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I was a grown-ass, mature, independent woman. But I still melted when a man I was into called mebaby.
There was no more messing around then.
I started to move, no slowness or uncertainty. I knew what I wanted, what my body needed, what felt best.
I rode him hard and fast.
Up and down, with little circles each time he was buried deep.
I didn’t try to keep myself quiet. There was no need. All the businesses on the strip were closed. No one could hear as my whimpers became loud moans as I got closer and closer to oblivion.
Suddenly, the biker was pushing me back, breaking the kiss, and his hands were rough as they grabbed the hem of my shirt, and tugged it up and off of me, leaving me in my black lace bra.
It was a good one, too.
They all were.
I was a firm believer in fancy underwear. Just knowing you had something pretty and lacy and oozing sex hidden under your clothes made you walk different, I swear.
I didn’t have a whole lot to work with on top, but the bra was sexy, and I’d never met a man who wasn’t thrilled at the sight of tits, even if they weren’t big handfuls of them.
A rumbling noise moved through the biker as he flicked the straps off of each of my shoulders, then reached behind me for the clasps, making short work of them even going in blind.
Ripping the material from me, another of those sexy little growling sounds escaped him as his gaze landed on my bare breasts, the nipples already in little peaks from the desire coursing through me.
“Don’t fucking stop,” he demanded, making me realize I’d stopped moving sometime around when he’d pulled off the bra. “I want to watch them bounce while you fuck me,” he added.
And…well.
When he put it that way.
I started to fuck him again, harder and faster than before as his hands slid up my ribs, planting at the sides of my breasts, his thumbs occasionally moving out to brush across my nipples. It was a barely-there touch but it somehow made the fire inside burn hotter as I started to crest, as I got right to that edge.
Only then, as if sensing it, or feeling it, his fingers moved out, pinching my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, that pain/pleasure mix making the orgasm slam through me, leaving me crying out and landing forward, my head in his neck as the waves crashed through me over and over.
My biker wasn’t done with me, though.
I knew as I finally came back to my senses, feeling him still rock-hard inside of me.
Sensing that I was back with him, his body shifted, rolling me under him as his weight pinned me into the couch.
“I’m not done until you’re screaming,” he growled in my ear before he started to fuck me.
Slower than I expected at first, giving my body a chance to catch up again.
Then harder, faster,deeperas my legs wrapped him up, as my hands grabbed at him.
“Fuck,” I whimpered, my hips rocking against his relentless thrusts. “Harder,” I demanded, my hands grabbing his ass.
That growling sound moved through him, and this time we were chest-to-chest, so it vibrated into me too.
Seemingly frustrated with the limited range of motion the couch provided, he grabbed me, pulling me with him as he shifted back.
I barely had a chance to wrap my legs around him as he got to his feet and started moving.
I wasn’t sure of his destination until I felt my back slam into the wall.
Then he was giving me what I wanted.
