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The next thing I knew, his hands were there. Squeezing. His thumbs and forefingers were next. Teasing.
My hips did a little involuntary wiggle against him, his hard cock pressing into me, promising fulfillment. But, for a change, I wasn’t in a rush to get there. I was enjoying the hell out of the journey.
But that didn’t mean my hips didn’t continue to writhe as the biker’s hands moved over my breasts, then leaned down to suck one of my nipples into his mouth, creating a white-hot spark of need that spread from the contact and outward until it completely overtook me.
Suddenly, my own hands were greedy, pulling at his shirt until he moved back, and allowed me to remove it and the cut that was over it.
I expected him to be damn near perfect.
I’d felt enough of him to know he was built. And he was. Gloriously so. All those thick muscles of his arms and chest, and the little caverns between the ones in his abdomen.
Damn near but not actually perfect
Because there was a nasty scar on his stomach, puckered and pink.
A gunshot wound.
My fingers caressed down his stomach, watching the muscles twitch, then circling my fingertip over the scar tissue.
My hands moved back up, pushing into his shoulders until he went flat. Then I was teasing him, running my lips down his chest, stomach, over the scar.
My fingers made quick work of his button and zip, then reached inside to draw out his straining cock.
There was hardly a pause before I had him in my mouth, feeling a little thrill of desire as his breath hissed out of him as his hips bucked up into my mouth, and his hand slammed down on the back of my neck.
Not much was quite as hot as a powerful man losing control because what you were doing to him.
I got high off of his pleasure as I worked him.
It wasn’t long, though, before he was gathering my hair in his hands, and using it to pull me back over him.
My lips sealed to his, kissing him hard and long as his hands stayed lost in my hair.
But then he was moving, rolling me back under him again, and moving away to sit on his knees near my feet.
Reaching out, he grabbed my skirt and panties, dragging them down my legs, leaving me completely bare below him.
Finished, his gaze moved over me, taking his time, relishing each exposed inch. I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt quite so exposed and vulnerable with a man before.
Then he was leaning down again, running his lips up the inside of my ankle, my calf, knee, thigh, belly, chest, neck, then finally to my lips as he shifted his weight to remove his pants and boxer briefs before his body pressed back down against me again.
His hard lines met my softer ones, his cock sliding against my pussy, teasing, as he reached out, grabbing a condom from the nightstand, then moving off of me just long enough to slip it on.
This time, when his weight pressed into me, his cock slid deliciously inside of me, settling deep as we both let out a gasp of pleasure.
I don’t know how long we just looked at each other, just lost in the moment, in each other.
But my body was aching for more as I wrapped him up in arms and legs, pulling him more tightly against me.
“Move…” I begged, wiggling against him.
“Cato,” he murmured.
Damnit.
I didn’t want a name.
That made this personal.
