Having not had sex before, I built it up in my mind to be something it wasn’t. I thought it was the connection of two people, not just their bodies, but their minds and hearts too. And maybe it could have been like that for Jonas and I that first time, but because I wasn’t honest because we hadn’t shared yet how we felt about each other, it was anything but.
However, this time is nothing like that.
Tearing his mouth from mine, Jonas stares into my eyes as he walks us to the bed.
“I’ll go slow and easy this time, Blaine. I promise. If anything hurts, I want you to tell me, and I’ll stop. Just say the word and I’ll change up what we’re doing, or stop altogether, yeah?”
I shake my head rapidly side-to-side. Not wanting that from him, I tell him as much.
“I said I want all of you. That means, be who you are, not who you think I want you to be. I know this time isn’t the same as last time. Things are different between us now, so you need to let that go, honey. If you can’t be exactly who you are with me, here,” I say gesturing to his bed, “then when can you?”
Not wasting any time, Jonas doesn’t reply, dropping me onto the mattress and coming down over the top of me. Crashing his mouth down on mine again, sweet and gentle leaves the building. Desperate and hungry taking its place as he plunges his tongue between my lips and takes what he wants. And for that, I’m grateful.
It feels like I’ve been waiting forever to kiss Jonas, or in this case, for him to kiss me. Our first time, there was not kissing, not even a lip touch. And that hurt. In hindsight, I think that’s what hurt the most, actually.
I had fantasized for nearly ten years about what it would be like to kiss this man, and while I happily gave him my body, thinking that would be part of having sex, I was sorely mistaken. I don’t know if he kept that part of himself from me in the misguided attempt to keep some distance between us, but whatever the reason, I’m ecstatic I finally get the opportunity to taste him.
There is no adequate way to describe Jonas’ unique taste other than to say; it’s intoxicating. As his tongue teases mine, with strong, sure strokes, he grips my hair in his fist and begins kissing me deeper, harder, like his life depends on it.
Not able to deny him anything, I give Jonas everything he’s asking for and more. I run my hands over his body, loving the way he shudders on top of me, giving me more of his weight as I explore every inch of him that I can reach. One hand makes its way north, raking through the short, thick hair on his head, my fingernails scraping across his scalp, and the other goes south to explore the muscles of his back and shoulders.
The space between us disappears, not that there was much, my breasts crushed against his chest, causing my nipples to harden instantly. Feeling that, Jonas lets out a low growl as his hand leaves my hair traveling under the hem of my shirt, finding me braless. Stroking up and down my spine, detouring to caress the skin at my side, his hand, finally, thank God, travels over my ribs under my thin tank top, cupping the underside of one breast.
One minute my shirt is there, the next it’s gone as he lifts a breast toward his mouth, tenderly circling the tight bud of my nipple with his tongue, Jonas blows cool air over it, causing my nipple to tighten even further. Suckling softly, he takes it between his lips into the hot cavern of his mouth, giving me a second to get used to the sensation before drawing it in deeper and sucking hard.
It is like there is a direct link between my breasts and my core because the harder Jonas sucks the wetter I become. That along with feeling the length of his cock at my thigh, the heavy weight of his body on top of me, causes me to squirm restlessly wanting more of him.
Rotating my hips, hoping to communicate what I want without having to say a word, I moan loudly as his cock begins to throb and his hips start moving closer to where I want them of their own accord.
I know I’m playing with fire – pushing him, trying to elicit a particular reaction from him – but I’m doing it for a reason.
For months, I’ve watched as Jonas has struggled to hold on to his highly developed sense of self-control. When he lost Bec, it slipped, but it didn’t break. He was still holding on by the skin of his teeth, using every ounce of willpower he had in reserve.
With me, he doesn’t need it. For once in his life, I want Jonas to experience how it feels to trust someone enough to relinquish his control and let go. And I want him to do that with me. Even if it’s only for a few minutes, he deserves that.
A rush of fluid dampens my sleep shorts, and I know I’m close to orgasm after only a few heated kisses and Jonas working my breasts. After what feels like an hour, but is more likely only a few minutes, Jonas pulls back breathing heavily, one hand still fisted in my hair at the base of my neck, the other deliciously manipulating my breast.
Desperately trying to angle his head so that I can pull him back to my waiting mouth, Jonas doesn’t budge. Nor does he kiss me again. Instead, he merely trains his beautiful hazel eyes on mine, silently searching for something I don’t know if he has any success finding.
Jonas’ chest is heaving, the rapid rise and fall of it working hard to regulate his breathing.
“Be sure, baby, because I’m about five seconds off ripping those cute little shorts off you and burying myself so deep inside you you’ll beg me to stop.” Whimpering at the thought, Jonas growls again. “You like the sound of that, baby? Me stripping you out of your shorts and testing how wet your tight pussy is for me?”
I hum a noise of approval against his throat, lightly teasing the skin with my tips. Darting my tongue out to taste him, light stubble on his neck and jaw scratch at my tongue making my whole body shiver.
Continuing to work my breast, Jonas tilts his pelvis until his wonderfully hard cock is aligned perfectly with my pussy.
“My fingers or my cock? Which one do you want, baby?” He demands, his voice so low it’s almost unintelligible.
Honestly, I won’t need either if he keeps talking to me like that. I’m so close now that it will literally take the brush of his finger over my clit to send me spiraling into climax.
Sensing my desperation, Jonas wedges his hand between us, positioning his thumb right where I need it most and presses down firmly.
“Do you need me to make you come, Blaine.”
Whimpering again as he applies more pressure, circling my over sensitive clit, I manage to answer him but only just.
“Please, Jonas. I want you to be the first to make me come.”
Jonas disengages my face from his neck, tipping it up using the fist that is now wrapped in my hair. His eyes are wild, the unrestrained passion in them causing me to gasp. He looks possessive, ravenous, the look sending a renewed thrill of desire up my spine.
“Are you telling me no one has ever made you come before, sweetheart? That I’m the first and last man you’ll be giving that honor to?” He questions, regarding me more intensely than he ever has before.
There’s no need for me to answer him; my face speaks for me. But for what it’s worth, it’s true. Not only was I a virgin before Jonas, but hadn’t allowed anyone else close enough to even consider letting them put their hand down my pants.
I can’t tell you why I didn’t explore things further with the few men I’ve dated. It could be because they weren’t Jonas, or maybe because I simply wasn’t ready. Regardless of the reasons why, I don’t regret saving myself for Jonas. Far from it.
“Please,” I all but beg, unsure what it is I’m actually begging for.
Kissing me roughly, Jonas reaches between us popping the buttons of his jeans open. As soon as the denim parts the head of his cock springs free, I can see the bead of pre-come dampening the tip.
Jonas makes short work ridding himself of his jeans. He had removed his shirt, belt, socks and boots not long after we walked through the door tonight, leaving him shirtless, and unbeknownst to me, commando.
My sleep shorts are the next to go. Jonas drags them over my hips and down my legs stopping every so often t
o place closed-mouth kisses on the insides of my thighs, calves, and the inside of both ankles.
When I’m completely exposed to him, Jonas shifts over me, resuming his position between my legs. His hips falling into the cradle of mine but he’s careful to keep his significant weight off my belly.
Taking himself in hand, guiding the head of his cock up and down my slit, he gently inches just the tip inside. My internal muscles instantly clench at the intrusion.
“Relax for me, baby, and take me inside,” he coaxes.
Forcing myself to relax, taking deep breaths and remaining focused on only Jonas, his hips begin to rock, sliding his length deeper inside with a slowness akin to torture. By the time I’m panting and moaning his name, Jonas is covered in a thin layer of sweat, his muscles are flexed under the strain, and his eyes have gone liquid.
Once his thick length finally buried inside me to the root, Jonas’ head drops to my neck, his tongue trailing the cord of my throat.
“I’ve gotta move, baby. You good to take more?” At my nod he glides out, stroking back in with infinite tenderness checking I’m ready for him.
Within the span of half a dozen thrust, I’ve had enough of the Jonas he thinks I want him to be. Circling his hips, I dig my heels into the base of his spine, urging him deeper still.
“Don’t hold back, honey. I want you to make me yours,” I plead, digging my fingertips into his shoulder blades.
“Fuck, Blaine,” he growls, thrusting inside me roughly. “You’ve got no idea what you’re asking for.”
“Yes, I do,” I reply quickly. “And if I don’t; show me, honey.”
Jonas must come to the conclusion I don’t intend to give on this, so dropping his knees onto the bed he swings me up until I’m straddling his thighs.
“This is gonna go fast once I start, baby,” he warns. “Are you sure you can handle it?” Waiting for my ascent, he finally commands, “Hold on to me and brace.”
Aligning our bodies until every inch of him is touching every inch of me, I’ve never felt more connected to anyone in my life. The heat of his skin. The powerful play of his muscles. The way the tenderness of his mouth contradicts the now punishing thrusts of his cock. He’s giving me everything, and he’s doing it while taking in equal measure.
Jonas’ hands fall back to my ass to control the speed of my movements, but also slamming me down on top of him as he plunges into my heat.
“Oh God Jonas. Harder,” I mewl, feeling my pussy pulse around him.
Slamming his mouth down on mine, Jonas swallows my moans but gives me what I want. His cock pounding hard, his tongue in my mouth, all of him exposed, raw, split open for me, I come hard on an inward glide.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I hear mutedly growled through the sound of blood rushing through my ears.
As my orgasm starts to recede, Jonas flips me to my hands and knees, pulling my hips back to meet the head of his cock, powering into me as soon as he comes into contact with my core. It’s deeper this way, tighter, the sensations heightened beyond belief.
With his hand in my hair, the other finds its way between my thighs, manipulating the tight nub of my clit until he builds another arguably more overwhelming orgasm than the last.
I shudder at the feeling of his teeth clamping down on the tendon at my neck. Jonas bites down hard enough to leave an impression, but not hard enough to break the skin, marking me as his. And all of this, coupled with all of him sends my body into overdrive, my climax claiming complete control with me simply along for the ride.
What seems like hours later, but in reality is probably only minutes at best, Jonas tugs on my hair sharply until my body is up off the bed, my back plastered to his front. With the blinds drawn, darkness long having since settled, the only light in his bedroom is the muted glow of the bathroom light where the door was left ajar, but that doesn’t stop me from turning my head to take him in.
Head thrown back, the smooth expanse of his throat corded and tan, his jaw clenched, Jonas plants himself to the root, and I get to watch the single sexiest thing I have ever seen in my life.
With clothes on Jonas is hot. Without them he’s gorgeous. But naked in the throes of orgasm, he is undeniably phenomenal.
Finally, Jonas’ big body sags cocooning me and dropping us both onto our sides.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters into the back of my head.
He flicks the blankets over us, settling me into the curve of his body, winding his arms around me so that I have no choice but to snuggle further into him.
Sated and all of a sudden exhausted, I mumble sleepily,
“We are so doing that again. I just need a quick nap, but wake me up in an hour or so.”
Jonas chuckles at the slur evident in my voice.
“Sure, baby. Anything you want.”
On that happy thought, I drifted into the best sleep I’d had in years. And I did it smiling.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
~ Jonas ~
Gun laws prevent shootings? Please tell me more about how criminals and low-lives follow laws.
- Jonas to Boss
“Any chance you could get out of here for a couple of hours this afternoon?” Boss asks, stretching his arms over his head.
“Could do if I knew why,” I offer in the way of a response as I continue shading the large piece I started on his ribs two and a half weeks ago. It’s taken three sessions, at just over three hours each to get it done, but with less than five minutes to go, I’ll be glad when it’s finished.
“Lord got some information about the shooting. He called it in yesterday, but he was a full day’s ride out. Should be in by two today.”
“He tell you what that information was?” I question, my interest suddenly peaked.
“When I asked, he said it’s better he be here in person to share,” Boss mutters distractedly when I hit a particularly tender spot between his third and fourth rib.
Setting my gun on the tray beside me, I wipe off the excess ink, inspecting my work before I tell him to take a look. Beth designed the piece, Boss picked its position. I can’t say I like it, but it means something to them and, in the end, that’s all that matters.
A Celtic cross, the center stone colored a deep, jade green stretches from four inches below Boss’ armpit down to an inch above the waistband of his leathers. The inside is made up of an intricate web of curved lines, none having a beginning or end until it reaches the solid black outline.
“Is he still angling for a Vengeance patch on his back?” I inquire.
Lord’s a decent enough guy from what I’ve been told, but I’m yet to spend any time around the man to form my own opinion. I’ve got it on good advice he’d lay his life down for any of the Vengeance brothers, so, for now, that’s good enough for me.
According to Boss, Lord was once a charter member of Black Widows out in L.A. He and the President at the time didn’t see eye-to-eye, but when shit went down that Lord couldn’t step aside in a clear conscience and ignore, they got into it, and Lord ended up wearing a nomad patch.
He hooked up with a few other brothers who’d been nomads for longer than Lord had been alive, learning what he needed to know to keep himself breathing without the protection of a charter at his back. Being a nomad didn’t mean he didn’t have to report to anyone; he did. And unfortunately for Lord, that person was his old Prez.
Eventually, Black Widows L.A. chapter replaced their President with the man who’s in charge now, Miles. A stand-up guy, sharp as a tack, with a fucking fantastic head for business, Miles turned the financially floundering charter around in less than eighteen months. Legitimately at that.
Boss cocks his head indicating that would be a yes, so I ask,
“Was Miles on board with that plan?”
“He isn’t ecstatic about losing another one of his best clean up men, but he said he wouldn’t stand in Lord’s way if he approached him for a transfer,” Boss explains.
“What do you mean another one?”
<
br /> Grinning at me, Boss twists to snatch his shirt off the counter.
“You and Gage are tight. I thought he would have shared where he started out before he came here?”
I start tearing down my station, ripping the plastic cord cover off and tossing into the garbage can.
“Nope. We drink, we used to find ass to tap together, and we drink some more. What we don’t do is have heart-to-hearts like an old married couple, brother.”
As if I didn’t speak, Boss goes on to say,
“Gage was Black Widows point man for five years before he got the fuck out of there for greener pastures. They used him for wet work, clean up, tracking with no intention to apprehend. It was dirty, dangerous work that didn’t have an end in sight. Gage eventually got done not being able to wash himself clean. That shit started scoring marks on his soul, so he chose to patch out over racking up another death on his conscience.”
I turn to Boss giving him my full attention at the words “patch out.”
“It was my understanding patching out meant you lost your ink. Burn or remove, brother’s choice.”
Vengeance MC Box Set - Volume 1: Call Me...Vengeance ~ Fury ~ Jonas Page 80
