Breaker_A Motorcycle Club Romance_The Wylde Ones MC

by Nicole Fox

  “Oh—” I bite my lip. The water sloshes softly around us as I begin to rock my hips with him. His finger probes, sliding expertly along my g-spot. He’s gotten good at hitting it without a lot of searching, and I find myself thankful for that; I love not having to direct him to where it feels best when he already knows how to find it himself.

  “You like that?” he murmurs against my neck.

  I nod. “Yeah. Fuck, it feels good.”

  He chuckles again against my neck and bites a little harder. If I had any sense, I would be worried about bruises, but it’s hard to have a feeling of common sense when it comes to having Booster on me and in me. Instead, I moan, and buck my hips against him. In response, Booster pushes his fingers into me deeper, strumming my inner walls like an expert, and I cry out when he adds two more, filling me that much more.

  I’m close. It’s almost embarrassing how close I am, but Booster’s learned how to play my body the way he wants it, and I’m little more than a pawn led where he wants me. That tends to be into a mess of whines and whimpers, which is how I am now—a complete, fucked-out mess, and he hasn’t even gotten to fucking me yet.

  Yet.

  I continue to rock against his hand, and I find myself getting closer and closer with each pass. My hands come to the side of the tub, gripping the porcelain as he strums his fingers within me. There … almost there. So close—

  Booster withdraws his fingers from me, and before I can ask him what he thinks he’s doing, he grips me by the hips and pulls me back. I cry out, a strangled moan as he enters me from behind, sitting me down on his cock with my pussy wrapped tight around him.

  “Oh—oh my god!” My mouth stays open wide, brows furrowed. He says nothing—only grunts and holds me, sliding me up and down on his dick. I whine and tighten around him. I was close before, and now, with his length and girth filling me so expertly, I tip right over the edge. It’s so quick, but it’s intense, and I know I gush into the water with my orgasm.

  “Booster, Booster!”

  I call out his name, and it echoes in the bathroom, filling my ears with the sounds of my own pleasure. I start moving with his controlling hands, forcing myself up and down on him through the sensitivity of my orgasm. It’s got me tossing my head back, arching against Booster.

  I thought that I would get used to how he makes me feel—but I don’t think there’s anything that could have prepared me, let alone gotten me used to, the way that Booster handles my body. It’s expert. It’s intense. He knows what he’s doing, and my body sings for it.

  I want this, and so much more from him. My mind can’t focus on anything else but how filling his cock is, and how badly I don’t want him to stop.

  And he doesn’t. He grips me hard and with my own movements, forces me up and down while he slides his cock hard in and out of me. His grunts and groans are wild, and when he sinks his teeth into my neck to hold me, I howl out.

  Pain, pleasure; it’s one in the same with Booster. He fucks me hard and I know I’ll be sore, but it’s all worth it when he pushes me down onto him and finally—blessedly—spills inside me. He holds me down onto him as he fills me, and I feel the hot, wet, stickiness of his load spill within me hot and heavy. There’s nothing better, and I grind back on him.

  “Just like that, doll. Fuck, you’re so tight and pretty. I can’t wait to put a baby in you.”

  I don’t know why it turns me on, but it does and I whine as he says it. It’s such a strange and nasty thing to say to someone, but I don’t actually mind in the moment, and make sure to rut back against him, taking everything that he has to offer me. He likes that, growing against me.

  Booster raises up, and for a moment I think that he’s going to pull out me. Instead, he pushes up on his knees, forcing me forward on my own and to prop myself up with my hands. Booster slides back, slow, almost torturing me with the sensation of being there but not enough, before he rams back into me, hard.

  “Oh!”

  He pounds into me from behind, taking me roughly. I feel everything, and the pleasure tingles through my insides and up my spine that much more. I can’t do anything but let him have me—and I let him, willingly.

  “Booster, Booster—”

  My eyes roll and drool dribbles down my chin. I can’t contain my moans and I’m glad that I don’t have neighbors or live in an apartment; the noise level alone would get me into trouble, not to mention the frequency and how long Booster and I can go when we really get into it.

  His hand comes around to my breast, tweaking a nipple. The other one goes down between my legs, fondling at my clit. I don’t know how he manages to keep track of everything, working pleasure into me through multiple places, but I don’t think that I really need or want to question it at this point. It’s mind blowing and my thighs quake, almost threatening to clench shut at his ministrations when it gets just shy of being too much, but Booster doesn’t stop. He never does. He always draws out the most pleasure from me that he can muster, and I let him do so, as though he owns my body and not the other way around.

  “Come on, pretty,” he tells me, cooing in my ear, and I can almost hear the self-satisfied smirk in his tone. “Come on and cum for me again, why don’t you?”

  I lose. I can’t help it. I clench around him before I can even consciously think about following his order, flooding around his cock with more of my satisfaction. It’s more intense this time, leaving me a throbbing, panting mess, aching between my thighs as my walls squeeze tight.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  Booster only fucks me harder. Me cumming is like kryptonite to him, pulling out the most animal and primal of his instincts. I love the way it makes him fuck me that much harder, until he’s pressing against me again, snapping into me hard and spilling once more.

  We’re a mess of cum and sweat. Water has sloshed all over the place, the level in the bathtub lower because of our activities. We’re panting, and the weight of Booster laying himself over me from behind is a strange but not unwelcome comfort to me. It grounds me and keeps me in the present, keeps my mind focused on Booster and nothing but Booster. I can’t help but love the feeling and the sensation in its entirety.

  “Fuck …”

  “Yeah.”

  “That was … that was …”

  “Something?” Booster finishes for me. I chuckle.

  “Yeah. Definitely something.”

  “I totally intended to let you have a bath in peace.”

  “Did you really now?” I find that hard to believe with how quickly things turned around, and the thought amuses me.

  He rocks against me, teasing a slowly softening cock within my sensitive walls. I moan, and arch. He laughs at my reaction.

  “Yeah, I really did. But there’s just something about you that’s hard to resist. Wonder what that something is …”

  “Yeah, totally wonder.” I roll my eyes. “Except I don’t.” I laugh a little and slide forward, turning around to flop into the water, facing Booster. My legs splay out on either side of his. I’m lucky that my bath is large enough to accommodate the spread, and Booster settles back comfortably, too.

  “I like that you didn’t wait, though,” I go on. “That was much more entertaining than a normal bath.”

  He laughs.

  “I try. We should finish up … and maybe see if I can get you dirty enough for another one.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lena

  There’s a fine irony, sometimes, in life. It hits you when you least expect it, and it’s especially true when you’re a teacher. Often, these moments come with individual students, and you learn something from it. Sometimes, you realize that in a certain moment, you really, really, aren’t practicing what you’re preaching when it comes to what you’re teaching.

  Take the class I have right now.

  Sex education.

  I don’t usually teach this class—obviously. But I’m needed to substitute again, and I’m not one to turn down an opportunity to enrich
young minds.

  Except I’m talking about concepts that I’ve completely thrown to the wind lately.

  Birth control.

  Condoms.

  Abstinence.

  I’ve never been on birth control, and Booster and I don’t use condoms. It’s very easy—embarrassingly so—to remember how it feels to have him cum between my legs and inside me while I tell teenagers that that’s a very, very bad thing to do. Among their snickers, I imagine that they’re not taking me very seriously, which is fine—I don’t take myself seriously in this moment, either.

  And abstinence? Ha. Okay. That’s not happening.

  But I have to tell these young, impressionable minds, that it’s their best bet in not getting pregnant or contracting something nasty while I simultaneous spend my nights getting bent over, spread open, pounded into thoroughly—

  “And remember, there’s no amount of sex that’s worth accidents and danger,” I say, coming to the close of my lecture.

  There are rolling eyes and more snickers, and I honestly want to join in with them. Yeah, sure. Whoever wrote that rulebook obviously never had sex with Booster Wylde. Obviously, they never had the feeling of someone who actually knew what they were doing with their manhood going at them—

  I cut my thoughts off here. There’s no way that I need to be having these kinds of fantasies while in the middle of my class.

  The bell rings though, and it’s time for the kids to go. They all leave, chattering away about how silly the lessons are and well, I’m not gonna need this stuff anyway and did you hear how she said the word penis?

  Oh, to be a child again. I sometimes envy their ability to disregard good advice without thinking about it.

  I smile, though. The lesson was fun otherwise, and it does have me in a good mood—mainly because it has me thinking about Booster. Do I have time to let my thoughts … wander a little? I don’t have another class until next period … I could probably afford to think about last night …

  I go to my classroom door and lock it. I draw the blinds closed before I sit at my desk again. I’m wearing a skirt; I push it up a little until the hem is over my knees and I spread my thighs beneath my desk.

  This isn’t something that I’ve ever done before. I don’t touch myself at work. But being with Booster has made me a little wild … a little insatiable. I can’t help but slide my fingers over heated panties covering already wetting lips.

  He’s got me against my wall, hoisted up, legs wrapped around him. We’ve been at it for hours and my pussy drips in his seed. I love the feel of it—how hot and nasty it makes me. I buck against him, making sure every inch of him slides deep and hits where it feels best and has my walls tightening around him.

  “There. There!”

  He complies so wonderfully. He’s got his teeth in my shoulder, growling against my skin as he holds me there like we’re animals, going at this with pure, primal instinct.

  “Oh, fuck …”

  My fingers have ventured inside me as I think about last night. They slide under the silky fabric of my panties and pump in and out of me in a mockery of the way Booster does it. They’re not as thick or as big, but that’s okay. I press my finger to my clit and whine.

  “Such a pretty little mewl, Doll,” I can hear him say in my head. “Pretty sounds for me and only me, isn’t that right?”

  I nod.

  “Oh god, yes, fuck.”

  “Good girl. I’m gonna have you fat yet—”

  I have to bite my lip as I slam my fingers into my hole and caress the little nub of pleasure between my thighs that has me about ready to burst any second now. Closer, closer; I’m so damn close I can taste release on my tongue. My hips writhe in place at my desk, and there’s nothing to stop the wave that crashes through me as I cum in my seat.

  My thighs tremble, and my stomach tightens. Oh god, it felt so good, so intense, I don’t know what to do with myself but strum my fingers in me a little more and play my clit until it’s honestly too much and I have to withdraw my fingers from inside me.

  I slouch over my desk, panting a little into my arm. God, that was good, but I know what could be better. I bite my lip, stifling the whine that threatens to come as my walls clench around nothing.

  It’s almost embarrassing to think that a man could have such a measure of control over me in the way that Booster does like this. I should be embarrassed, being reduced to a moaning mess at my place of work over the mere thought of being with Booster.

  But … oddly enough, I’m not. My insides are warm, and they tremble with the desire to have Booster again.

  I don’t know what’s more addicting. The act of getting pregnant, or the thought that it’s the reason we keep screwing like bunnies.

  ***

  After I clean myself up, I get back to work. The rest of the day is (perhaps blessedly) more uneventful than the beginning was. I have no more inclinations to finger myself until I’m seeing stars, though I do have another thought that comes to mind.

  In all the sex we’ve been having, I haven’t bothered to see about a pregnancy test.

  Instead of going straight home, I end up driving to the pharmacy. I rarely get sick, and I don’t have medications that I have to take, so I’m rarely ever in here. It almost feels like there are a hundred eyes on me as I walk in, the doorbell ringing indicating that someone’s walked on in.

  My face is hot. I wonder if they’ll know who I am. That I’m not married. That I’ve been seen around with a biker named Booster and what kind of judgement that will bring when I set a pregnancy test on the counter.

  Well. They’re supposed to be professional, anyway, and it’s none of their business if I’m doing a bit of … unorthodox family planning.

  I wander idly up and down the aisles. There’s an anticipation that grips my chest, squeezing tight in my chest.

  There’s a good chance that I’m pregnant. And even if I’m not, it will just give more excuses to keep having sex with Booster until I am.

  “Can I help you, miss?”

  I jump at the sudden voice. A pharmacy worker’s come over by me, a woman about my age who gives me a kind smile. “I can tell you what aisle you need.”

  “Oh, no, I’m fine,” I tell her. “I’m just browsing.”

  It’s a weird thing to say in a pharmacy, considering the fact that most people go to the pharmacy with something very specific in mind to buy—not something to browse. The woman gives me a peculiar look for this fact, but she lets me go on my way without too much of an extra fuss.

  I browse more aisles, almost avoiding the one that I need before I finally buck up, take a breath, and plunge down it.

  There’s a great irony in the fact that the condoms are in the same place as the pregnancy tests. Rows and rows of magnums and pleasure sensation rubbers and special lubricant this, ribbed for her that, are right beside bright pink- and pastel-colored tests.

  It occurs to me that I’ve never had to take a pregnancy test before, and as I stare at the numerous brands and boxes, I have no idea which one I’m supposed to get. Which is the most accurate? Is cheaper still okay, or should I spring for a more expensive brand?

  I realize that I haven’t thought this through quite as thoroughly as I should have, and I spend the better part of the next ten minutes reading the backs of each brand to weigh their claims against each other and figure out what’s the most cost effective yet efficient brand.

  In the end … I buy one of each. I’ll just take all of them and average out the results if they end up being different across the board. Of course, I didn’t think to get a basket before going on my great search, and end up walking to the front counter with my arms laden down with pregnancy tests.

  The same woman that greeted me before is there. Her eyes widen a little upon seeing my spoils, but that’s the only indication of her shock before she schools the looks off her face and smiles at me.

  “Find everything you need?”

  “Oh, yeah. I think this about
covers all my bases …”

  The woman gives another small smile, and starts ringing up all my tests. I’m a little glad that she isn’t bothering with asking me all the nitty gritty details. I don’t have anything remotely normal to tell her about this pregnancy-that-might-not-be, and I don’t have to tell her anything, anyway!

  Why am I so defensive with myself? Who knows. Maybe it’s pregnancy hormones.

  With my (pricy) purchase, I head home. I drive a little faster than what’s probably necessary, but not fast enough to get me into trouble. I park a little lopsided in my drive before I head inside, and go straight for my bathroom.