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Again and again, he works my depths until the rest of me wants to feel all of him.
My climax is scorching. Waves of pleasure contract my pussy around his thick fingers. I buck and ride him through the burn of heat. A gasp breaks free and from my peripheral I see a pedestrian look our way before scurrying off. I press a hand to my mouth to suppress my erotic cries.
He throws my hand to the side. “Never steal your pleasure from me again. I give you something, you make damn sure I hear how fucking much you love it. Understood?”
I know better than to think he’s actually asking me a question.
Those possessive lips are back on mine, taking without mercy. His tongue glides over my bottom lip and I don’t have a choice. He slips in, steals my breath and I freely give it to him. Along with my juices. My channel clenches around his fingers and I thrust them deeper.
I don’t have the chance to float down from the best climax I’ve had in years.
He turns us around and carries me to the same old, Chevy truck parked near the exit of the alley. I know this man is injured but he doesn’t flinch when he sets me down and unlocks the passenger door. He’s no doubt busted through a few of those stitches.
And sure enough, I look to find the evidence seeping through the cotton when I peel back his cut. “Hark. You’re bleeding.”
His ever-present scowl slips into place and we are back to being the risen from the dead ex-lover and the fallen princess. A motley crew of two against an unstoppable enemy.
Hark rounds the front of the truck and before he gets to the driver’s side, I slide over, placing my hands on the wheel. His eyes come to mine through the window and he’s shaking his head before I can plead my case.
Two hundred and fifty pounds of alpha male moves me back to the passenger side. “I can survive a gunshot, but not you behind the wheel again.”
Chin high, arms crossed we spend the next thirty-five minutes in utter silence.
Ten
Asena
And I miss it the second we walk into his club’s compound.
Holy hell my ears want to bleed.
Thecompoundis not what I expected. Gray walls, metal doors, and sandbags are what I thought I would find when Hark leads me through the front door of the Sons of Bratva Savages’ compound slash clubhouse. I think that’s what bikers call their headquarters.
Or maybe I watch too much T.V.
In reality, it’s more like the mansions I see on the reality dating shows. Gloriously elegant. Nothing short of a few million dollars went into establishing this place as a home base and out does my father’s mansion by a long shot. Marble flooring, soft carpeting, and elegant ornate chandeliers. The sweeping staircase is a marvel all on its own.
And coming in, the grounds were immaculate and match the elegance of the interior.
But that is where the comparisons cease. Because the level of depravity unfolding in front of me is as titillating as it is shocking. I can’t decide where to look. Or if it’s rude to look.
It’s barely evening time and close to fifty people in various states of dress mingle. Most have a drink in their hand and a smile on their face. A myriad of scents clogs the air—smoke, booze, and sex. Which makes sense with the high-octane sex happening near the pool table. Thumping music pumps through the main level and Casanova proves he’s got rhythm.
My eyes go wide and my mouth forms a big O when I’m not two feet over the threshold. But I seem to be the only one surprised. Not another soul pays attention to them or another guy getting head on a nearby couch—leather thank God. I wouldn’t want to try and get the stains out of the fabric.
“Casanova is like a rabbit,” Hark grunts beside me, his arm over my shoulder. “They both are. That one balls deep into the blonde’s mouth is his buddy, Blaze. You haven’t met him yet. Both are newly patched members. Before that they were prospects. And still act like little shits that need to fucking grow up.”
I study his expression. The way the lines over his forehead deepen. The slant of his mouth as he considers his brothers. He doesn’t like public exposure. Yet he had no problem back in the alley. I’m beginning to think Hark has more than the two layers of either perpetually pissed off or horny. There is more going on with him that my younger self didn’t see.
I arch a brow in question. “This kind of thing happens often?” Various flower arrangements perfume the air that make this look like a wedding reception or a funeral.
I make a small gesture toward Casanova and his sweet thing getting it on.
“Send offs. No.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’ll explain later.” The man I knew as my father’s enforcer has made a life for himself and it looks nothing like the one he had.
