Page 54 of The Girlfriend's Guide to Dating a Biker
He gave me a look that said, you’re insane and I like it too fuckin’ much. “Jesus Christ.”
“I’m in. I’m sure.” I hooked a finger through his belt loop and tugged him to me. “And also, I am very, very horny.”
Jake made a NSFW sound—one I would very much like to download in WAV format and turn into a vibration setting—and just like that, the contract was signed, and we entered the break me like a website on launch day phase of the evening.
His mouth crashed onto mine, no patience in sight, just indecent intent. One hand gripped my neck, anchoring me while he kissed me. The other slid down my back, firm and hot, until it found my ass and hauled me into him with the force of a man who’d been waiting too long.
And holy hell, there was no mistaking the thick ridge of his cock pressing into me through his jeans.
“Fuck.” His voice was raw against my lips when he palmed my breast through my dress. “You’re fuckin’ perfect.”
My brain had fully left the chat. I was running on lust commands only. And when Jake’s thigh slid between mine, my hips moved like they were chasing God.
“That’s it,” he rasped, watching me grind on him. “Take what you need, darlin’.”
I grabbed his face and pulled his mouth back to mine, kissing him, losing my damn mind over him. Jake made a noise like he was only just holding it together and took the kiss deeper. Rougher. Messier. He kissed like he meant to consume me. He was all tension and urgency, hands everywhere, possessive and greedy.
When the kiss ended, I was panting, dazed, straight up running on Feral Girl OS.
Jake’s mouth didn’t give me time to catch my breath. It blazed a path down my neck, open-mouthed and filthy, his breath hot.
“I’ve been polite,” he said, voice vibrating straight into my bloodstream, “but fuck, I’ve wanted to bite this neck since the second I saw you.”
And then he did—bit me—right where my neck met my shoulder. Not enough to hurt, but enough to mark. Enough to make my knees go completely untrustworthy.
His hands left my breasts (RIP, they were not okay) to glide down and grip my waist before dragging over my hips. Then he reached the hem of my dress and his hand slid under it with the confidence of a man who was finally cashing the fuck in on the box I’d just ticked that said “yes, please ruin me responsibly.”
His eyes stayed locked on mine as he rubbed my pussy through my underwear. Pure smut blazed in those blues of his.
“Fuck me.” The words dragged out of him, hoarse from want. “You’re soaked.”
Yes.
Correct.
Thank you for noticing.
His fingers teased the edge of my underwear. “I’ve been replaying every version of this in my head for weeks,” he said, kissing along my jaw between each dirty admission. “Bent over my bike. My bed. This fuckin’ kitchen counter. Naked. Legs spread. My name on your lips.”
Then he slipped his hand into my underwear and?—
Sweet mother of RAM.
Holy. Actual. Shit.
He found my clit with the skill of a man who knows exactly what he’s doing.
Well. That’s it. I’m officially owned. Good luck to future me.
He let out a sound so pornographic I swear I felt it in my cervix. “Jesus fucking Christ, Eden.” His words spilled hot against my throat. “Tell me you want my mouth on you, darlin’. Tell me to drop to my fuckin’ knees and bury my face in your pussy.”
Excuse me?
Excuse. Me.
Sir, where have you been hiding that mouth?
That voice? That tone? That filth?
