Page 62 of Savage

“I trust you.”

“Fuuuck,” I growl and then grab my dick, positioning it at the entrance of her sweet pussy. Later I’ll take my time exploring what makes her wet, what she likes, what she doesn’t. I plan on getting real fucking friendly with that gorgeous cunt, but for now, I have to bring us together. I have to bury myself deep and feel her clench around me as she rides me hard.

She reaches between us and takes hold of my cock, sliding it back and forth through her wetness. She toys with the piercing, touching it with gentle strokes, and then she’s pumping me hard and fast with her soft hands. It feels fucking amazing. She guides me inside her body, gasping as she stretches to accommodate me, and I feel as if I’m gonna explode. The sweet, slow burn, the drag, and slide of flesh, her walls squeezing me tightly. It’s fucking killing me. Slowly.

“So fuckin’ tight,” I murmur in her ear. I let her control the pace, and my hands roam over her tits and down her back to cup her arse. She rocks her hips back and forward, sliding her sweet cunt up and down my shaft. Her face is soft with pleasure, but I want to own that look. I could be anyone filling this void for her, making her forget all the things those men had done in the past. I grab a fistful of hair and force her eyes on me.

“Look at me.” Her heated gaze locks onto mine. I challenge her, a little game we’ve come to love. “I want you to look at me while I fuck you. I want you to remember who owns you.”

“No one owns me.”

“I own you. You belong to me. You let another man near that pussy of yours and I’ll gut him like a fuckin’ fish while you watch. You gonna ride on the back of my bike? Be in my bed? Then I own you, spitfire. You’re mine, and there’s not a goddamn thing you can do about it.”

“Jeez, biker, you really know how to ruin the mood,” she whispers, but the bitch is still riding me hard, so I know she’s not as put off by that as she says she is.

“I take what’s mine, and I take care of mine. Are you mine, Indie?”

She moans and closes her eyes, tilting her head up toward the ceiling.

“Look at me,” I command, wrapping my hand around the nape of her neck. “Are you mine?”

“Yes. I’m yours.”

I exhale and reward her by sliding a hand between us to toy with her clit. She bucks wildly on top of me, squirming away from my touch. I hold her still, digging my hand firmly into her hip.

“Stop, I can’t …” she breathes. “Not my clit.”

“I own this pussy, baby. I’m gonna make you come, and you’re gonna milk me with your gorgeous fuckin’ snatch, and then you’re gonna come again and again until I say you can stop.”

“No.”

“Shh, let go,” I whisper in her ear, and I pump my hips in time with her rocking. “Fuckin’ come for me, baby.”

“Biker …” Her moans leave her in breathy pleas that I feel every-fucking-where. I feel her give a little, and I want more of it. I want all of her. I want every thought, every breath, every orgasm, and every fucking moan.

I shift both hands under her arse and stand, taking her with me and moving us under the water, then I slam her back against the glass and let it have her weight. I press my hands against the wall and glide in and out, taking her slow, and driving us both towards orgasm. I don’t think I’ve ever fucked like this. Not even with Lauren. I wasn’t lying when I told Indie I like to fuck and fuck hard. But right now I care more about her pleasure than my own, which is another thing that I’ve never felt before. As I sink inside her again and again, I don’t care how long it takes. I just want her to feel something other than pain.

What the fuck has this woman done to me?

That alone should make me want to punish her, to hurt her, to fuck the shit out of her tight little cunt and feel her break beneath my hands, but it doesn’t.Jesus Christ. I’m like every other fucking idiot stupid enough to get attached to someone, to care about someone other than myself.

Prez was right. I’m fuckin’ pussy whipped.

“Biker?” she asks in a whisper. “Is this really happening—oh god, right there. Don’t stop doing that.”

“Yeah, babe,” I grunt. It’s no fucking picnic trying to hit that sweet spot of hers over and over without losing my shit altogether. “It’s really fuckin’ happenin’.”

“What are we doing? What happens when the water runs cold?” She bites on her lip, and I spear her with my gaze, forcing her to stay with me, though I can tell already how much she wants to let go.

I’m not dumb enough to think this is the kinda shit that lasts forever. How can it? I abducted her. I held her captive. I drugged her, hurt her. I did shit I had no right to do because she wasn’t mine. She’ll come to see that one day for what it is. She’ll come to see that anything between us was, and can only be a beautiful lie. I’m no Prince Fucking Charming. I’m an arsehole. I’m cruel, and I’m a criminal with no moral compass. Or at least that’s who I was. I have no fucking clue who I am right now.

“Then we shut the water off and keep fuckin’ in the bedroom,” I say, thrusting in a little harder, a little faster until she’s throwing her head back against the glass and panting like a bitch on heat. I kiss her neck, her jaw, working her into a frenzy with my lips and tongue, and my cock that’s buried balls’ deep, and then she surrenders. Body and fucking soul, she gives me all of her as that tight pussy milks my dick with her release. And it’s fucking glorious.

Her surrender is the only religion I need.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

KICK

---