by Vivian Gray
Or maybe because she had a very real, bona fide pussy crush on this man and only one thing would satisfy it: seeing what was inside those boxer briefs and remembering it this time.
“Now I’ve got a piece of you to carry around with me forever.” He looked entirely too pleased by this. “Wifey.”
She tried to roll her eyes, but a giggle escaped instead. Was she fucking crazy? She could not be amused by a hardened biker calling her “wifey” and meaning it. He’d probably just killed a man. She was afraid to ask and find out.
But even more than that, she was afraid that if she found out, it still wouldn’t change the fact that she wanted to fuck this man’s brains out.
“You need anything else? A pillow fluff? Aspirin? A shot of whiskey?”
“What about a hand job?” He sent a devilish grin her way.
A laugh escaped her. “That’s not on the menu, buddy. Sorry.”
“I wouldn’t be a man if I didn’t try.” He crossed his hands behind his head, grinning up at the ceiling. She could get used to seeing a sight like this in her bed. Maybe she’d been single so long that she’d forgotten what it was like to have a real male presence at her side. It was impossible to ignore how he lit her up, like every nerve ending in her body was alert and waiting for something, even just for him to glance her way.
His phone buzzed from the bedside table, and he groaned, reaching for it. He sat in tense silence as he assessed whatever came through, while she took the opportunity to look him up and down, just in his boxer briefs, since he’d claimed – and she’d agreed – that healing would work better without clothes on. Now, it was just one more excuse to keep ogling him. One less defense against his sexy body and damnable charm.
While he listened and occasionally grunted in response to whoever had called him, Jessa decided it was time for bed. She’d had enough biker repair for one day. She headed for the dresser, trying to decide what might strike the perfect balance of practical sleepwear and unabashed sluttiness for her newfound bedmate. After all, it’s not like she could kick him out of her bedroom with two stab wounds and an indeterminate amount of injuries.
With her back turned to Silas, she pushed her leggings down and over her hips. In just her panties, she rifled through the top drawer of her dresser. Lacy pink thong? Too obvious. See-through white bra? She wished. Skintight boy shorts? An option. She pushed those to the side.
She tugged off her T-shirt, forgetting when the cool air touched her skin that she’d opted to go braless today. Her nipples immediately pebbled, as though anticipating Silas’ gaze. Her entire body buzzed like it was begging. Go to him. Make him put his hands all over you.
Something rough and warm grazed her hip. She jolted, spinning around. Silas stood behind her with fire in his eyes.
“What are you—”
“Jessa.” Her name on his lips came out like a soft plea. The rest of her response withered in her throat, and the two of them stood there, time coming to a standstill in their gaze.
Silas leaned forward, his lips meeting hers without hesitation. Without question.
And that was all she needed. The ferocity of his own conviction allowed her last resistance to crumble. Because just this once, just for tonight, it would be okay. She could get it out of her system. She’d take her taste and then close herself back up tight.
Giving into the biker didn’t mean she agreed with him. It didn’t mean that she was actually in love with him or that this was a real marriage.
One kiss bled into a hundred more. They were kissing so fast, so desperately, that she could barely suck in a breath. Silas’ rough hands squeezed the tops of her hips, the touch conveying every ounce of his desire. His intensity. His hunger for her.
Her pussy clenched and when he backed her up against the dresser and hoisted her on top of it, she didn’t protest. Didn’t even blink. God, this had been coming for too fucking long. Silas pressed himself into the space between her legs, and her fingers trailed up his biceps, over the hard planes of his chest, cresting the sinewy ridge of his shoulders.
And these lips. The man’s lips were a relentless, hungry caress. She hooked an arm around his sturdy neck, pleased by the solidness there, the way he felt like a steel beam against her. His palm scorched up the side of her leg, fingers pushing beneath the edge of her panties. She tensed against him, the need between her legs impossible to ignore.
Silas rolled his hips against her, the hardness between his legs grazing just the right spot. She gasped through a kiss. He smiled, breaking the seal so he could pull back and look at her.
“If I feel you down here…” His fingers edged closer to the stiff peak of her clit. “… how fucking wet am I gonna find you?”
She pressed her forehead against his shoulder, urging her hips forward to meet his hand. “Why don’t you find out?”
“Hmm.” He rubbed his thumb over her lips, then tilted her head back. His lips grazed the underbelly of her chin. “Saucy.”
“Come on.” Alarm bells were ringing in her head. If this man didn’t touch her, she’d combust. “I know you want to find out. See how wet you make me.”
“You forget,” he said into her ear, “I already know.”
A shiver went through her. She couldn’t fight the grin as his kisses trailed up her jaw. He rocked in a slow circle against her, prompting a yelp from her.
“Mmmm. That’s right.” His hand smoothed its way up her waist, cupping one of her breasts. He tweaked one of her nipples. “Fuck, Jessa, how bad do you want it?”
Her head spun. She couldn’t believe she’d gone from zero to almost fucking on her dresser in a matter of minutes. But that’s all it took. They’d lit the match. And now she had to survive the blaze.
Her breath shuddered out of her. “So… fucking bad.”
He pushed his fingers under her panties, dancing a circle around her swollen clit. She clenched her thighs around him. His blue eyes were alive with curiosity, studying her, like he was cataloging her reactions. The attention made her feel self-conscious, but only for a split second.
Because then his fingers made contact. He rolled her clit between thumb and forefinger, making her entire body go rigid around him. She moaned into his shoulder, clawing at his back, urging him onward.
Silas massaged her for a moment, and then he dipped a finger inside of her. The penetration only fanned the flames. It was good, but she wanted so much more of him. She wanted the entire length of him, buried so deep she couldn’t breathe. She groaned when he pushed another finger inside, then another.
“Fuck, Silas.” She dug her fingernails into the backs of his shoulders. “Fuck me. I want you to fuck me.”
Those words, or maybe the desperation in her voice, must have been the secret password. Silas pulled his fingers out of her and sucked on them, sending her a devilish grin.
“Mmm. Love the way you taste, babe.”
Her cheeks flamed as he pushed down his boxer briefs in a fluid movement. She had so many questions. Did he taste everyone he fucked? Was she somehow the best tasting? Why did this embarrass her so much? His cock bobbed heavy and swollen in front of him, far thicker than she remembered or could have even imagined. Her mouth parted as she took it all in, her gaze lingering on the dark thatch of hair around his cock, the drops of precum glistening on the slit of his cockhead.
“Remember anything now?” He pushed aside the scrap of fabric covering her pussy, his gaze intense on her as he dragged his cock up and down the folds of her pussy. Her breath caught in her throat. She was so wet. So, so wet.
“I’m remembering,” she said with a gasp, “that you were big enough to make me sore.”
A throaty chuckle escaped him, and he nudged himself inside her, pushing the fat head of his dick inside her. “And don’t expect anything less this time.”
His words ricocheted through her as he pushed himself all the way inside. Fireworks burst behind her eyelids, and her mouth fell open, a scream getting caught halfway. Silas buried hims
elf inside her until there was nothing left to fill. His chest heaved, his gaze fiery when they locked eyes.
Silas’ big hands scooped underneath her, steadying her by the ass as he pulled back and then slammed back into her. Her entire body went weak and Jell-O-y. Soft grunts escaped her as he started a slow but forceful pace.
“Harder,” she croaked out after a moment. He was already railing her like a rag doll, but somehow, he made her want more. So hard that it might break her in two.
Sweat glistened at his temples, and the smile he gave her was equal parts sweet and wicked. The sound of their bodies slapping formed the soundtrack to the intense crescendo of pleasure inside her. Silas filling her filled something else that she didn’t want to admit was empty. The part of her that craved Silas, right now, more than she’d ever craved anybody or anything else in her entire life.
He drove into her again, and her orgasm burst through, prompting a gravelly scream that sounded every bit like a feral animal. He rocked against her, his abs going rigid, a groan getting caught in his throat as he stilled against her.
Her vision went spotty. Limp in his arms, she pressed her forehead to his shoulder, drawing ragged breaths.
“Holy. Fuck.”
Silas’ chest heaved. A shiver wracked his body, and then he eased himself out slowly.
She watched him for a moment, thoughts sparking and then disappearing inside her. It seemed better to say nothing. To just bask in the silence that followed a fucking awesome orgasm.
Finally, though, she couldn’t keep the mischief at bay. “So, was that my repayment for sewing you up?”
He cracked a smile so sexy it almost broke her in two. “No. That was just because I could tell you were dying for it.” He dragged his thumb over her mouth, catching her bottom lip. “The next round will be your repayment.”
Chapter Eleven
Jessa spent the next few days busy. Extremely busy.
She stayed late at work, and then woke up extra early. She didn’t trust herself anymore, not after her and Silas’ marathon night of sex. He’d given her three orgasms, which was three more than she figured he’d ever give her. So it seemed best to just stop. Take it for what it was, and never look back.
Except every second spent in the same house as Silas begged her to look back. So creeping out of the house while he slept seemed the best option. Returning while he was just getting ready for bed was also smart. Keeping things rigidly, distantly friendly was the only course of action because they were friends now.
She definitely didn’t hate him anymore. How could she after he’d spent so much time between her legs? Friends, without benefits. It was that last part she needed to focus on.
By Wednesday, though, her body had different ideas about what the next step should be. She hated that she’d been reduced to this: a slave to carnal desires. Unable to ignore simple biochemistry in favor of logic and rationale. One and done had seemed like a perfectly understandable course of action. Even though in their case it was more like four and done.
But maybe not done at all. As Jessa pushed into the house late Wednesday, a strange smell punctuated the air. Garlic. Maybe. She followed her nose into the kitchen, where Silas stood at the oven, stirring a pot.
“Hey.” A crush-worthy smile crossed his face as he glanced over his shoulder at her. If she could strip him of the biker gear, he’d be a pinup-worthy celebrity. Her own personal Jared Leto. “You’re home.”
“I am.” She set her purse down on the table, looking around cautiously. This seemed… planned. Silas certainly never ate dinner this late. “I thought you’d be going to bed by now.”
He wiped his hands off on a towel draped over his shoulder, squinting at her from across the room with a mysterious smile on his face. “I know. Because you’ve been avoiding me.”
His astuteness took her back. She hadn’t expected him to notice. “Not avoiding. Just… working late.”
“Right.” He snapped off the stove, then grabbed two dinner plates from the cupboard. “Well let’s eat.”
She blinked dumbly as dished spaghetti onto each plate. “What are you…?”
“I made us dinner.” He sent her a stern look, one that made her think twice about protesting. “Now go sit down.”
She tamped down the flutters of excitement as she took her spot at the dining table. Silas came over with two steaming plates of noodles topped with red sauce. He went to the fridge and returned a moment later with two cans of beer.
She inhaled deeply overtop the plate, then glanced at his. “Why is yours so much bigger than mine?”
“Because I’ve been waiting for you to get home to eat. I know you usually eat at work.” His chair scraped against the wood floor as he settled into place.
The comment made her deflate a little. “You didn’t have to wait.”
“I wanted to.” He flashed her a cheesy grin, cracking open his beer. “Now eat up. This is the only dish I know how to make, so you better tell me it’s fucking awesome.”
She laughed, stabbing a fork into the noodles. It smelled great, and just the fact that he’d thought of her enough to want to make dinner warmed her insides.
“Thanks.” She twirled some noodles around the fork, then stuffed them in her mouth. She let a low hum as she savored it. “Dang. You cook a mean spaghetti for not being able to make anything else.”
“I know about spices,” he said, which made her burst out laughing.
“Do you?”
He sent her a playful glare. “Yeah. It’s all in the oregano.”
“Fair enough.” She stabbed another forkful of pasta into her mouth, grinning at him. It was nice to come home to a home-cooked meal. Nicer than she’d allowed herself to believe.
“So how much longer you gonna keep working late?” His chair creaked as he leaned back, taking a long swig of his beer.
“Didn’t know I needed to clear this stuff with you first. What are you, my real husband?”
He sent her a flat look. “I need to know these things.”
She studied the long strands of noodles. “Oh, well, ya know.” The truth was, she had exhausted all of the tasks available to her in order to stay late. She’d reconciled all the business accounts, taken inventory, and now… there was basically nothing left. The store was caught up and then some. “Probably not much longer.” Sending him a cheeky grin, she added, “But be honest – you just miss me.”
He sent her a shrouded look. “Gotta keep tabs on you. If you’re working late all the damn time, I might have to come work late with you.”
Tenderness was buried in that comment; or maybe she just imagining it, desperate for the warm embrace of someone who gave a damn about her. Christ. You’re really losing it, lady. She took a sip of her beer, then another. Suddenly, half the can was down her throat.
He sent her a half-cocked smile. “You want another?”
“No. I’m good.” She cleared her throat, stuffing another forkful of spaghetti in her mouth. Her cheeks were flushed, though she didn’t know why. Part of her was ready for the slow unwinding process that led to bed, the other part of her wanted to shove all the plates off the table, and demand Silas fuck her until the sun came up.
She drew a shaky breath. “You’re really nice.”
An eyebrow lifted. He seemed speechless for a moment. “You think?”
“Yeah.” She took one last bite of the pasta before deciding it was enough. She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “You are. Just thought you should know.”
A short laugh escaped him. “I don’t get that a lot.”
“I figured you probably didn’t.”
“You think I’m nice even if I tell you I’ve killed a few guys?”
His voice was unnervingly serious, his ice-blue eyes hard as a glacier. She forced herself to hold his gaze. There was something really important buried in that question. She got the sense he was asking her to accept his lifestyle. To accept the MC.
She rolled her lips inward, trying to ke
ep her cool. “A few, huh?”
“About as many as your dad. Probably less.”
A shaky breath escaped her. She wasn’t imagining it. There was something deeper to the question, which meant that maybe, just maybe, he was feeling as confused and intense as she was. But this should serve as her reminder – if she had any sense left in her at all. “Well, that’s a good point then. I don’t usually equate murderers with nice.”
“You think of your dad as a murderer?”
The question took her breath away. “Well, no.”
“So what’s your beef with the MC then?” He took another swig of his beer. She could tell this question had been on his mind for a while. “We’re good guys. I made you dinner. Doesn’t that prove it?”
