Page 15 of Calypso’s Shield (Royal Harlots MC, Los Angeles Chapter #1)
Farris slams me against the door, his body crushing into mine, pressing into me so hard I feel the rough wood bite into my back.
His hands are on my hips, tight and possessive.
His fingers dig in like he’s staking his claim.
The heat rolling off him sears through my clothes, and before I can catch my breath, his mouth crashes into mine.
Rough. Desperate. Demanding.
There’s nothing slow, nothing soft. Just the way I like it.
I bite his lip, hard enough to make him growl, a deep, guttural sound that vibrates between us. His grip snatches up my neck, his palm firm but careful, just enough pressure to make my pulse race like my bike at full throttle.
He drags me deeper into the kiss, his tongue tangling with mine, stealing the air from my lungs like he wants to own every single breath I take. My nails scrape up his arms, his shoulders, yanking at his cut, needing skin, heat, more.
“You like watching me fight for you, baby?” he rasps against my lips, his breath hot, his fingers digging into my waist like he wants to leave bruises.
I smirk, breathless. “Maybe.”
He chuckles, but it’s dark, wicked, full of something that sends a hot pulse of need straight between my thighs. His hand slides lower, slipping under my cut, under my shirt, and when his fingers find bare skin, I shudder.
“I think you liked it a little too much,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down my jaw, my throat, my collarbone. His stubble scrapes against my skin, a perfect mix of rough and intoxicating.
I don’t get the chance to bite back before he moves. Fast. Controlled. Unrelenting.
He spins me around, pressing my front against the door, his body flush against mine, his heat sinking deep. His hands trail down my sides, my hips, gripping, teasing, pushing me to the edge of losing all control.
His lips brush the back of my neck, and his voice is low, gravelly, pure fucking sin. “You gonna let me ruin you tonight, baby?”
I grip the doorframe, arching back into him, already burning from the inside out. “Farris.” My voice is hoarse, demanding.
He grins against my skin, his hands sliding lower, between us, his breath hot against my ear. “Say it,” he orders, his tone pure fucking authority.
My nails dig into the door, my head dropping forward as the tension coils so tight I swear I might break apart before he even touches me the way I need him to.
“Ruin me.”
Farris chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. Just pure fucking hunger.
His grip tightens on my hair, and his free hand slides down, slow, teasing, skimming beneath my shirt, his calloused fingers rough against my skin. He pushes the fabric up, over my ribs, higher, until he yanks it off and tosses it somewhere behind us.
Farris’s hands are on me, palming, kneading, exploring like he’s memorizing every inch before he wrecks me. I arch into his touch, but before I can reach for him, he spins me around, pinning me against the door again, this time face-to-face.
His mouth crashes into mine. It’s not a kiss. It’s a fucking war. Teeth. Tongue. Desperation. Need. Control slipping through our fingers.
His hands drop to my belt, yanking it loose in one rough motion before unfastening my jeans. He pushes them down, taking my panties with them, and the air hits my bare skin just as his fingers find me.
“Jesus, Lyp,” he groans, feeling how wet I already am, dragging his fingers through my slick heat. “All this for me?”
I bite my lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer.
So he makes me answer him. He slides two fingers inside me, deep, curling them just right, and a moan rips out of me before I can stop it. His grin is pure sin. "That's what I thought."
I dig my nails into his arms, desperate, impatient, and when I rock my hips, chasing more, he curses, pulling his fingers away too soon.
I don’t have time to protest because he’s already yanking his belt loose, unzipping his jeans, and when I glance down, fuck, he’s big. Thick. Heavy in his fist as he strokes himself once, twice, watching me like he’s daring me to stop him. Like I ever fucking would.
"Turn around," he orders, voice rough.
I smirk. "Make me."
His jaw tightens, and the challenge sparks something dark in his eyes. His hand snaps to my waist, spinning me back around before I can even blink.
Then he's there. Lining up behind me, teasing me, dragging the thick head of his cock through my slick heat. I brace myself against the door, fingers curling around the frame, breath coming fast.
"You want it rough, Lyp?" His breath is hot against my ear. "Or do you want me to take my time?"
I laugh. Breathless, aching, and so fucking ready I can’t stand it.
"Rough," I whisper. "Deep."
Then he slams into me in one hard thrust. My body jolts, my breath vanishes, my fingers dig into the doorframe as he stretches me, fills me, claims every inch. A broken moan rips from my throat, and behind me, Farris curses like a man losing his mind.
"Fuck, Calypso," Farris groans, his grip bruising on my hips, holding me still as he buries himself deeper, harder. He pulls back just enough to make me whimper, then slams back in, fast, unrelenting, dragging me right where he wants me. The rhythm is brutal. Punishing. Perfect.
I meet every thrust, pushing back, taking all of him, chasing the high already building deep in my core.
One of his hands slides up my spine, tangling in my hair again, pulling just enough to arch my back.
His mouth finds my neck, biting, sucking, marking me, and the sharp pleasure of it makes my walls clench hard around him.
Farris growls, deep, possessive, almost feral. "You feel so fucking good," he rasps, his pace brutal, unrelenting. "Like you were made for me."
I can’t even think straight anymore. The pleasure is too much, too consuming, and when his hand slides between my thighs, finding my clit, rubbing tight, fast circles, I shatter.
My orgasm crashes over me, hard and sudden, making me gasp and cry out, my legs trembling as I squeeze around him.
Farris curses, his thrusts turning erratic, deeper, harder. And then he groans my name, his grip on my hips bruising as he buries himself deep and lets go, his body tensing, his breath ragged.
For a long moment, we just breathe. Heavy. Spent. Shaking.
His forehead drops to my shoulder, his breath hot against my skin, his arms wrapping around me like he’s trying to keep me in place. Like he’s afraid I’ll run.
I smirk, still catching my breath, and twist my head just enough to glance at him over my shoulder. "Damn, Law Dog."
He laughs low, rough, satisfied as hell. Then he bites my shoulder, grinning against my skin. "Told you I'd ruin you, Lyp."
And fuck, he did.