Page 151 of Dirty Salvation

"Am I? Yours?" A dare for her to deny it.

The tension came back just like that, not because she feared the question, but it suggested as though it was the first time they'd been real with one another, actually saying the words and the complexity of this bad biker actually wanting to know if he belonged to her didn’t pass her by. She felt its full meaning and what it must costhimof all men to ask it.

Zara held her breath, watching how silently he watched her. Her patient Rider had been nothing but accommodating with her this entire time, waiting weeks and weeks for her to catch up to where he already was, to accept them together, only gently pushing back against her when she tried to deny what they were.

Oftentimes you didn't see perfection right in front of you for the mist of anxiety in your way, as her therapist explained it to her.

She was seeing Rider.

Her lips puckered, his eyes narrowed but as she knew he would he cranked his head down and lay his lips to hers, briefly, already she missed them when he rose.

He waited again for her answer.

"I suppose you must be. If only to keep you from running away from home again. The streets are no place for someone so pretty and our bedistoo big for just me. I mean, I was about to make missing person posters. I nearly called your boys for a full-scale search. I was planning to make sausage link rolls with a side of BBQ chips or pita chips and tofu burgers for the vegans. I saw a good recipe on Martha Stewart's website. People always search better on a full stomach, don't you think so, Ambrosio?" With every word the humor built in Zara until she felt as though her belly would burst if she didn't laugh.

The darker his scowl, the bigger the urge.

He moved fast.

Rearing back so he could toss her over his shoulder fireman style. She squealed, her hands reaching out to balance on his hard butt dangling like she was a slab of beef he was carting home from the market. She’d never felt so wanted. Lust fizzled between them, making the air thick syrup.

He took long steps, purposeful strides down the hallway, past the living room, Zara laughing the whole time. "I demand you put me down, Ambrosio.YOUleft, you don't get to be a caveman about it. You're not my president to throw your weight around." Bouncing on his shoulder, he gave her ass a firm palm holding her steady.

“No. But you’re my fuckin’ old lady and you’re laughing at me, Icy, you need a firm hard fuck.” He took to the stairs as though she weighed nothing, he didn’t even have the audacity to huff hard. Destination was crystal clear, she moaned a little.

Exhilarated.Turned on.Her spirit light, Zara laughed when he kicked open the last door on the end of the hall tossed her onto the large unmade bed.We're only gonna climb back into it later.Was always his excuse when she complained he never made the bed. She was falling in love with a hobo.

Sprawled on the white bedding, she braced her hands and lifted her torso. No intentions of moving, not when she was far more interested in what the big bad biker man was going to do now. She watched him inhale slowly .... fists on his hips, breathing through his flared nostrils stood at the bottom of the bed like a dark avenging badass. His cut came off first, tossed on the chair over in the corner, next he kicked his boots off, left them wherever they landed. "Really, Rider, can't you tidy those away..." she taunted with a slow-growing smile.

It had the desired effect as he bared his teeth growling. Eyes heated and pinned on her.

Her heart rate increased. Places began to throb wanting to be filled by him.

"Really pushin’ it, baby. I'd shut it while you're ahead."

"Or…else?"

That did it.

Body soaked ready and begging, she watched him with the hunger of a woman wanting to be fucked by the right man as he prowled himself across the bed, all muscle and sinew moving together beneath his denim and wife beater, crawling right over her until she was caged in by that much larger body, he kept coming until he’d forced her back up against the headboard. She purred, hands going around to hold his waist, her foot hooking against his ankle, locking him in place just as he held her down, his weight was so incredibly good, she pumped up her hips for any kind of friction.

"Or else your man won't fuck you stupid. He won't fuck you until you're hoarse from screamin'. Your man won't fuck you until that pretty little fuckin' pussy is shaking from the inside, drippin' for me.”

When he dirty talked, she dissolved into a puddle. Like a bomb has been waiting for the right opportunity to go off, she enjoyed the spiral of heat.

She shut it.

And Rider fucked her stupid.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

“A badass biker man loves me. So, what's your super power?" - Zara

"My girl is too thin. I need to feed you up." Fingers played around her ribcage, stroking, tempting her though her body was in that sated status.

"Like the fatted calf?" she laughed. "Is that something a scary outlaw would say, sounds a little sexist if you ask me. But look who I'm saying it to, the walking breathing stone-age biker-man. Let me introduce you to the twenty-first century, don’t be afraid, biker man." She smiled flirtatiously. Largely because Rider had his other hand on the rise of her butt just right where the base of her spine dipped in, fingers splayed caressing her. It felt so nice she wiggled a little. She’d been wrecked by sex, a sopping wet mess, juices leaking out of her even now while her bones rebuilt themselves from the hard pounding he’d given her.

Warm, curled against a gorgeous man who had just fucked her brains out twice, and he was telling her she was thin. If he offered her fat-free chocolate she was going to declare it the perfect day.

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