BILLIONAIRE BIKERS: 3 MC Romance Books

by Kristina Blake

  "You look so good like this beneath me," he groans. "So good. Lane, let me touch you." A hand reaches out and grips the tousled bun of my blond locks, dragging me back with surprising gentleness despite the firmness of his grip. I straighten my body slowly by degrees, until I'm nearly standing straight and pressed back against him once more. The hand directing me falls to the column of my neck, cupping me, collaring me. When I turn my head to the side out of instinct, Wolf's lips are there to meet me, his tongue gliding out to knead me open and service the unquenched inside of my mouth once more.

  As he kisses me slowly, luxuriously, one of his hands glides down my slick stomach and passes beneath the band of my panties. I cry into his mouth and buck back against him as his pointer and middle finger lead the charge. The pointer finds the sensitive flesh of my outer folds, rubbing along one interior lip, as his middle finger takes the prize and full possession of my clit.

  His fingers roll the bead of my womanhood, applying the hard pressure I need. My breaths come shorter, faster, as I feel him working me steadily into a frenzy. How can I maintain control when every possessive, sinful stroke of his finger feels so good? Unbelievably good. I'm not certain if the heat or if some of the fumes have gotten to me, because I feel drugged. Intoxicated. Addicted to the feeling of his…of his…

  "Wolf." I moan his name, and he groans in response. His finger picks up the pace, until I'm emitting small, helpless cries in bursts as short as the pleasurable sparks I feel building in my belly. His digits work me faster, harder, occasionally pausing in their work to stroke the purse of my womanhood up and down until I'm mewling like a kitten for more. The thickness of his fingers is evocative of other tools I know he must have at his disposal.

  This should be as far as it goes. Things have gone too far between us already, but nothing fundamental about the dynamic has changed. It's the give and take, the thrill of the chase and the promise of conquest, the fire-and-ice reckless breakneck run down a road that might end in a cliff and a long fall…

  And this time, I'm ready to plunge over the edge.

  "Lane, you're getting so wet," he murmurs. "You got a thing for bikers?"

  He's right. He might be right on both fronts, but I try to focus more on the ready way my body reacts to his deep caresses, wetting itself in preparation of being entered. It happens sooner than expected—Wolf's fingers work me open to slot themselves inside me, one, then two. The sensation of being filled so fully by him sends a deep shudder coursing through me. To think I would let a thrill-seeking stranger inside me in less than forty-eight hours after meeting him…but we've known each other longer, haven't we? We've been in this exhilaratingly fucked-up relationship for years. Did a part of me always suspect, maybe even hope, that it would end this way?

  Wolf's fingers scissor my secret passage, and I cry out and arch my back. His other hand squeezes my breast, rolling and pressing, rolling and pressing, as my ribcage contracts with each excited breath.

  "Oh, fuck. I knew you would be tight," he moans. His fingers push for more that I'm not sure I'm capable of giving him; every muscle in my body is rigid with tension. He groans again in approval.

  "Because you think I'm so uptight personality-wise?" I gasp.

  "No. Because I knew you'd have a pussy as beautiful as you are." He whispers the words in my ear. The way he speaks to me only seems to heighten the intimacy between us, even more than having his fingers inside me exploring. It's the way Wolf has of making our history seem like something shared by lovers who know everything there is to know about the other, even if that clearly can't be the case. If it was, would his exploration of me now feel so wild, so good?

  "Wolf," I choke in the darkness. I'm not sure what it was I intended to say, but I feel him shift behind me. The hand gripping my breast slides to my back and pushes me forward once more. I drop my head, and my flaxen hair comes tumbling down around my face and shoulders, freed from its restraint.

  He strips my underwear down my thighs, not even bothering to undress me all the way; the sweat-soaked fabric rolls and digs into the flesh of my legs like an improvised garter, restricting how far apart I can spread them. He pulls his other hand back and fishes between us.

  The blunt end of his erection presses between my legs. I gasp and rock back, needing it to replace the emptiness his fingers left inside me. He's teased me to the point of breaking, and he knows it; he avoids penetrating me outright, opting instead to pleasure himself in the wet, shallow passage of my outer folds. His rigid member hits my sweet spot and catches itself there, before springing free with a shared groan from both of us. The intense need to come that has been building inside me ever since Wolf initiated our hot session feels ready to give way to anger and fury if he keeps this up.

  I decide two can play at this desperately unfair game. I wag my ass back and forth, as needy and animalistic as a bitch in heat, rolling my hips in a clear display of my longing. I will get release any way I can, and if that means fucking myself silly with only the press of his erection to get me there…

  "Oh. Fuck." My tactic works wonders. Wolf grabs my hips with both hands to settle me and ensure I'm bent over as far as I can go. His thumbs part my ass, and his cock drives into me.

  "Ah!" I cry out, far louder than I intended. My head whips up and I gasp, staring wide-eyed into the dark rafters of the still-moving room. He frees one hand to bring it up and clutch my hair, grabbing a fistful of my tangled tresses like he's grabbing hold of a leash. My scalp prickles from the delicious pressure, and his unexpected roughness gets me going.

  He doesn't go slowly; instead, he buries himself to the hilt almost at once, a feat I never would have thought possible considering the unexpected inches I'm dealing with here. I can count the number of men I've been with on one hand, and Wolf clearly qualifies as the biggest. Now, I can see that the attentiveness of his fingers has paid off in a big way—no pun intended. The tight slit between my legs that he worshipped aloud upon first feel is more than capable returning his favors now.

  "Oh, shit. Oh, God. Fuck." Wolf's rough verbal expressions, and the even rougher string of expletives that follow, make the flush spread from my cheeks all the way down my neck and shoulders. I've never been with a man his size, but I've also never been taken by a lover this vocal. Even with my frame doubled-over and prone beneath him, I can't help but feel self-conscious of how good my body is making this man feel. How often had he imagined this? How often had I? And who had I fantasized about more: the biker called Houdini, or the irresistible man with the bestial name who had been on my mind almost nonstop since our first encounter?

  He didn't take his time entering me, and he doesn't waste any time trying to navigate around what he thinks I will prefer when it comes to intercourse. He's completely wrapped up in our union, and the reality of coming together after so much adversity between personality types. We're like a chemical reaction, the result unknown but inevitable.

  The sweet perfume of sweat and sex hangs heavily in the air around us. I gasp aloud with each forceful slap of flesh, breaking into a fresh sheen of perspiration every time Wolf takes me with a thrust. We don't make love; we fuck, hard and fast, then harder and faster. I grab hold of the crate, my grasp slipping every other second as I scramble beneath him to seek purchase and keep myself from being forced onto my hands and knees on the floor. I'm certain he wouldn't stop if this happened; what's more, I wouldn't let him. I need him to fill me and fulfill me. I need to be taken ravenously by a man with an appetite for me and me alone.

  I move my body back against him, leading with my hips and rolling until my shoulders thrust up, natural and sinuous in my movements as a dancer. If there's one thing I know I'm good at, outside of my job, it's having sex. The slap of flesh and our combined groans crescendoing reminds me of this fact.

  God, how long has my most recent dry spell been? A few months? A year? I stopped counting and I stopped keeping track. I'm starting to doubt if I ever had a fulfilling encounter with the opposite sex that
didn't end prematurely or with attempts to cuddle. I'm not the type to seek affection; but this thing with Wolf...this is something else. He has feelings for me, that much is clear to even someone with my level of social illiteracy. What those feelings might be, and what mine might be for him in turn, are still out of reach and unclear to me.

  "Oh, God!" I cry. "Wolf!" My voice breaks on his name as he pulls me back against him, able to keep driving himself deeper and deeper the more drenched I become. Being taken from behind like this, with brutal quickness and illicit purpose, is exactly what my body has always craved.

  I can feel the heat in my belly building again, and it's Wolf who stokes the fire. I have never come this quickly for a man, but I've never been taken with so little disregard for what I require. Our choreography is unmatched; Wolf just knows,—without any need for verbal communication—how to work my body and mind to its absolute limit. Maybe I had mistaken my impatience with him all along—maybe it had nothing to do with our personality clashes. Maybe it had to do with what I subconsciously knew we could do for one another in the dark.

  "I'm going to come," he growls. His grip on my waist tightens, his fingers pressing dimples into my supple, aching flesh. My breasts swing and bounce beneath me; I duck my head to look at the space he fills between my legs, and groan at the visual of his girth sliding in and out of me with increasing ease. The deeper he drives himself, the more he succeeds in continuously hitting something inside of me, a spot I wasn't even aware I had until he bent me over and assumed mastery of our frenzied lovemaking.

  "You want me to come inside you?" he gasps.

  "Yes," I beg him wildly. Any trace of the cold, resistant Elizabeth Lane is gone, replaced by a woman who knows exactly who she needs. I need Wolf, the phantom, black-clad figure who has haunted both my waking and uneasily dreaming lives, to know now that he has won this battle. My senses—my self-imposed walls—are no match for the heat and chemistry of our combined need. "Please. Oh…!"

  The fire in my belly erupts all at once, and Wolf yanks my head back in the same instant. I open my mouth to shout my throat raw as wave after wave of overpowering orgasm rocks through me, but he forces his lips upon me at the last instant, smothering my cry by forcing an unexpected second point of penetration.

  I never realized how badly I needed to be kissed in the heat of the moment; I'm not sure many women do. In that instant I was overwhelmed by him in every capacity, my senses flooded and overloaded with information. There was Wolf buried between my legs; Wolf in possession of my mouth; Wolf aligned against me and filling me. The walls of my pussy contract rapidly around him, and I press the swell of my rear back against him until the padded flesh is pushed up between us.

  "Fuck!" he gasps into my mouth. I wonder what pushes him over—feeling my own orgasm, the unconscious reflexive response of my naked, overstimulated body, or feeling how tightly we have compressed ourselves together. He jerks me up straight against him, and we watch through half-lidded eyes and parted, panting mouths as he strains as deep as he will go; then his expression clenches, and a hot rush shoots off inside of me like a burst dam.

  "Ah!" I cry out again, clutching behind me to grab onto his bicep. He holds me close, pressing my back in against his chest as his hips rock spasmodically, helplessly, his own orgasm, compelling him to abide by the laws of nature and empty himself inside me. I can feel his seed as it drips down the inside of my thigh.

  With a deep, almost reluctant groan, Wolf extracts himself. His dick bobs between my thighs as we part, and I'm overwhelmed once more by the empty feeling that overcomes me when I'm not being overcome by him.

  I really hope this isn't the start of an addiction. I can handle a momentary lapse in judgement…sure I can. It happens to everyone at one point or another. But fucking a wanted criminal and loving it, and fucking a wanted criminal over and over again because I'm falling in love with him are two disparate scenarios. Both are completely unacceptable, but one is certainly worse than the other is.

  I can't let myself get involved. Now that the tension between us is momentarily expended, and my head hopefully clear of thoughts of Wolf, I need to discover a way out of this. Going our separate ways as soon as possible is imperative if I'm to escape this growing need for him.

  As soon as Wolf has taken a polite step back, I reach down to pull my panties up and mop between my legs. My underwear is beyond saving, I realize; I eventually settle for stripping it off completely and tossing it into the corner. I hear Wolf's rumble of approval at my action as I turn to gather up my clothes from along the wall.

  "So, did I knock any ideas loose?" he asks with what I can only assume is meant to be an affected, detached curiosity.

  "Go to hell." I sound exhausted. I wish I didn't sound that way. I don't have to look at him to know that infuriating smile is probably growing by inches with every betrayal of just how hard he rode me. "As far as I'm concerned, we didn't knock anything."

  "But we're a 'we' now?" he asks casually. I could slap my forehead, but I don't know who I want to punish at this point: myself, or the man I let take me. I keep my hands busy, hunting down what remains of my clothes and making certain I can find my badge. If I can just find my badge, I'm certain I'll be better able to remember who I am and why I'm here.

  We realize in the same instant, then, that it's more than just the terms of our engagement that have changed. My eyes shoot to Wolf the same instant his seek mine out in the darkness; he's wearing an expression that I'm certain must mirror my own, one of wide-eyed alarm that borders on both hope and horror.

  The truck has stopped. While we were distracted, giving in to our explosive attraction and desperation in the dark, we arrived at our destination…or least at a stop along the way.

  I hear the crunch of footsteps outside on gravel. The sound might as well be a spray of bullets for the reaction it gets. Wolf, who has been less hurried about gathering up his clothes, lunges for them now as the back door rattles ominously.

  I have the opposite reaction. He must know what I intend before I even start moving, because I hear him whisper-shout after me: "Laney—"

  The back door of the truck slides up, bathing me in a square of brilliant bright light.

  CHAPTER 6

  WOLF

  I've always known Elizabeth Lane was a firecracker, but wow.

  And that's not even counting the incredible sex we just had—which I fully intend to count, by the way. No, my current reaction is in response to her striding straight for the door to our makeshift prison cell as it rolls upward and opens. I watch helplessly as her incredible, all-too-womanly figure is illuminated from the front—at least she's fully dressed again, which is more than I can say for myself.

  But there's more important shit hitting the fan now than the fact that I just hit that from behind.

  "Lane!" I don't even pretend to try and hide myself this time. I rise up from behind the crate, trousers half-open and torso bare; I clutch the bundle of my sweat-stained clothes to my chest like some old-fashioned woman from a movie discovered in the midst of a torrid affair. Her footfalls hit the floor of the truck harder; her legs and arms pump; she sprints right into the square of light. I hear a man's voice cry out in Spanish, but it's far too late for that poor guy to do anything to avoid the avenging angel racing toward him.

  Lane doesn't emit a battle cry; she doesn't emit a sound. She hurls her body out of the truck, feet first, and lets gravity do the rest. She comes down on the driver like a battle-axe, and I scramble after her as we both make our escape from the truck.

  I thought I would be relieved to finally have that door open. I was wrong. Hot midday air hits me like a blast furnace, nearly knocking me back into the bed of the truck. I hop down from the back, strong calves catching me on the ground; the soles of my own bare feet are immediately burned by the scorching blacktop beneath.

  "Oh shit," I mutter. These circumstances stand in huge contrast to the world we left behind us up north. Just how far south did our unwitt
ing captors take us?

  Lane stands over the man she dropped, hands on her hips as she considers the pathetic heap of unconscious muscle and bone he makes. I crane a little closer to get a better view. I think I recognize him from the warehouse, but can't say for certain. I take the initiative to toe him onto his stomach; he rolls heavily, and I can see all too clearly the Devil’s Bastards' shitty patch leering out at me from between the man's thick shoulder blades.

  "Nice catch," I mention to Lane. She snorts—whether or not in amusement, I can't exactly say. She combs a hand through her blond tresses, pulling her hair out of her eyes and letting it tumble like a wave down one shoulder. I've stopped looking at the man at our feet now, obviously, to take in the blinding sight of the woman I've just had fantastic sex with. Jesus, it was well worth it, all these years of torture never knowing if I'd have her beneath me, moving with me, collaborating on the one thing a man like me and a woman like her might actually agree on. God, we were good together. And I know she agrees: she told me herself, the way she moaned my name and begged frantically for her release. Now that we're literally released, I find I'm starting to miss the boxed-in little world of the back of the truck. I wonder if I can get her in there again, just for old time's sake…

  "Put some clothes on," she orders irritably. My vision of the woman I want is shattered by the less-forgiving reality. Her hair hangs the way it does because of saturation; her face looks ghastly pale beneath the bright sun, and there are dark circles under her eyes. Her lips are dry and look as if they ache for moisture, and even the commands that should normally come so easily to her sound raw in her throat. She needs water, badly. We both do.

  I zip up and slip my boots on, not bothering to tie the laces, but that's as far as I'm willing to go. The sun beats down on my naked back, settling on my shoulders like a molten-hot mantle, but the shirt stays off for now. I'm sure I'll be glad to have it within the hour, if only to keep my hide from roasting, but right now it's fucking hot.