Page 37 of Carver (Satan’s Angels MC #8)

She grasps my hand and drags it to her. I splay my fingers over her wet panties, but it’s not what she wants.

She guides me down past the waistband, into the lace, sliding my fingers straight to her center.

She pushes hard against my fingers, trying to get me to fill her with them.

I tease her instead, dipping them shallowly into her entrance.

She shivers violently, her hips jolting like she’s been electrocuted.

She’s beyond soaked, and not just from the champagne.

I can smell how aroused she is, and mixed with the sweeter liquid, it’s a heady scent that is going to kill me.

My cock throbs in my jeans, trying to punch its way out, as per usual.

Half of me wants to feed her my cock and have her work me until I pull out and come all over her, making a mess of her that we can both clean off, but part of me wants to wait and get her to the bed.

At this point, it’s going to be nearly impossible.

I’m half wild with how badly I need her.

I’m so far gone that I could come right now.

Literally. It’s already happened, with zero stimulation.

I get on my knees for her, shoving my hand to the small of her back to bring her closer to my face.

Her thighs tremble as I tuck them around my shoulders.

I run my hands up the smooth stockings. I force myself to have enough patience to kiss her thighs at the tops of them, right where the garter straps meet the sheer purple lace tops.

The garter is hooked over her panties, so I’ll have to undo the clips if I want to peel them off.

I’m about to lose it here, so there’s no undoing anything at the moment.

Just my mouth, straight over the lace, kissing and licking up her seam in utter desperation to have the taste of her honey explode in my mouth.

“Oh my god,” Bronte cries, her shoes banging against the cabinets as her legs tremble. “Dom. Dom….”

I love my name in her mouth. I want to hear it more.

I push her panties aside, taking in a breath of her before I part her seam with my tongue.

She cries out and I groan, the sounds shivering together in the quiet kitchen.

I’m starved for her, dipping my tongue into her entrance again and again before I circle and lash her clit.

She gets so wet that when I slip two fingers inside of her and pump them, the wet noises also fill the kitchen.

“You’re so tight,” I groan as her walls clench around my fingers. “So wet. So delicious. I’ll never get enough of your sweet pussy, Bronte. I could get down on my knees and feast on you for the rest of my life and be a happy man.”

“I want your cock, Dom,” she moans. “I need you inside of me.”

Somehow, I manage to find just enough control to deny her.

It’s nearly impossible, because hearing that coarse word cross her lips nearly does me in.

“Not yet. You’re not ready for my cock yet.

I want you to come like this first. And then again and again, and then, I’ll fill you up.

I want you to sensitive and swollen that by the time you’re riding me, it’s pain and pleasure, and you have to work to find another climax.

You’ll crave it, but at the same time, you’ll be so afraid to come.

Afraid of how intense it’s going to be. Of how it’s going to tear you apart. ”

“Oh my god,” she mumbles breathily. “It’s hot when you talk like that.”

“If you can still talk at all, then I’m not doing my job.”

I guide her off the counter, steadying her on her feet when they hit the floor.

I get up and splay her out over the counter, arranging her hands there to support her face before I press my knee between her thighs and wrench them apart.

I work the damn garter clips open and tear her panties down her legs.

Just because she turns to look over her shoulder, I hold them to my nose, inhaling her, before I turn them and lick along the part that’s the most soaked.

“Fuck,” she exhales, the word dropping like a bomb in the kitchen. I’ve never heard her use that word before, and yeah.

Fuck . It’s hot as fuck. She’s sexy as fuck. I’m going to fuck her with my face and hands until she’s creaming all over me.

“I want to fuck you. Can I use that word right now?” I ask her, bringing my face close and letting my breath heat her skin.

“S-sure,” she pants. “Whatever you want.”

What I want is her. Soaking my hand and my face as she thrashes in the throes of an orgasm that half wrecks her.

I feast on her, devouring her pussy messily from behind. She grinds her hips back into my face and against the counter until I jam my hand there to make sure she can’t writhe against the hard edge like she wants to.

I love the frustrated grunt that earns me, but I do cup her pussy instead, spread her open, and slowly give her two fingers.

I pump her full before I scissor them inside of her.

She cries out, rocking back and forth, her legs shaking.

Her inner thighs are soaked so I clean her up there while I continue to pump my fingers in and out of her at a pace that has to be maddeningly slow.

I know her body. I know that I could reach up just a little and find the right spot to rock her world, but not yet.

There are things I’ve never done for her, and I want to.

I lick her further and further back until I reach the tight ring of her asshole. I slowly graze my tongue over her there.

Instead of telling me no, she arches and reaches back, spreading herself open for me.

It’s official. I. Am. Dead.

And so fucking hard.

Tonguing her rim and going just a little bit further while I add another finger to her, stuffing her full and giving her stimulation that she’s never experienced, also gives me a whole lot of stimulation.

My balls are practically numb from tingling so hard.

I can barely feel my legs and my lower back feels like I was just punched.

My abs are so tight from holding myself back from coming that they’re practically stone. My cock is a blunt object in my jeans.

I’ve never wanted to fuck Bronte like that before, but now it’s all I can imagine.

I stop licking her. I remove my fingers from her pussy.

She doesn’t cry out or scold me or command me.

She just waits. Waits while I smear her juices over her asshole.

I very gently work her open, slipping my index finger inside of her up the first knuckle.

She’s ridiculously tight. Her body doesn’t brace or push back at me.

She trusts me so fully that this is no intrusion.

I realize that in the position I’m in, I can’t raise my other hand enough to tease her properly.

“Ride your hand,” I command her, surprised at how deep my voice is. Not husky. More authoritative.

She shivers and nods, slicking her fingers down to part herself. She doesn’t hesitate. She lines up three of her fingers and pushes them inside. “Oh. Ohmygoddddd,” she moans, dragging out the word like it’s all one long one. “I’m so full, Dom. It feels so good.”

“Let me taste.”

She groans at having to remove them to obey, but as soon as I suck them into my mouth, the sounds she makes change to ones of pleasure. I lick them clean, popping them out of my mouth one at a time.

“Let me see you make yourself come on your fingers.”

She eagerly brings them back to her entrance and slowly fills herself. I have the best view, but it’s one I’m willing to sacrifice to drag my tongue up her thighs, sucking and tasting, devouring every last drop of the wetness that remains there.

I watch her ride her hand, slowly at first, but then she increases the rhythm. Her head drops back, and the other hand grasps my shoulder for support.

She rides her fingers, plunging them in and out of herself, her hips undulating as she pumps herself full over and over again.

“I love the way you look right now,” I tell her, encouraging her to keep going. “I love your scent, the sounds of you fucking yourself. I want to see you come though, Bronte.”

She doesn’t really need my permission, but my words increase her tempo.

She withdraws one finger and plunges the other two inside while she works her clit.

She keeps up that pace for a moment and then her body shudders.

She folds in on herself, panting, riding her fingers even more furiously as she shatters.

I’d love it if it was my hand she was coming on. My tongue. My cock. But soon.

Watching her make herself come right in front of my face is sexy as hell.

There’s no way that I’m not going to clean her up.

As soon as the shudders change from violent waves to softer trembling ripples, I guide her fingers to my mouth and suck them clean again.

She sets her hand on my other shoulder as soon as I release it and holds on while I run my tongue over her swollen clit and then down, gathering every single bit of her come.

I’m gentle and I take my time. I know how sensitive she is.

She bucks against my face, arching away when even the softest touch is still too much, coming back to me when she needs more.

“Let’s go upstairs,” she whispers, her hand clenching in my hair and dragging my face away so I can stare into the burning depths of her fever bright, blown out eyes. “ Now .”

It’s that urgency in her voice that gets me moving. I scramble up and take her hand, leading her up the stairs to our small room and to the bed, where I’ll make her mine all over again and I’ll surrender everything I am, gladly, to be owned by her.