Page 61 of The Belle and the Biker

“Hard and fast,” he rasps, “or slow and easy.”

My nails dig into his shoulders, and I hiss at him. “What do you think?”

Before the words are out of my mouth, he slams into me.

He stretches me to bursting. Somehow we fit together perfectly. Tight but slick. I strain to take in his width as he pulls out and pushes back in. Stroke after stroke, his relentless pace drives me deeper into the bed.

He changes pace, rapid shallow thrusts that spark along the nerves just inside my opening.

“Oh, fudge,” I breathe as every nerve ending lights up.

Crash buries his hand in my hair, fingers wrapped around my neck in a reverse chokehold. Possessive, rough—mean, even. But I have no complaints because he is screwing the lady out of me with every deep, sharp stroke until all that is left is a woman I don’t recognize. A woman who’s not afraid to ask for what she wants.

He’s pounding into me with an intensity and a passion that snatch my breath away.

There is no returning from this. I hadn’t even been sober the first time we had sex, and now all my senses are alert, on fire. These moments are seared into my memory, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to walk away from him whole. I don’t think I’ll ever want any other man’s hands, mouth, or shaft in my body.

Only him.

“Crash,” I cry out as my body shudders and explodes for a second time.

He buries himself deep inside, hips grinding, and unexpectedly his hand on my neck softens, and he lowers his head, taking my lips in a kiss as hot as it is gentle.

He growls and stiffens, the tendons of his neck in stark relief. He pulses inside, and I have a moment to regret that we aren’t in a place where I can feel him inside me unsheathed. But I can’t risk a baby. Not now.

Crash kisses me one more time. I whimper as he slowly withdraws, and I’m throbbing in the aftermath, my thighs aching deliciously.

* * *

Crash

I settle onto my back, one arm under my head, and Savannah snuggles up on my side. She’s staring at me with a half-smile curving her plump lips.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing. Just that you’re finer than a frog’s hair split six ways.”

Her silky accent strokes along my skin, and I’m instantly hard again. “You do know when you talk Southern to me, I have no choice but to fuck you?”

She smiles at me. “Well, since that’s the only way I talk, it looks like there’s a lot of fornicating in my future.”

CHAPTER19

Crash

It’s mid-afternoon,and we’ve both collapsed under the weight of multiple orgasms. I’m wrapped in a happy fog of sleep and postcoital satisfaction when Savannah’s small hand clenches my shoulder. I open one eye, squinting. Light streams into the room. Still daytime, then. Hell, we were supposed to go look for Buttercup, and the last thing I want to do is leave this bed.

“Wshup,” I mumble into the pillow. “Afternoon, beautiful.”

“What is that noise?” Savannah asks me.

I crane my ears, but all I hear is faint traffic noise from the highway. “There is no noise. Come back to bed.”

“No, there’s something on the back porch.”

I lie there in silence, listening hard, but I hear nothing.

“The only back porch I’m interested in is yours.” I try to pull her back, but then I hear it too. It sounds like an animal, but it could be a ruse; it could also be a rabid raccoon.

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