by A. Valentine
“No…No…” I said, almost begging him.
“There’s a good girl…” he said, pulling his fingers from me one at a time now. I knew that it was time for him to enter me with himself, and I knew that I was not quite ready. But I had to be, not wanting to disappoint him so late in the game.
Trenton moved me further still on the bed. He opened my legs and looked at my neatly shaven cunt. He shook his head, and then licked his lips. I couldn’t help but giggle, and he smiled. Trenton was very playful it seemed, and I liked that. This made me comfortable. It relaxed me enough, because I knew now that whatever happened, we would laugh about it and move on.
He came on top of me now, and kissed me on my mouth. He searched for my entrance with the tip of his thickness, and once he found it, held himself there, in position, ready for entry, and continued kissing me. I took a deep breath, and braced myself for what was about to come…
Chapter 10
He nudged into me with the precision of a medical doctor. I was so surprised by this that I pushed myself down on him a little more, to get him into me a little quicker. He pulled his mouth off mine, and looked at me, shaking his head.
“Patience my dear…I’ve got this…” he said, assuring me that he was in full control of this situation, and in full control of himself.
I took a deep breath, and relaxed a little more.
He worked his meat inside me, apparently one millimeter at a time. The feeling of being filled almost overwhelmed me, and as he got halfway inside me, I almost thought that he couldn’t possibly go any further. He did though, getting two thirds of himself inside me. Then, with one more final thrust, he got every last inch of himself into me.
“There we go…” he whispered, and paused for a moment. Then he pulled his cock from me almost completely, before sending every inch of his long thickness back inside me. He repeated this, over and over, deliciously slowly, warming every part of me, my cunt, my belly, up through my breasts. I wanted to wrap my legs around his large frame, but I couldn’t. I just needed to be sure that he was comfortable with the access he has gained into me.
He seemed to be comfortable too, because soon enough he was thrusting a little harder, a little faster into me, and I started to feel the pleasure being sent into me through my cunt overcome me in waves. I knew that I was home free now, I knew that he had full control of my small tightness, and I knew that the promise of a beautiful orgasm will be met, and then some.
Trenton moved himself in and out of me, in, all the way, and then almost all the way out. Then he was stuffing himself all the way back into me, and then pulling himself out of me until just his head was left in me, splitting open my hole with just his head. Over and over again he repeated these swift thrusts, ending them now with a slight circular twist, first to the left, and then to the right.
I could not hold myself back from wrapping my legs around him now. My legs were around his, and he seemed to go deeper into me. There was slight discomfort, ever so slight, but I could take it. I was sure that I would be able to handle anything, as long as it was being done to me by Trenton. He seemed to make love to me forever, and I closed my eyes, pulling his face to mine now, kissing him with as much passion as he was driving his tool into me.
Grinding against his cock now, I loved the feeling of being filled by him. I moved my entire waist in circles, opposing the circles that he ended each of his thrusts with. We seemed to have found our rhythm now, individual rhythms that worked very well together. Briefly I thought that he should perhaps have put a condom on, but then I figured that I would just make a quick trip to the pharmacy to sort myself out after. Stopping him now was completely out of the question.
He seemed to settle into his own movements now, and I started to think that perhaps he was going to cum. But after thrusting into me a little while longer, he pulled himself from me, and I wanted him back inside me, quickly. He turned me, so that my back was to him. Then he lifted my leg, and put it over his. He guided himself back inside me, and started to send himself completely into me in this new position.
I could not help but to look down now, and watch him move all the way in, and then almost all the way out of me. My pussy received him a whole lot easier now.
We made love for the longest time this way. Then he rolled me onto my stomach, his dick still firmly lodged inside me. He dug deeper and deeper into me, harder too. I knew that he was going to cum now, and I started to think of my own orgasm. It appeared somewhere in the distance, and I hoped that he would see me through to the end.
He did, and then he shot a massive load into me. He kept on moving himself inside me long after he had cum, bringing me to another orgasm, surprisingly. Then he just settled on top of me, still inside me, and caught his breath. I too tried to recover, not sure how I was feeling about this event, not sure what to make of what had just gone down between me and my best friend’s billionaire father.
“Dad…have you seen Heather…Oh…” Dammit! Rachel was back, and she was in the room with her father still inside me. Dammit, dammit, dammit!
“Uhm…” was all Trenton could say, and I hid my face in the pillows.
“Well…” Rachel said, and I pulled my head out of the pillows and looked at her. She had a strange look on her face. It was not a look of disgust or disappointment. It was a look of approval almost. Then she winked at me, and gave her father and me two thumbs up. “I’ll put some coffee on, you two finish up…” she said, as she walked out of the room, pulling the door closed behind herself.
“Don’t worry about her…she really is more open-minded than you think…” Trenton said, resurrecting his erection inside me.
“I know…” I said, although I wasn’t sure if explaining to him right now how I know just how open-minded his daughter actually was, was appropriate.
We made love two more times before I went and faced Rachel in the kitchen…
QUINCY, A Bad Boy MC Romance
By: Emily Lovell
QUINCY, A Bad Boy MC Romance
© Emily Lovell 2016 – All rights reserved
Published by Steamy Reads4U
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events are purely coincidental. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return it to the seller and purchase a copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Warning
This book contains graphic content intended for readers 18+ years old.
If you are under 18 years old, or are not comfortable with adult content, please close this book now.
Chapter One
Anne had always thought of herself as the golden child. Among four siblings, she was the one who got straight A’s through high school, and halfway through college she was still maintaining that 4.0. She volunteered at both the local hospital, and the animal sanctuary, while on two sports teams. Anne was fit, tall and skinny with a good form. Dancers in the school complained that she wasted herself on sports, rather than throwing herself into dance.
Anne didn’t mind that much; dance wasn’t her calling. In fact, she didn’t have a calling that she was incredibly familiar with. All she knew was that she wanted to be perfect at everything she did. Not to inflate her own ego, but she was.
It was a chilly November day when her entire world was turned upside down.
Anne had ducked into the nearest building
to escape the gathering snowstorm, and had found that thirty other people had decided to do the same thing. An old-timey song was playing, something that sounded from the fifties era. Anne casually bounced along as she pulled out her phone, scrolling through her messages. She let her mother and father know that she would be home late, and that they shouldn’t worry about keeping dinner out for her. She could reheat it when she got home.
All had seemed peaceful until a man smelling like a disgusting mix of fresh and stale cigarette smoke walked into the building. Those who had been standing near him parted like the Red Sea, and he smirked at the wave of people seeking to escape him.
Anne curled her nose and turned a stare to the man, looking him up and down. He fit the stereotype, and she felt as though she had seen him around town earlier that day. He was tall and lanky, with badly-dyed black hair that he swept back, effortlessly flawed yet still perfected. His leather jacket was loose on his body, though hugged him well. He wore ripped black jeans, and a studded belt.
All along his hands, tattoos of various things that Anne could easily imagine trailing all the way up his arms and across his chest. The man walked over to Anne, not particularly, but simply because that was where he wanted to be right then. Anne tried not to mind, really, but eventually, the smell became too much for her too stand.
“Don’t you know those things will kill you?” she asked, looking the man up and down.
Other people turned to Anne with wide eyes. They were amazed that she had dared to question such a man. In a town like theirs, there were suspicions and stereotypes were more widespread than anything else. No one wanted to question a man that looked as though he could break someone’s spine as easily as he could snap a toothpick. Anne didn’t feel a twinge of fear, though. She wouldn’t allow herself to be afraid of some man that thought that he could scare people just with the way he looked.
“Isn’t it polite to ask someone’s name before you judge their life decisions?” the man asked.
He was a foot taller than Anne, and he stared down at her with menacing green eyes. She refused to budge, staring back up at him and holding her ground. A cold well of terror was growing in her stomach, threatening to overflow, but she wouldn’t let it happen.
“I don’t think your name matters, when you’re stinking up this whole place,” Anne said. “I think we all would appreciate it if you stepped back outside.”
“It’s snowing,” the man replied.
“So what?” Anne replied.
“Why is it fair for me to have to wait outside where it’s freezing while the rest of you get to stand in here where it’s warm? Just because of the way I look? Because I smoke?” his voice wasn’t changing in volume. Rather, his anger was the controlled kind, which overpowered someone simply with a cool fear, rather than burning hot embers of yelling and screaming.
“I’ll wait outside with you,” Anne said. If it would pacify the man, she would say anything to calm him down. “As long as it gets you away from everyone else.”
He seemed taken aback, and waited for Anne to go outside before following her. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed as they entered the cold again. It wasn’t as though he was incredibly cold, but he didn’t want to stand and wait around for a storm to get simply worse and worse.
“My name is Anne Burbank, by the way,” she said as soon as they were outside. She relished in the breath of fresh air she was given, and glanced at the man out of the corners of her eyes. He was young, probably around her age. She wouldn’t lie and say that he wasn’t handsome, but his personality was enough to threaten to drive her away. It was enough to drive anybody away who had any sort of sense.
“Quincy,” he replied. He leaned against the stone entrance of the building, glancing at Anne. He didn’t know what to think about her. He had never had someone be so bossy and forward with him, especially not coming from a girl who seemed so incredibly mousy.
“You got a last name?” Anne asked. She wasn’t normally rude, but the brusque way that Quincy was treating her had set her on edge.
“Not one that you need to know,” Quincy replied. He pushed his fingers through his dyed hair, pushing it out of his face and leaning his head back. “Why does it matter so much to you, anyways?” he asked. He glanced at Anne out of the corners of his eyes, a little frown playing on his lips.
“In a place like this, everyone knows everyone,” she said. “And none of us know you.”
“I don’t see why that’s a reason to kick me out of a store,” Quincy said. “I thought it was just a stereotype that all small-town people were rude pricks,” he quipped with a grin.
Anne was about to snap, but when she turned and caught Quincy’s grin, she felt all of her anger dissipate at once. It was as though someone had blown out a candle, leaving her with nothing but a trace of what had once been anger. He looked so charming, she didn’t doubt that with a bit of cleaning up, he could be the most attractive person she had ever met.
“I thought all tough guys weren’t supposed to smile?” she asked.
Quincy seemed to have realized exactly what he was doing when Anne said the words, and he wiped the smile off his face posthaste. “I wasn’t smiling at you or anything,” he said. His defense was weak, and Anne rolled her eyes playfully.
“Couldn’t think of anything better?” she teased. “That was weak, and you know it.”
“So what do you do with yourself, aside from kick strangers out of buildings that you don’t even own, that is?” he asked. He looked Anne up and down, turning so he could properly look at her when they were speaking.
“I’m a college student at the local university,” she said. “I live with my parents and I work at the library.”
“Wow,” Quincy said, raising his eyebrows. “You sure are the image of a perfect goody two shoes.”
“I try,” Anne said with a flip of her hair, even though she knew that it was meant to be an insult.
“Maybe you’d like to go for a ride someday?” Quincy asked.
“A ride?” Anne repeated, eyes going wide.
Chapter Two
“What kind of ride?” Anne asked. She narrowed her eyes at Quincy. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her, as though she were simply a new challenge that he had yet to face before. “I’ll have you know that I’m not into drugs, or anything of that matter.”
“Jesus,” Quincy muttered, pushing off from the wall and standing in front of Anne, with only about an inch between them. “I hardly know you aside from your name, and you think I’m going to offer you drugs? You really must think lowly of me.”
“I can’t help it,” Anne said. “I don’t know anything about you. I’m going to have to assume something if you won’t tell me anything.”
Quincy felt a little flicker at the corner of his lips, pulling them up into a tiny smile again. Her excuse was just as horrible as his had been earlier, but he let it slide. “Honestly, I was just offering you a ride around on your bike.”
“Your bike…” Anne mumbled, her voice trailing off.
“As in a motorcycle,” Quincy replied. “I realize I’m just falling into another perfect stereotype for you to make fun of me for, but I would prefer that you stop typecasting me for a few moments.”
“What else am I supposed to do?” she asked.
“Maybe give me your number?” Quincy replied, a little hint of nervousness in his voice. It was uncalled for, but he wasn’t the type of guy to ask for a phone number right away, he didn’t know what to expect from the girl.
“My number?” Anne parroted.
Quincy rolled his eyes at the girl, but there was no malice behind the action. He took out a Sharpie from one of his deep pockets, and then extended his hand to the girl, his palm up. “Can you only repeat the last two words that I say, or what?” he teased.
That seemed to bring Anne back, and she smiled at Quincy. He wasn’t the normal type of guy that she would dare talk to. If they were both walking down the same side of the street
, no doubt she would cross to the other side before continuing on her way. Despite that, she scribbled down her number onto his arm, giving it a few moments to dry before capping the Sharpie and handing it back to him.
“This is a real number?” he asked.
Anne scoffed at him. “Of course it’s a real number. I’m not that kind of girl.”
“Now you see what it feels like to be stereotyped,” Quincy said, his smile growing. “Seriously, though, do you want a ride home? I have a spare helmet and a jacket, and I’m a safe driver. We won’t crash.”
“Maybe some other time,” Anne said. “My parents are expecting me home any minute, and I should really be there on foot, rather than hopping off the back of some Harley. I’m pretty sure they would have a cow and faint on the spot.”
“They sound like my kind of people,” Quincy said. He wasn’t sure how to end the conversation, or how to step aside to let Anne go past him. At that point, it wasn’t even that he didn’t know how, it was just that he really didn’t want to. He hadn’t been able to talk to anybody besides his parole officer in so long. It made a nice change to talk with someone who would joke around with him just as much as he joked around with them.
“Well,” Anne said, trailing off. She didn’t know where to go with her sentence. She could see the hesitance in Quincy’s expression, and she could feel the hesitance in her own body. “I should go,” she finally settled for.
Quincy nodded, but he didn’t step aside. To compensate, Anne stepped around him and headed towards her house. She wanted to glance back, but she didn’t want to look over her shoulder and catch Quincy staring at her. She would die of embarrassment. She could feel his eyes boring into her, and she walked with a little bounce in her step, trying to seem as sure of herself and as confident as she could possibly be.
