Page 34 of Her Possessive Biker

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“You want my cock, Angel? Right here?” He strokes deep. “Want me to stretch you out, make you cry, fill you until you’re dripping with it?”

I can’t answer. I can only nod.

His laugh is low, wicked.

His grip firms at my throat.

“I’m going to fuck you, Angel. And I’m not going to be gentle. Told you already.”

The moment he says it again, I know it’s a promise.

He shifts behind me, one arm anchoring me back against his chest. His lips graze my ear.

“Open your mouth.”

I do.

He presses a single finger to my lips.

“Suck.”

I take him deep. He groans, voice thick with restraint.

“Yeah, just like that. Get it nice and wet.”

My body shakes, trembling with need. I suck hard, slow, imagining it’s his cock instead.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes.

His teeth graze my shoulder. His finger slides out of my mouth, and that same hand slips down, parting me.

“Such a sweet little pussy,” he murmurs. “Worked up just for me?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“This all for me?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to ruin you.”

“Good.”

His fingers tighten on my neck. His teeth scrape again.

Then his hips shift, and I feel the heavy heat of him against me.

Dragging. Teasing. Tormenting.

My eyes roll back as his shaft slides through my folds, slick with everything I’ve built for him.

“Jesus, Angel,” he growls. “You’re soaked. You’re dripping for it.”

“Yes,” I gasp.

His hands grip my hips. He shifts back. And then he pushes inside.

One inch. Then more. Stretching. Filling.

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