Craving It All (The Hellfire Riders Book 5)

by Kati Wilde

  Suddenly he stiffens, grinding out through clenched teeth, “I’m going to— Ah fuck. Sara…” With another groan he releases my hair. “In your mouth— You need to pull back or I’m going to—”

  I dig my fingers into his ass and suck harder, my gaze locked on his, silently urging him to come.

  He does, looking utterly savage with his lips pulled back in a grimace, as if he’s in pain. But it’s sheer feral pleasure glittering in his blue eyes as his cock pulses against my tongue. Hot salty cum fills my mouth, and I barely have time to swallow it down, to take another lick before he’s dragging me up over his bellowing chest and raising his head to capture my lips.

  Greedily he kisses me, then lets his head drop back to the bed, looking up at me with almost sleepy satisfaction.

  But there’s nothing sleepy about the amusement in his voice when he says, “I don’t taste nearly as good as you do. I got the better end of this deal. You get bleach and I get peaches.”

  His palate needs some refining. I giggle against him, my body splayed over his chest, my thighs straddling his stomach. “If you were squirting bleach into my mouth, I’d spit. And I don’t taste anything like peaches.”

  “No? I remember your cunt being pretty damn sweet. Guess I’ll have to go down and refresh my memory while we’re waiting for my cock to recover.” Though that heavy, satisfied look is still in his eyes, so is the glittering feral hunger. “Maybe your pussy is more like cake.”

  “Cake?”

  “Because I get to have it and eat it, too.”

  So bad. I start laughing, but it transforms into a startled gasp when Bull abruptly flips us over and slides down, pushing my thighs wide.

  “Oh,” I breathe, then he’s on me, mouth open and hot, his tongue dragging over my pussy in a long, slow lick. Back arching, I cry out when he stops to suck on my clit, each pull of his mouth fraying every nerve inside me with devastating pleasure.

  Groaning, he lifts his head and presses a kiss to the inside of my trembling thigh.

  “Still ripe and juicy and sweet,” he says gruffly, his hands slowly spreading me wider. “But you’re right. Not peach. You’re so much more delicious.”

  I don’t know if I am. I don’t know anything, because he dives in again and his hands join his tongue. Though we’re not in a rush, there’s no teasing like last night. Instead his tongue goes directly to my clit, his fingers thrusting deep as he relentlessly drives me straight toward orgasm.

  Then doesn’t stop at one.

  When he finally lifts his head again and moves up over me, I’m completely wrung out, my body still shuddering with the aftershocks of the third climax he dragged from me.

  His glistening mouth hovers over mine. “All right to take me after all that?”

  “Yes,” I whisper and he rewards that answer with a long, slow kiss.

  Everything seems long and slow now, time stretching out endlessly. As if in a dream, he pulls away from me again to shuck his boots and jeans, then shoves his shorts down his heavily muscled thighs. My body in a languid sprawl, I watch him sheathe his cock, and lift my arms to welcome him back when he returns to the bed.

  My hands slide over his heavy shoulders as he dips his head to kiss me again.

  Roughly he says, “After coming so hard in your mouth, I’m going to last a long damn time. It gets too much, you tell me. I’m too heavy, you tell me. You’re just a tiny thing.”

  Not that tiny. Only compared to him. And he’s big all over, completely surrounding me, but he’s not really on me. His inked forearms braced by my shoulders, he’s bearing all of his weight as his knees urge my thighs wider. Burrowing through my folds, his thick cock lodges against my entrance, the sheathed crown slick with my arousal. His mouth covers mine as he bears down.

  Building pressure becomes a burning stretch as his cock slowly pushes inside me, and I knew he was big, could see it, but had no idea how overwhelming he would feel. Not painful, though tears sting my eyes. Just filling me so full. With a shuddering little gasp, I break the kiss to bury my face in his neck, breathing shallowly as he pushes deeper.

  Until there isn’t any deeper, and he stops. His heavy shaft feels like a hot length of iron wedged inside me.

  Holding his big body immobile above mine, the tension in Bull’s muscles feels like steel. His voice is hoarse as he asks, “You all right?”

  I nod against his neck.

  That must not have reassured him. “Is it too much?”

  I shake my head.

  “You aren’t talking, though. My dick isn’t so big it’s clogging your throat, is it?”

  It was emotion clogging my throat, but my laugh opens it up. The way he always makes me laugh has opened up so much of me the past few months.

  It’s no wonder I fell in love with him.

  Huskily I confess, “It’s just never been like this before.”

  He’s still tense against me. “For me, either, but I can’t see your face so I don’t know if we’re talking about the same thing. So what’s this like?”

  Intense. Fun. Sexy.

  How is it that sex was never sexy before? Instead it always felt as if I was reaching for something I couldn’t see—and I was never even sure what it was. I just knew that no matter how much effort I put in, I wasn’t finding it.

  But I’ve found something better. Something effortless. Because it’s so easy to be with him.

  Easing back, I meet his eyes, intensely blue and looking down at me with concern. My throat tight, I whisper, “As if I’m losing myself and finding myself, all at once. As if I’m discovering where I’m supposed to be.”

  His gaze darkens. “I know where I’m supposed to be. I’ve known since the first day I sat at your counter. And that place is right here with you—preferably real deep inside you. Like this.”

  Subtly he flexes the muscles in his back, his cock shifting only slightly deeper but I can feel every thick inch caressing my interior walls.

  A jolt of pleasure rocks through me. “Bull,” I breathe his name and bury my fingers in his hair.

  “All right?” he asks again.

  “Yes,” I gasp.

  Then even better when he slowly pulls back and thrusts deep. Fingernails scoring his shoulders, I lift my hips to meet his endless stroke. After three orgasms, my pussy is excruciatingly aroused and sensitive, and he feels so big inside me, my inner walls slick and swollen with need, hugging his thick shaft.

  And he’s not in a rush as he slowly begins to fuck me, but soon I’m frantic, crying out on a sudden, hard thrust.

  His labored breaths hot against my ear, Bull rasps, “That feel good, baby? You like it hard?”

  “Unnnh.” It’s all I can manage but it’s enough of an answer for him.

  “Fuck yeah,” he groans, wedging his hand beneath my ass and tipping my pelvis up. His cock shoves deep, striking high and hard inside me, some magic place that has me throwing my head back and writhing beneath him.

  “Like that, baby. Fuck.” Roughly he shoves a pillow under my hips and sinks deep again. “You’re so goddamn beautiful. And you feel so fucking good.”

  He feels so fucking good. So thick and heavy inside me, driving me wild with each long, hard thrust, taking his time as if I’m not dying beneath him. My fingernails dig into his skin and my every breath urges him on, because now he’s going hard but slow, not hard and fast. Sweating, my breasts swaying with each leisurely stroke of his cock, I pull him down for a hot ravenous kiss.

  Groaning into my mouth, he fucks deeper into me, then pulls back, his gaze feral as he lowers his head to my breast. Hungrily he sucks my nipple into the heated cavern of his mouth, still pistoning into me, but shallowly, the broad head of his cock breaching my entrance with every thrust. The sensation is exquisite and maddening, and I’m all but screaming with frustration as he releases my nipple and licks a bead of sweat from between my breasts.

  Then he rises over me and buries his full length inside me, and suddenly it’s all so much more th
an it was before. His open mouth meets mine and we’re joined everywhere, his skin slick, his cock deep, his tongue thrusting past my lips as if he’s branding me all over again with his kiss.

  He groans into my mouth as my inner walls tighten around him. I’m not coming yet but it’s building and building inside me, until I’m helplessly clawing at his back and writhing on his thick cock.

  With a grunt, Bull grips my left thigh and pushes my knee up toward my shoulder, and fucks into me deep and hard and fast.

  I cling to him as the orgasm bursts through me on a guttural scream. The clenching of my pussy seems to break whatever control Bull has left, and he pounds into my convulsing sheath before stiffening.

  He groans my name as his cock pulses deep inside me, then everything’s long and slow and dreamlike again, his kiss sweet and hot and perfect.

  Our chests heave together when he lifts his head, a wry smile curving his mouth. “I didn’t last as long as I figured. I thought I’d be fucking you for an hour or two. I didn’t know how good you’d feel.”

  With a grin, I shake my head. “You’ll get no complaints here. It was just long enough.”

  He kisses me for that, then says, “You know who’s going to be complaining? Pop. Because I don’t know how I’m going to be cutting any wood when I’m in here with you all the time.”

  All the time? “We’ll have to take a break now and then.”

  That feral glitter returns to his eyes, and his big hand slides up my ribcage to cup my breast. As my nipple tightens, I feel the stirring of his thick cock inside me.

  “You think so?” he softly asks.

  Maybe not.

  13

  Bull

  I’d have been happy to stay in bed until the next morning, but around six in the evening Sara sensibly reminds me that we’ll need food to fuel all that exercise. And the thought of her cooking is worth getting up for.

  After putting my clothes back on, I head out to the woodpile, feeling so damn rugged and masculine and massive that splitting logs didn’t ever seem so easy.

  Over the next two days, I make a good dent in that woodpile. I’ve never had two days that felt filled so full. When she’s not in the kitchen, Sara comes out to help us stack. In the house, every breath I take is perfumed with the scent of her bathing there, baking there, living there. She seems half in love with the garden and greenhouse, and I’m jealous of the time Pop spends with her there until I get her back in my arms again and keep her close to me all night.

  Thursday comes too fast. I spend some time at the woodpile after breakfast, then help Sara pack up a picnic lunch and put her on the back of an ATV. The intention is to ride around the property and show her the size of our spread, but as soon as we get the picnic laid out beside the creek, I just end up showing her the size of my dick.

  Best picnic I ever had.

  When we head back to the house that afternoon, I don’t even bother with the damn woodpile. I just carry her upstairs and don’t come down again.

  Then night falls, and I never hated the thought of dragging myself out of bed so much. Sara’s warm, soft body is all tangled up with mine, her lips still red and swollen from all the kisses we’ve shared, her brown skin glistening with sweat after another wild fucking, her hair spread out all over my pillow and tousled by my hands.

  Pulling away from that is the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. I sit up, reaching for my jeans.

  Her hand strokes down my back. In a soft voice, she asks, “You’re heading out?”

  So she hasn’t forgotten what’s happening Thursday night, either.

  “Yeah, I am.” We want to be in place near the church long before midnight so Osprey doesn’t see us coming and spook again.

  “Be careful,” she tells me and I hear her worry. Maybe because she knows Osprey carries around a gun. After all, he shot Maurice and his boy with it.

  Maybe because she knows that what I’ll be doing might get me in serious trouble. If I’m caught.

  The plan is that I won’t be.

  Jeans on, I bend down and cup her pretty face in my hands. “I’ll be as careful as I can. You think I’m not coming back to this?”

  Sweetly she clings to me when I kiss her, and I head out to my bike with her taste on my lips. Funny how some men complain that women make them weak. With Sara, I never felt stronger.

  But I figure those fuckers who whine about women making them weak? Those bastards were probably just weak to begin with. Because a strong woman only makes a man more of who he already is.

  And me, I never felt so fucking ready to take on the world so I can get right back to her arms.

  God help anyone who tried to stop me.

  Snagging Osprey at the church is the easy part—and that part of the plan goes as easy as easy ever does.

  Away from the church is where the real shit will go down, which is how I find myself behind the wheel of that fucking pink Cadillac, driving through the night with Osprey hollering and banging around in the trunk. Vern Woodridge played his part real well at the church. Now a prospect is taking the little weasel back to the Hellfire Riders’ clubhouse until I figure what I’m going to do to him.

  In the passenger seat, Duke tells me he’s hoping I figure it out soon, because he’s one of the unlucky bastards saddled with babysitting the little fucker.

  “I’ve never heard so much stupid shit come out of one person’s mouth.” He cranks down his window, and the rush of cool midnight air helps muffle the noises coming from the trunk. Sometime in the past few days, the trash has been cleaned out of the Caddy, hopefully courtesy of a fire hose. “And you’ve met my brother-in-law, so you know that’s saying something.”

  “I’ve met your sister, too,” I tell him, and he nods because there’s no arguing that she and her husband don’t possess a donkey’s worth of brains between them.

  His lips twist. “You know he actually asked me what my opinion was regarding some teenybopper being cast as Mary Jane in the next Spider-Man movie?”

  “We talking Woodridge or your sister’s husband?”

  “Woodridge.”

  I glance at him. Duke got his road name because of John Wayne—which is Duke’s real name, poor bastard—but he doesn’t look a bit like the movie star. Long and lean, he’s more like a young, blond Eastwood playing Dirty Harry, maybe. Except without the squint or the Smith & Wesson Model 29. The bad temper and the square jaw, though, he’s got on lockdown.

  Not that his temper fires often around me. Probably because he’s got a lot of tolerance for bullshit. What sets that temper off usually involves women, and the mistreatment thereof.

  Right now disgust is etched all over his face, so I ask, “What is your opinion?”

  “That any man my age with an opinion about a girl that young ought to have his fucking balls chopped off.”

  A man his age. Yeah, he’s got one foot in the grave, all right. Just past thirty this year—same as me. “How old they got to be?”

  “Old enough to drink, at least. Why?” He throws a narrowed glance at me. “You cradle robbing with that girl from Reggie’s? She looks twenty-five or so, but is she really sixteen or some shit?”

  “She’s twenty five or twenty six, I guess.”

  “You guess? You never got around to asking?”

  “No.” Got around to other things, instead.

  “I thought you were serious about her.”

  “I am.” Dead serious. I just never figured her age mattered as much as other shit does. “I gave up bacon.”

  His forehead creases with confusion, like I spoke Latin. “What?”

  “I gave up bacon,” I say again. “Pork bacon, anyway.”

  “The hell you did.” Now there’s horror mixed up with the confusion. “She ask you to?”

  “No.” I don’t think she ever would. Sara doesn’t want to change me any more than I’d change her. But just because I don’t believe what she believes, that doesn’t mean I can’t respect who she is in my own way. T
he same way she accepts what I’m doing tonight, and why I’m doing it, even though it’s not a route she’d normally take. She threw her old boyfriend into the path of a police investigation, but she’s keeping quiet for me. “But what if something I eat makes her feel like maybe she shouldn’t be kissing me? Even bacon’s not worth that. And if I ever suspect the alcohol’s making her uncomfortable, I’d also give up beer.”

  “Shit,” Duke says and starts laughing his damn head off. He’s wiping away tears when he adds, “Giving up bacon and maybe beer. That’s love, brother.”

  No doubt about that.

  He sobers as I swing the big pink boat onto the old quarry road. Grasshopper’s waiting at the gate marked with a big NO TRESPASSING sign leading to one of the gravel pits. He swings it open for us, then pauses to chain it closed and secure it with a padlock before following on his bike.

  The pit hasn’t been used for a while and the road’s all but washed out. Between two deep ruts are tall dried grasses, and as we slowly drive over them, it sounds like there’s a straw broom sweeping the Caddy’s front bumper. Bouncing around in the trunk, Osprey’s still yelling but it’s a silent, bumpy ride for Duke and me.

  There’s a ring of Harleys in the gravel pit, their engines off but headlights shining, creating a pool of light. Not every Rider is here—mostly just the executive board. Because God love my brothers, but some of them run their mouths when they’ve had too much to drink, or feel some need to boast. Small shit, it don’t matter so much. They get an asskicking and a fine. The worst offenses, maybe they get their patch stripped.

  But this isn’t small shit.

  The front of the Caddy closes the circle of bikes, the headlights illuminating the prez, who’s standing in the center with a sledgehammer in his hands. Thorne and Old Timer are right next to him, along with the four Dubs—all original Riders from way back when the club was founded. Everyone looks grim as hell, because although we finally caught the baby-murdering bastard, this is no celebration.