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"Such a greedy little cockwhore."
My muscles clench around his fingers.
He curls them up, stroking my G-Spot.
I bite my tongue, trying to keep from shouting his name.
"Don't be shy now, Dilemma. You were screaming the fucking roof down last night."
"We're o-outside."
"You think I care? I had my fingers in you in the middle of a crowded room. I had my tongue in your cunt in an elevator. If I want you to come in the middle of the town square, you'll do it screaming my name like the greedy little cockwhore you are." He strokes my G-Spot again. "Now, come."
I throw my head back, crying his name as I come all over his fingers. He growls, slipping them from my body. Before I can even miss them, he's filling me in one hard thrust.
I cry out louder this time, my voice echoing back from the trees.
"That's it," he croons. "Sing for me, beautiful." He lifts me up and down his cock, his legs planted to keep the bike steady beneath him. I don't know how he manages it with my hands tied behind my back, but somehow, he keeps us from crashing to the ground as he fucks me.
Within seconds, I'm on the edge again, trying desperately not to go over until he says I can. He grunts, lifting and dropping me as if he's in a race. He doesn't say anything. I don't think he can. His eyes are at half-mast, his lip caught between his teeth.
He looks like pure sex. So damn beautiful.
"I love you, Bronx."
"Now," he grunts, dropping me again. "Come now."
I let go with a relieved cry, coming in a heated rush. It sparks in my womb, flowing through me like a hot wind. He growls my name, holding me down on him as he comes too. I fill him pulsing and twitching inside of me, his warm seed filling me, and I send up a little prayer that it takes root.
I want his babies. More than I've ever wanted anything.
Chapter Ten
Bronx
"How was work today?"
"So freaking awkward!" Gemma groans, burying her face in her hands as soon as I ask the question. We're at the Broadway Steakhouse for our first official date. "I think I need a new job."
"Was Micah rude to you?"
"No."
"Did he say something to you about the club?"
"Not really. He just said that he won't interfere, and he'd prefer if we didn't discuss the club, which is fine by me. I don't want to talk to him about it." She looks at me with wide eyes. "That's so not water cooler conversation. How was your night last night? How many women got you off last night? How many orgasms did you have? Good job. Here's a high five. No, thank you."
"Yeah, no. You won't be having any of those conversations with anyone with a dick, Gemma."
"I don't want to!" she whisper-hisses. "That's why I need a new job."
"Do you like your job?" I ask, trying not to laugh. She's taken everything else in stride, not even batting a lash. But, apparently, this is her hard limit. Frankly, I'm a little relieved to know she has one.
"I love my job."
"Then you're not getting a new one. Micah is discreet. If he says he doesn't want to talk about the club, you won't hear a word about it from him," I say, reaching for her hand. "If you see him there, he'll pretend it never happened."
"Yes, but what if I accidentally see something I can't unsee? One that genie is out of the bottle, he doesn't go back in, Bronx. I can't walk around the office, pretending I didn't see him dressed as a furry."
