Page 37 of Claimed By My Biker Daddies
I squeeze her throat just enough to make her breath catch, then release. “Good girl. Take it. Every. Fucking. Inch.”
Her nails scrape down my back when I slam into her, her cry breaking into a choked sob of pleasure.
I keep her pinned, keep my cock driving deep until she’s trembling hard enough that I know she’s right there, ready to come apart.
Her whole body is shivering under my grip, nails biting my shoulders, breath tearing out in uneven gasps.
I pull her off the wall, my cock still buried deep inside her, and her head drops back with a cry as the movement drags me over every sensitive spot inside her.
“Hold on,” I tell her.
Her legs lock tighter around my waist.
I carry her across the room, the bounce of each step making her moan into my neck, hot and ragged.
Her slick is running down my shaft, coating me, and I can feel it where my hand grips her ass to keep her steady.
The couch waits by the fire.
I drop into it with her straddling me, not breaking contact.
The sound when she sinks back down onto me is wet, obscene, and I feel her clench around me like she’s trying to keep me inside forever.
“Lean forward,” I order.
Her hands brace on my chest, her hair spilling down to frame her face.
I angle her hips and start driving up into her again, harder now, the couch creaking under us.
She’s panting, her mouth open, every thrust pushing another breathless moan from her.
“Deacon,” I say without looking away from her.
He comes over, his cock already hard and heavy in his hand. I take her chin, turn her face toward him. “Open for him.”
She does, lips wrapping around the head of his cock while I’m still fucking her.
The muffled groan she makes sends a pulse of heat straight down my spine.
Her mouth works him slow at first, tongue swirling, then faster as he threads his fingers into her hair and guides her.
Cruz is leaning back in a chair across from us, his eyes locked on the way she bobs on Deacon while riding me.
His fist works steadily over his cock, the veins in his forearm standing out.
He’s watching her every swallow, every bounce of her tits when I slam her down on me.
I grip her hips, controlling her rhythm, making her take every inch.
The wet slap of our bodies fills the room, underscored by the lewd, sucking sounds of her mouth on Deacon.
Saliva glistens on her chin, strings from her lips to him when she pulls back for air.
“Good girl,” I tell her, my voice low and rough. “Taking us both like that. You like it, don’t you?”
She moans around Deacon, the vibration shooting through him if his curse is anything to go by.
I slam up into her, harder, and her eyes squeeze shut as she swallows him deeper.
