Page 69 of The Belle and the Biker

"What do you plan on doing with that?" he asks.

"I'm having my dessert and eating it too."

I don't know what he's thinking, but the look in his eyes revs my already fired-up libido. Holding his gaze, I pop the lid off the canister. "Spread your legs."

"Look at you, bossing me around."

"Look at you, letting me."

The can whooshes as I cover his thick shaft in the sweet, cool cream. It looks like a bit of fluffy little white clouds, and I'm afraid it will melt if I don't get started.

My lips close over him, my tongue lapping up the cream in long, slow strokes. He's salty under the sweet, and I move my mouth faster and faster, taking him deep into my throat as I eat my dessert off his rigid length.

He arches his back, his breathing coming out in harsh pants. "Goddamn. You talk, walk, and act like a princess, but you suck cock like a—"

I pinch his thigh. Hard.

"A goddess," he says and then clears his throat.

I'll take it.

He's rigid underneath me and lets out a low half-groan, half-growl. "I'm about to come in your mouth. But I want this to last much longer than that."

A little disappointed, I make a noise in the back of my throat. I want to make him come apart, but he doesn't let me play for much longer.

"My turn," he says when I've licked every last drop of white from his body.

I hand him the can, and he gestures. "I've wanted to do this for a minute. Come here."

I climb up his body, straddling his waist, and let out a breathy gasp when the cool cream hits my breasts. He covers them until the can hisses, empty, and then he urges me down until my breasts are in his face and his mouth and tongue are on my flesh, first one side and then the other.

I grind against him as he laps me up. He grabs me, his fingers streaking the melting cream all over my body as his hips buck beneath me. I can't take it anymore. I don't want to wait.

"Condom," I gasp.

"Fucking hell." His tortured groan makes me smile. I love how much he wants me.

I watch as he quickly rolls on the condom and returns to the bed.

Rising up on my knees, I wrap my hand around the base of his shaft and impale myself. Sliding down, I cry out. I move faster and faster, undulating my hips.

The harsh rasp of his breath is like music to me. He makes me feel so good about myself that I want to return the favor. I want to brand myself onto his soul and leave room for no other woman. I'm hungry for him and a little scared by the depths of my craving.

"So good…" The words roll from him in a low, sexy rumble. "You're fucking perfect, Savannah. And you're fucking mine." It's like he knew I needed to hear those words. Parts of me are still raw and wounded by my husband's betrayal, but Crash's harsh, possessive need is healing me, bit by bit.

I shift the angle of my hips, and with each stroke, his head rubs against my spot. Deep, deep inside. Tight, the friction of his full shaft filling my tight walls is incredible.

The orgasm knifes through my body, and I half collapse on him, weakness flowing through each limb. He grabs my hips and begins to move me up and down, the muscles in his arms bulging. I realize then that he's been holding back, just like a gentleman, waiting for me to take my pleasure first.

I can only hold on for dear life because his hips surge into me again and again, faster, each thrust demanding, merciless.

Crash shouts, a string of filthy words falling from his lips. His gravelly voice strokes up my spine, and I feel my body heating again. I'm on the cusp of another orgasm when he pulls out of me.

I whimper, but he just gets off the bed and hauls me after him. "Oh, we're not done, princess. Not by a long shot."

* * *

The shower in a trailer is about what one would expect. At least it's clean, and the linoleum looks new. The truth is, I'm still too aroused to care much.

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