"Ana." My name, uttered in the darkness, startles me completely. I turn back to him, and Flint draws me into his arms.
I wasn't expecting this. I was hoping for compliance, maybe even for the opportunity to soothe his temper, but I wasn't expecting to be held in return. It's almost more than I could have ever hoped for. Tears spring into my eyes unbidden. I'm thankful for the privacy of the darkness and the strength of Flint's shoulder as I lay my head against it.
"It's okay. I'm sorry. It's okay."
I continue to repeat calming, nonsense words, as I feel his arms constrict around me. My back arches in response, and my chest presses against his. He practically lifts me off the floor in his need for contact. I let him.
"Ana," he breathes again. "I don't know what I'm doing." He buries his lips in my neck, and I shudder. "I thought everything was so clear. I knew what I wanted to do. More than anything, I thought I knew. I was going to kill him, and there was never going to be anyone to stop me."
"I know." I say the words, even though I did not know. I place a gentle hand on his head, even though my heart is racing. "I'm the one that stopped you, Flint. I'm sorry. I'm the reason you feel this way."
"No." The hard conviction in his voice startles me. With each outtake, I feel the hot gust of his breath on my neck. It shouldn't feel as good as it does, knowing the fractured emotional state he must be in. "No. You saved me from destroying myself. Nothing makes sense right now, but... I know that much. You saved me, Ana."
What can I say to him? I want to deny his claim. It seems ludicrous that someone as insignificant as me could have such an effect on a man who had devoted his rebirth to revenge. If this is what his happiness and self-worth hinged on, should he really be thanking me for stopping him? Hell, even I had wanted to make that sniveling Richards suffer, after seeing what his past actions had reduced Flint to.
"Let me hold you," Flint whispers.
The request also startles me. We are so close, I would qualify having his arms wrapped around me as "holding" already, and I'm uncertain what he could have in mind. Whatever it is, I know I want it more than anything. I want this changeable, enigmatic, beautiful man to escape the torture burdening him and find solace in me. Maybe, just maybe...for one night...I can be enough.
His lips gust their way up my neck, hovering just beneath my ear. I let my eyes drift closed, losing myself in the hypnotic, soothing feeling of his breath. I turn my head in toward him and part my lips in complete readiness.
Flint's mouth drags itself away from its exploration of my skin to collide with mine. Our lips move in tandem, exploratory though they are already familiar. I lose myself in the slick, gliding sensation. The kiss is effortless, as if we have already practiced dozens of times before, and not as if he had won our first in a bet. I give him freely now what he voicelessly, insistently requests: complete and enthusiastic submission. I want to be kissed, and kissed with passion and force—exactly the way I know Flint can.
But that doesn't mean some of the old combativeness doesn't still remain between us. When he thrusts his tongue between my teeth, I parry and battle it back. Can he slip past my defenses like he did the last time, or can I deny him what he is trying to take now that I know he is coming? I can't help the fire my wicked side ignites in me.
Flint gives a commanding growl of frustration and forces his palm against my jawline to hold it still. His long, strong fingers fan along my cheek, shifting threads of my dark red hair back. He thrusts his tongue between my lips again, and I can't help but moan at the hot, thick sensation of having it sweep inside of me. I twine my own tongue with his, sucking and enjoying the sweet pressure of his forcefulness. It is no longer a romantic kiss, but an invasion, as he fights for mastery of my mouth and mutes any protest.
Once he has satisfied himself that my lips belong to him, he drags his hand away from my face in a downward exploration of my curves. I feel the hot press of his hand along my rib cage, playing across each individual bone as if he is stroking an instrument. His thumb brushes the side of my breast, and I shudder in response. I want him to take it fully in his hand, to cup and massage and tease, to feel the tautness of my aroused nipple for himself and play with me until I am on the brink of begging for more; but if he reads what I desire most in my response, he teases me instead by ignoring what I want. The hand glides away from the round mound of flesh far too soon, leaving far too little contact in its wake. I whimper into his mouth. I feel the loss so acutely that had he not been kissing me, I would have been left bereft and breathless with wanting.
The hand dips and slides along the curve of my waist, pressing hard and memorizing the all-too female statement my figure makes. When his hands move around my backside to grip my ass, I gasp aloud. Even through the restrictive material of my jeans, I can feel him. His hands grasp and his fingers dig; I can sense how he wants to part me open, and it sends an electric thrill racing down my spine. Instead, I allow the force of his grip to pull me closer, until the front of my body is molded completely against his.
The hand withdraws from my ass, and I again feel its loss. Every new sensation he forces on me, he seems too ready to take away again. I want to pull back from his kiss, to pout or glare at the injustice of it, when I realize why he needed his hand free. Flint grips my shirt and wrenches it up over my head, though any progress is lost on that front when he refuses to disengage from our kiss. I pull back only far enough to peck and press our mouths fervently, relinquishing the depth of the kiss we shared. He waits for an opening, then yanks the fabric up over my head and unhooks it from beneath my arm in one easy maneuver. He dispenses with it carelessly, and I'm not sure where it lands—because I, too, could care less.
I stand before him clad in jeans and a bra. The fine blond hairs on my arms and on the back of my neck stand up from the sudden cold, but I know it's only a matter of seconds before Flint resumes helping me heat things up. Where once my brassiere afforded my weighty breasts some much-needed support, it now feels like an irritating barrier between me and full-blown contact with Flint's skin. The flesh that pulls taught over his expansive chest muscles is as tanned as the rest of him. He must ride shirtless, I think, when the sun is out from behind the clouds and blazing as hot as he is. Had he stopped this practice as soon as I got onboard?
I push my breasts against him in needy demonstration, deepening my cleavage and relishing the friction. I feel him walk his fingers up the long, concave line of my back and settle them on the clasp of my bra. A quick pinch and release, and it falls away, as easily as if it had been picked by a master locksmith. I shrug out of it and let it drop off my shoulders, exposing my breasts fully for the first time.
They are round and proud and milky-white in the spill of silver moonlight through the window. I draw back to let him get a first glimpse of me laid bare, and feel his hands come up to grab my ribcage again and hold me still. Even though I've helped us come to this, I still blush. I can feel his eyes levelled upon me almost more acutely than I can feel the hands physically touching me. I can feel my rose-tipped nipples hardening before his appreciative eyes—a combination of arousal and cold.
"Take me to bed," I whisper. After hearing my own request, I pull my bottom lip between my teeth. I'm suddenly uncertain of how far he wants to take this. Now that I've stepped away, does he see our situation more clearly? Would it be within the realm of possibility that he would reject me now? I remember all too well the war he fought with himself back at the bar. While I had been confused with his hot-and-cold behavior at the time, it's clear to me now that he had been torn between leaving me and keeping me with him.
It's the part of him that wants to keep me here that I appeal to now. Whatever he thinks his better sense is telling him, it's wrong. I should know—I have the same voice shouting at me desperately from the back of my mind, but it recedes into the background the longer I stand like this before him.
He's been staring at me for a long time now, and his silence allows my thoughts to fly in a m
illion different directions at once. I duck my head slightly, and a long, thick curl of hair spills past my shoulder. When he reaches for me again, his hand goes automatically to my hair to draw it aside from where it curtains me from him.
Take me to bed. My plea hangs heavy in the air between us.
"I thought you'd never ask," he murmurs. If he really has been waiting for permission all this time, I have granted it to him now.
The hand that drew my hair back suddenly grasps beneath my rear. I feel his other hand clamp down on the other side, and I half-jump into his arms at his direction; he yanks me up and against him, and my long legs twine around his waist to hold me in place.
"This was exactly what I thought about doing the first time I saw you," he groans as our lips meet again. "God, Ana, your legs are incredible."
My thighs slide along his waist as I hook my ankles behind him. I hadn't realized there were parts of me that Flint lusted after, and I want to drive him as wild as I can with what advantages I have. I gasp as the hands that hold me force my pelvis upward, and the hot spot between Flint's favorite pair of legs drags along the front of his pants. I can feel his erection straining eagerly against the harsh material. I'm not sure I have ever felt an erection powerful enough to almost plow through a pair of jeans.
Once he is satisfied in my secured position against him, he frees one hand to grip the back of my neck. He threads my tresses through his fingers, pillowing the back of my skull as he makes love to my mouth. I open wide, allowing my tongue to run along his active lips and taste the slick texture of them, as he walks us both out of the main room.
There are no lights on in the bedroom, but it is lit from the outside by a window similar to the one from the room we just left. Silver moonlight, flecked with small gold lights from the city outside, shines through the vast glass pane and bathes the perfectly-made bed. The idyllic scene is disturbed beyond recovery the instant Flint throws me down atop the crisp comforter. I bounce once, my breasts sliding up and down, but I settle the moment his additional weight joins mine.
Flint's knees pin the mattress down on either side of me. His silhouette looms above me, almost completely consumed by shadow, darker than even the leather-clad man I have come to know by the light of day. I reach for him, and he leans down to me. This time, when our mouths meet, I am the one doing the claiming.
Feeling empowered by this realization, I let my hands come up off the bed and hook themselves on the front of Flint's jeans. The zipper comes down easily, a metallic tear filling the air, as tiny tooth after tiny tooth gives way. His pants are a barrier I obviously need to divest him of, but I didn't realize it might be the only barrier, because as I push his waistband down I realize there is nothing else between us. Flint has been going commando this whole time. Another hot flush suffuses my cheeks when I realize how close I've always been to a moment similar to this one without realizing. When we slept together the first time…and the countless times we rode together on his bike…
His erection is considerable, and I bite my lip to keep from gasping out loud as it springs into my waiting hands. Even now, when our intention to become intimate is obvious, I can't bring myself to give him the satisfaction of knowing my approval. All of that is subject to change, however, with each second that passes. The situation between us is escalating fast, and I love every second and every new revelation our intimacy brings me.
His member is thick and rigid, and almost appears to dwarf my hands. The flesh is darker than my pale palms, and the long, smooth column is roped by veins. I am pleased to see that the trail of black curls that leads downward from his navel continues, ending in a wiry nest that frames his considerable manhood. If his length wasn't enough to instill a feeling of awe in me, the bushel of curls also feels like a testament to his unchecked virility.
I run my hand along his long cock, making a circle with my fingers as I pump slowly, leisurely. He's not even inside of me yet, and I find myself already satisfied with the feel of him. I can't help but wonder if he has touched himself these past few days, seizing every moment when I am not around and taking advantage of every shower and dividing door. I wonder if he has thought of me while touching himself. I tighten my grip experimentally, and Flint gives a long, drawn-out shudder; I feel his cock lurch against my hand, and I am suddenly certain he has imagined us together.
Even though I am beneath him, dominated for all intents and purposes, I feel like my mastery of him is almost complete. I continue to jerk him off slowly, raising my eyes to meet his as my hand continues its ministrations. From where he holds himself aloft above me, I see Flint's own dark eyes lower to meet mine, the lids resting at half-mast. His arousal is also apparent in his face, I am pleased to find. I allow a mischievous smile to touch the corners of my mouth as I lower myself down, sliding on my back beneath him until I am at the level of his crotch. I flare my hands along his length until they come to rest almost casually at its base; then I flick my tongue out, sampling the tip of his cock.
Flint's taste is exactly to my liking: salty, and already slightly slick with clear pre-cum. I duck my head for another taste, dragging my pink tongue along the dome, flicking teasingly. I am about to part my lips more fully and envelope him within the velvet wetness of my mouth, a sensation I'm sure he won't say no to, when I feel his fingers come up suddenly to grip my hair by its dark roots and pull me away from my intended conquest. I feel my eager mouth turn down in a frown of disapproval.
Why did he stop me? Doesn't he see I want this as badly as he does?
"What's wrong?" I purr. I dart my tongue out to run along my lips, tasting his vestiges. Flint groans at my seductive demonstration. "Too much for you already?"
"I knew you had a mouth on you," he murmurs as he aligns his lips once more with my own. Each word he utters puffs a hot gust of breath against the slight, hypersensitive flesh of my lips. "Is there anything you don't say or do with it?"
"You should quit pulling my hair and let us both discover that," I murmur back. My frown can't last with him this close, which turns out to be a good thing. An upward curve of my lips allows for a better kiss, and Flint uses his hold on my hair to yank my chin up to meet him. My long neck curves and arches back, and now I let the wild gasp I've been holding back escape me as he crushes his lips to mine.
"Don't tell me what not to do with you," he growls. I feel another insistent tug, and my scalp tingles pleasurably. "You wouldn't be laid out beneath me if you didn't want me calling the shots."
There is no real pain in the force he exerts, but I definitely feel the spark, the additional electricity that shoots down my spine every time he handles me roughly. It's a dark sensation I didn't know I wanted, and his amused experimentation only wets my appetite for more.
I can't pause to think about where we are, or who we are. I'm no good for him, and he…he's definitely no good for a woman like me. I'm used to being handled gently, reverently by lovers. Flint is already pushing my boundaries, seeing how much he can get away with…and I'm more afraid of what my aching body will decide for me on the matter. If I'm too distracted to give permission, will Flint simply take what he desires?
And what does it mean for me that I desperately hope that he does?
Flint pulls back from our kiss, and I run my tongue along my tingling lips once more. "So what will you have me do, big shot?" I challenge him, throwing his own alpha language back in his face. "Clearly my mouth is too much for you to handle."
The hand in my hair fists itself once more, and he wrenches my head up. This time when his mouth crashes against mine, I feel the scrape of teeth, and the forceful thrust of his tongue. A moan of longing escapes me as I feel the strength, the heat, and the mercilessness behind Flint's kiss, lighting the fire of desire anew within me until it races along my every limb like an inferno.
This isn't innocent kissing any longer. This is fucking, plain and simple. I have never felt myself so intensely violated, and so intensely happy with the result. I moan and squirm and ma
ke every attempt to get away just short of actually slipping out from underneath him, and Flint catches onto my tactic. I can tell the illusion of my resistance turns him on, and that he is just as game to keep up our sometimes-antagonistic relationship as I am in the bedroom.
I feel the fingers of his free hand catch on my jeans and yank them down in one swift move. I arch my ass off the bed to allow Flint to slip them down my thighs and my shapely calves; he manages to take my panties as well, and now there is nothing standing between us except for his indomitable demands. If he wants to fuck, he'll fuck—I have no doubt about that. If he wants to keep me wet and begging, I'm certain he'll leave me unsatisfied until we're both about to burst. It seems cruel, even masochistic. It makes me as furious as I am feverish for his touch.
He thrusts his erection against the shallow indent between my legs. I feel its slick glide along the seam of my lips, teasing entry to my passage before it shoots free and drives itself along my clit. I cry out as the intense sensation rocks through me. My hands clutch the sheets and my fists shake as Flint releases his grip on my hair and lowers my head back down to the pillow.
"You like that?" he purrs. It isn't the cat-like purr of a gentle lover, but more like the purr of a powerful engine before take-off. I don't want to give in. I don't want to reveal any more about what he does to me, but beneath his muscular frame my body betrays me. When I settle for not responding, he swipes his tongue along the strong, sturdy fingers of one of his hands, and lowers it between my legs. I feel his touch, calloused and unyielding. It feels almost as if he is priming me for a ride atop his bike… though we both know this ride is going to be very different.
He massages my wet, secret flesh, pushing and drawing back in an exploratory rhythm. Every caress heightens my sensation, and he is only pushing harder, with each press taking a firmer hand with me. His fingers fork, and he glides them along either side of my slit. I moan and arch as his touch edges toward my clit. I cry out when he misses it completely—and I cry even harder when his fingers drag back down, pinching and rolling the nub of flesh.
BILLIONAIRE BIKERS: 3 MC Romance Books Page 8
