Page 20 of The Belle and the Biker

My hips buck as his tongue flicks over me, and his hands move up my torso, capturing my breasts and squeezing. No, not gentlemanly at all. He's rough and devouring.

I bite my lip, trying to muffle my moans; I'd never sounded so wild with my ex.

Crash reaches up gently, pinches my nipple, and I cry out, a shock of pleasure jackknifing through my body. "You don't get to hold back. Give me everything. Or—"

"Yeah, yeah," I say hoarsely. "Or you'll spank me. You keep saying that."

Is this what I've wanted all along? Crash to take me over, threaten me with acts no good Southern girl should want? Just pure animal raw sex.

"You do love to talk," I drawl, deliberately egging him on.

He grins, amused, and returns his attention to my heated sex. His mouth fastens on the small pink pearl between my legs, and his right-hand leaves my breast. There's no warning, no lead-in. His fingers are inside me, two thick digits stroking me in time to his tongue. Every touch is a brand, a promise that I belong to him, and he'll do to me whatever the hell he feels like. And I'll like it, too.

"Am I talking too much now, baby?" he asks in a croon.

Nothing comes out of my throat except a gurgle. I'm trying to catch my breath. Even a thought would be great.

"Use your words, baby," he says mockingly, then shuts up to get back to business.

The pressure builds and builds.

I scream, my back arching, uncontrollable trembles jiggling through my thighs. I feel slick between my legs, and he moves down, his tongue diving between my folds as he laps me up.

I'm stunned, speechless. As I process the orgasm, he rolls me onto my stomach, flipping me as if I weigh nothing. I'm a prize he's intent on claiming, a captive to his pleasure.

It's in every touch of his fingers—strong and commanding. He grasps my hips and pulls my butt up in the air while pushing between my shoulder blades so my face is mashed into the bed.

Crash smooths a hand down my buttocks, between my wet thighs, pushing my legs farther apart.

"You should see how you look, princess. Like a ripe, juicy peach. Glistening wet. Waiting for me to take another bite."

I moan, imagining how I must look. Erotic. Undignified. I may be a lady in the street, but Crash proves I'm wild in the sheets because all I want is for him to grab me by the hair and take me. Like an animal, like a conqueror.

His muscled chest drapes over my back as he leans into me, his voice gravelly in my ear. "Well? Do you want me to take another bite?"

I bite my lip. "You know I do."

"What's the magic word?"

I twist my torso to turn my head to glare at him. His fingers are buried in the hair at my nape as he claims my mouth in a savage kiss; it's tight and uncomfortable, and his weight makes it plain who's the boss here.

It's infuriating, and it makes me hot. I just orgasmed, but inside I'm pulsing, my body pleading for more.

I gasp into his kiss, my ass grinding against him and his jeans rough against my skin.

"Manners," he rasps.

"If you would be so kind," I say, injecting every ounce of possible hauteur into my voice, even though it's husky from screaming.

His eyes narrow, and he rears up, his mouth a thin slash. I hear the jerk of a zipper, and then the satiny head of his manhood nudges my entrance.

He enters me with one thrust of his thick, engorged shaft and proceeds to screw me like each stroke is punishment and a challenge.

The heat inside me builds, and builds, until…

I bolt upright in bed to a familiar sound—a rooster crowing.

CHAPTER8

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