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He flipped her over, his eyes blazing in her face as his words blasted like angry bullets against her cheeks.
“Not breaking up. Not letting you go.” He bit down on her lip. The punishment had her writhing. What was wrong with her that she also moaned and her pussy gushed?
Christian had given her soft. She liked it hard. Funny thing to discover about yourself with a biker you just met.
Hannibal left more suck bruises as he slid down her body. Leaving a Hansel and Gretel trail to find his way back.
He took a roadside stop on his way, grabbing her breasts and smashing them together. Alternating between soft nuzzles and hard pulls on her nipples. Two contrasting sides of the same coin. His lovemaking was like the man himself.
Hannibal’s jaunt braked at the top of her mound, like a biker on a hill viewing the valley before he descended. She felt his eyes scorching her pussy with his intense gaze. The sear making her pussy wet.Wetter.She raised up on her forearms to watch him.
“Y… you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” she mumbled the words into the silence.“Why did she say that? Why couldn’t she ask for what she wanted?”
Hannibal’s head jerked up. Snapping to hers. “What the fuck are you talking about?” His gritty baritone vibrated the lips under his chin. “It’s not a need or a want. It’s a must. This feels like breathing.” He buried his nose in the soft curls on her apex. Taking a deep inhale of the damp and sweat-covered skin.
Could a girl die of embarrassment? Nope, she was still here.
He took another whiff. Tilting her hips to bring her closer to his mouth.
She gasped when he pushed her lips apart. Nibbling up and down one lip before twining the caress on its twin. Lowering her down to pinch the top of her slit. Curling his long fingers around her clit to massage the hardening organ. The bud growing under the attention.
Shit.This was lovemaking. And he hadn’t even entered her. The spirals and nibbles sent fireworks up her nerve endings until they exploded in a shower of gasps and pants.
She was so close, so close. She just needed a little more bite, a little more of his rough. His fingertips’ calloused pads rode her along the edge of a cliff but didn’t push her over. Until he stuck two of the scarred digits into her sheath. The gaping mouth gripped his fingers, sucking them inside and guiding him to the spot waiting to be claimed.
Like a heat-seeking missile, the fingers curled into the target and pressed her button. A direct signal to her clit to explode and… Fuck.
He pulled his hand out as she thrashed up and down…No, don’t go. Not yet. It couldn’t end.
Now she got what he meant. It wasn’t a want. Or need. It wasa must.
Before she could lift and demand more, Hannibal slammed into her.
The biker-gentleman forgotten. Slamming into her, again and again. Each thrust pushed them across the floor. Her legs gave up their scramble for purchase and wrapped around his. Letting each furious thrust carry her as wave after wave coursed through her body.
“Deeper.” He groaned his protest against her throat. “It’s not enough. It’s not fucking enough. Want more. Need more.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck as if she could soothe his angry demands. Her shoulders created skid marks on the hardwood as the sheets wrapped around their hips.
Pulling him down to kiss him was the only way to breach the storm and ride it out. Tasting herself on his lips, the remaining dew drops, proof of her pleasure.
And still, it wasn’t enough. Back and forth, up and down, Hannibal punched into her like a street fighter, outnumbered and outgunned. Until he had her against a wall. Her head banging against the drywall.
“Not stopping.” He snarled in heavy pants. “All night.”
“Not. Going. Anywhere.” Angel hissed back, clamping her legs against his ass. His dick pushing and pulling. Fighting her pussy’s vice-grip.
Hannibal’s eyes raged as he pulled back to demand, “Say you’re mine.”
“Yours.” She gasped as the waves took her under. “Yours,” she repeated because she was drowning—dying.
Because that one word was the lighthouse on a stormy sea, guiding her home.
Chapter 7
The sunlight drifted lazily away as he held Angel in his arms. She slept, tucked under his shoulder and across his chest. Hannibal had worked on a lot of bikes in his life. Sometimes using brute strength to wrench an engine part into place. Other pieces connected as if they knew where they belonged. Holding her was like a bolt sliding into place with a perfect fit.
Angel’s warm brown skin held the day’s warmth as if even the sun didn’t want to relinquish its touch.
