Page 14 of The Biker's Single Mom
Her eyes lock with mine, all pretense stripped away. "You," she says simply. "All of you."
Chapter 5 – Daisy
His eyes darken at my words, pupils blown wide with desire. He lowers his mouth to mine, but instead of the urgent claiming I expect, this kiss is devastatingly slow. His lips move against mine with deliberate precision, coaxing rather than demanding, his tongue tracing the seam of my mouth until I part for him with a sigh.
One of his hands cradles my jaw, tilting my head to deepen the kiss while the other slides along my side, mapping the curve from breast to hip with maddening restraint. My skin prickles with awareness at his touch, goosebumps rising in the wake of his calloused fingers.
"I've thought about this," he murmurs against my lips, "since I first saw you standing in my garage."
"Liar," I breathe, unable to stop my smile. "You were annoyed."
"Annoyed," he agrees, trailing kisses along my jaw to the sensitive spot beneath my ear. "And interested. You stood there in that yellow sundress with your chin up, looking at me like I was the problem instead of the solution."
His teeth graze my earlobe, sending a shiver down my spine. "I wanted to bend you over my bike right then."
The crude confession, spoken in that low, rough voice, sends liquid heat pooling between my thighs. "Daniel," I gasp as his mouth moves to my neck, sucking hard enough to mark.
"Patience," he murmurs, his beard scraping deliciously against my skin as he works his way down my throat, across my collarbone, between my breasts.
But patience has never been my virtue. Not when his weight pins me to the mattress in the most exquisite way. Not when his mouth hovers just above my breast, his hot breath teasing my already hardened nipple without touching it.
I arch up, seeking contact, but he pulls back with a wicked smile. "Eager?"
"Cruel," I counter, threading my fingers through his dark hair, trying to guide him where I want him.
He resists, holding my gaze as he deliberately lowers his head to press kisses around my breast, everywhere but where I need him most. The teasing is sweet torture, building a desperate ache inside me.
When his mouth finally closes around my nipple, the sensation is so intense I cry out, my back bowing off the bed. He sucks and licks, using the perfect pressure to send jolts of pleasure straight to my core. His hand finds my other breast, rolling and pinching the neglected nipple in time with the strokes of his tongue.
"More," I plead, my hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into the hard muscle there.
He switches to my other breast, giving it the same torturous attention while his hand slides down my stomach with agonizing slowness. I hold my breath as his fingers trail lower, dipping into my navel, tracing the slight curve of my belly, before finally, finally moving between my thighs.
I'm already slick and swollen, have been since his mouth first touched mine. When his fingers find my center, I nearly come undone at the first deliberate stroke.
"So wet," he growls against my skin. "So perfect."
His touch is somehow both gentle and commanding, first circling, then stroking, then dipping inside me before returning to that bundle of nerves that makes my breath catch and my hips rise to meet him. He builds a rhythm that has me gasping, teetering on the edge of release.
But just as the pressure builds to the breaking point, he withdraws, leaving me aching and empty.
"Daniel," I protest, opening eyes I hadn't realized I'd closed.
He silences me with a kiss, moving down my body with clear intent. His shoulders push my thighs wider as he settles between them, his beard rough against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. The first stroke of his tongue makes me jerk, the sensation almost too intense after his teasing.
"Relax," he murmurs against me, his breath hot and intimate. "Let me taste you."
I surrender to his mouth, to the wicked, deliberate pressure of his tongue, to the way his fingers join the torment, sliding inside me as he sucks and licks. The dual sensation is overwhelming, pleasure spiraling tighter and tighter until I'm trembling on the edge.
Once again, he pulls back just before I can fall. A frustrated sound escapes me, half sob, half laugh.
"You're enjoying this too much," I accuse, my voice shaky.
He rises above me, lips glistening with evidence of my arousal. "Yes," he admits unapologetically. "I want to make it last. Want to remember every sound you make, every way your body responds to me."
The raw honesty in his voice steals my breath. But I don't want to be merely received. I want to give as well.
Summoning strength I didn't know I had, I push against his chest. He looks down, confused, until I roll us, straddling his hips in one fluid motion. The surprise on his face gives way to raw hunger as I settle over him, my hands braced on his chest.
