Page 65 of Damascus & The Wildfire
“You’re soaked for me,” I murmured, my thumb finding her clit again before I slid a finger inside her, curling it in precisely the way I knew would undo her. “And so fucking tight.”
Her breath came faster, more shallow. “Merrick …”
“I can’t wait to be inside you. Feel you strangle my cock the way you’re squeezing my fingers right now.”
She let out a clipped laugh. “You are not fucking me in the hallway. We’re going to get caught.”
I smirked. “No one’s looking.”
I continued to stroke her, and when I pressed my palm hard against her clit, her knees nearly buckled.
“Come for me, Wildfire.”
Her answer was a strangled gasp as she shattered against my hand, her body tensing as she pulsed around my fingers. I kissed her through the waves of pleasure, holding her upright until her breathing steadied.
When I finally drew my fingers from her, I held her gaze as I pressed them to my mouth, sucking them clean. “Better than I imagined.”
Shock flashed over her face.
I adjusted my painfully hard dick, smirking. “Another drink?”
Her eyes flicked to the bulgebetween us. “What about …?
“This was just the appetizer,” I murmured. “I want you in my bed for the main course.”
She bit her lip. “We should go to my place then. I need to feed Brisket before we spend the night together.”
I dipped my head and nipped at her neck. “Fine. But we leave now. I’ve held back long enough.” Wrapping a possessive arm around her waist, I led her out, glaring at any man who dared to look at her as we weaved through the crowd. She was mine?—
A familiar ringtone sang from my phone, cutting the thought in half.
Merci.
A ripple of unease slid down my spine. My sister never called. She mostly communicated in short text messages and GIFs, and never when she was on shift at the hospital.
“Merci, what’s up?” I answered.
Her tone was urgent and clipped. “It’s Hatchet. He’s been in an accident.”
My stomach dropped as she continued. “An ambulance just brought him in. He’s in triage with the trauma team right now.”
The words were a punch to the gut. My grip on Kenna tightened, and she looked up at me, confusion etched across her face.
“We’re on our way.”
The music and chatter blurred together as I shoved my phone into my pocket, my focus tunneling as I scanned the room.
I crossed the room in quick strides to where Thane and Reaper sat at the bar. “Merci called. Hatchet’s in the trauma center,” I explained.
Kenna’s hand shot up to cover her mouth, and her eyes widened in shock.
“Goddamn it,” Thane growled. His stool screeched as he stood. “Did the dumbass lay down his fucking bike again?”
“I don’t know. I’m headed there now.” My fingers locked around Kenna’s as I pulled her to follow me. My mind replayed Merci’s frantic tone, every worst-case scenario spiraling through my thoughts.
“If he dies because of me …” Kenna started, her voice cracking.
I jerked to a stop and cradled her face with my hands. “Stop. This isn’t your fault. Hatchet rides his Harley like it’s a dirt bike. It’s not the first time he’s crashed.”
