Page 133 of Paladin's Hell

Chapter 42

Moira

I wriggle my toes in the warm sand, gazing out over the glorious blue sea. It’s so beautiful here.

“Time to put more suntan lotion on, darlin’. Don’t want you to burn.” Hell puts his arms around me.

Lifting my hand, I place my palm to his cheek. “Don’t think I need so much now, Hell. I’ve already got a really good tan.” And so has my man. It suits him. For all the years we’ve been married, he gave his all to the club, his chest and legs staying pasty pale even in summer, except for his face and arms which caught the sun as he rode. Most of the time he was stuck behind a desk.

“Made my hair go greyer,” he complains.

“Just seems that way, lover.”

We stand and stare out over the Ionian Sea. It’s been a whirlwind few weeks. Starting by flying to London, then on to Paris. The stop I enjoyed most was Venice, a place I’d always wanted to see. Unfortunately at the wrong time of year, in summer months the city smells, and the crowds, well, I could have done without them. But St Mark’s Square had been beyond my expectations. Then we’d travelled to Rome, and on to southern Italy, stopping on the beautiful Amalfi Coast and visiting Pompeii, Vesuvius and Herculaneum. When my man says he’s going to take me on vacation, he does it properly.

Now we’re on a Greek Island, a deserted location, a week in a villa with a private beach just for us.

“Are you happy, Mo?”

How could I not be? When Hellfire stepped down from the role of president, my life changed beyond recognition. I’d been worried he’d quickly regret it, but it was the opposite. It was as if a burden had been lifted off him. I was surprised when he’d told Demon he was spending a month away from the club, even suspected he’d be on his phone or laptop most of the time. But the computer hadn’t come with us, and his phone’s remained silent. He trusts Demon and isn’t going to interfere with how he runs the club.

Hellfire’s returned to the man I first met, a man without the weight of the world on his shoulders. It’s these past weeks that have enabled me to see what a burden he’d carried from the moment Blackie laid a finger on me. Forced into marriage and to bring up a child that wasn’t his. We’d made the most of it, but it had put pressure on both of us.

“You ever wonder what would have happened? If Blackie hadn’t…”

“Yes. No.” His answer is confusing. “What I do know, is I’d still be here with you, right now. We belonged together from the beginning, when I first saw you approaching my bike, flirting and batting your eyelashes.”

“I did not bat my eyelashes. Or flirt.”

“Did so,” he nuzzles my ear, the vibration of his voice sending tingles through me. “You had me from that moment, Mo.”

He’d had me too. That handsome biker sat on his motorcycle.

Hell’s hands start to wander. At first, I had been self-conscious when I’d dressed in a bikini, but the flare of interest in Hell’s eyes had made any discomfort worthwhile. Now I’m discovering there are obvious benefits. One of his hands is reaching under the top, cupping my breast, while the other smooths over my tummy, and dips inside my bikini bottoms. He starts to finger fuck me, in the open.

I gasp, automatically moving my hips back into him. A hardness nudges me.

“Oh, did you…?”

“Nope. Haven’t taken a blue pill if that’s what you’re asking.”

He’s got an erection on his own? Without medication? Because of me?

Oh God, I can’t think anymore. His expert touch is getting me closer. It’s a private beach thank fuck, but right now I wouldn’t care if the Pope himself walked by. He’s playing me like an instrument that’s oh so familiar. As my body starts shaking, Hell covers my mouth with his hand, suppressing the scream which he knows is coming. My legs feel weak, he clamps me to him, his hand still in my bikini bottoms easing me down.

When my legs feel able to support me, I turn around, lowering myself to my knees, easing his swimming trunks down, his cock bounces out free.

“Don’t know how long I’ll last, Mo,” he warns me as I place one hand on his shaft and the other massaging his balls.

I don’t care. It’s the first time in months, years perhaps, he’s got an erection that’s not chemically induced. A sign that less stress, no smoking and a reduction in alcohol seems to be working. A visible indication he still finds me attractive, it’s only me here, nothing else to get him aroused. The thought makes me feel amazing, powerful even. Reclaiming my youth, what the fuck does it matter what the calendar says?

My mouth closes around him, his groans music to my ears. I suck, lick, take him further into my mouth. It took me years to perfect it, and it’s years since I’ve last done it, but I concentrate on relaxing my throat muscles and take as much of him in as I can. Then I swallow around him.

“Fuck, Mo. Fuck. That feels so fuckin good. Mo, Fuck. I’m going to come.”

As he holds the back of my head to him, his hips pump, his dick swells, and warm cum rushes into my mouth. I swallow every drop. It’s my man, and I love him. Still on my knees, I look up.

His head is thrown back, his eyes are closed, his chest heaving as he breathes in and out getting oxygen into his lungs. I did that. I turned him on, I made him lose control. I feel I could conquer the world right now.

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