
“Fuck you, Jet.”
She continued to smile as she reached down and dragged her middle finger through her swollen folds, then lifted it, using the glistening digit to flip him the bird. “Fuck you, Rook.”
His jaw shifted and his hands curled into fists.
For a second, she wondered if he’d haul off and belt her. If he did, she would fight back. It was one thing to allow him to be rough when she wanted it. It was another to be abusive.
She had no idea if that was his intent but what they just did was pulling the anger from his very core. Bringing it bubbling to the surface.
He wasn’t mad at her.
He was pissed at himself.
She knew exactly why.
He didn’t hate her. And for that, he hated himself.
He spun on his boot, rushed out the door, slamming it behind him.
She stared at the door for a few seconds more to ensure he was gone.
And once she knew for certain he wouldn’t return, she locked it and gathered her clothes. She needed to shower. To wash him off her. She didn’t need his cum as a reminder of what they did. The marks on her breasts, neck and ass were plenty enough so she wouldn’t forget for a while.
