Page 13

Tarynn

I don’t think Crow had very many drinks at the club, but he seems happier now that we’re here. Less… or maybe it’s more. More outgoing. Less uptight. Free and easy and happy. I don’t know what it is, but it’s a little bit like he’s a completely different person.

Honestly? Who am I to talk?

Here I am, following him through the hotel, into the elevator, where we’ll end up in either his room or mine. I opened my legs for him at a strip club after getting a private lap dance from a beautiful woman. I kissed him an alley after I touched myself and he sucked my fingers clean. I had my hand on his erection all the way back here.

I might be in Sin City, where anything goes, but I don’t recognize myself either.

I reach into my bag and get my keycard out. Crow doesn’t protest. He hasn’t said anything since he got into the cab. He’s been silent this whole time, but I could hear how his breathing changed when I stroked him. He wants this as badly as I do. If I was anyone else, he might have taken me right there in the alley, up against the hard brick of that building, but, in deference to my feelings, he wanted this to be private.

He’d probably never say it out loud, but I think he wants this to be special for me.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that I’m a virgin, and Crow is smart.

We stumble into the room together. He slams the door shut and I grab him. We nearly trip over all the bags of shopping that I’ve placed haphazardly all over the whole suite.

I kiss him, practically climbing him, whimpering and breathing like a wreck as my insides turn to liquid fire. I want this far too badly to have any inhibitions left. This is what a lifetime of restraint falling away looks like. I don’t care that we barely know each other. Alcohol or not, I’ve felt the chemistry sizzling, barely controlled, sine that first minute I spoke to him at Patti’s. It feels like an entire lifetime ago. Months. Years.

I tear my scrap of a shirt off, growling like an animal. I’m wearing an old bra. It’s hardly sexy. It doesn’t push anything up.

Crow’s mouth attacks my neck, teeth scraping over my skin, tongue hot and devouring. He tears at my bra straps, but stops with his hand on the back clasp.

“Please,” I whimper. “Please take it off.”

He cups my breasts as soon as the bra falls away. It feels so fucking good that my head slams forward. I kiss the side of his neck, licking as much of him as I can reach. He’s intoxicating, slightly salty, clean and fresh. All primal male.

Our hands explore each other, our mouths meeting, kissing and tasting, sucking and biting, until he stops by the bed, tearing away, a tortured expression on his hard face. “I don’t have a condom. Do you?”

Fuck! “No.”

Well, fucking shit, fuck. I guess that’s it for this then.

There’s no way that we can have sex without protection. I’m not on the pill. Having a family might be in my plans for the distant future, but I don’t want one now. I would never want to put that pressure on either of us.

Crow is responsible. He’s the one using his brain. I’m just a hot mess of desire that I can’t control.

“We can do other things.”

His brows crash down in doubt. I know what he’s thinking. If we cross a certain line, we won’t be able to stop.

“You can fuck me six ways to Sunday without using your cock.” This the first time I’ve ever dared speak that word out loud. Sure, I’ve read it, and frequently, but any time I have ever used words for the male anatomy, it has been the correct academic, biological terms. I have to slap a hand over my mouth to contain my giggle. “It’s very convenient that it’s still Sunday. Or is it?”

Crow glances at the nightstand where there’s a digital clock. “Not technically, but just past.”

“Next Sunday then.”

“Tarynn…”

It sounds like he’s going to follow my name up with a list of reasons we shouldn’t do this, and I can’t let him do that. I snap my fingers, taking control even though I have no idea what I’m doing. I indicate his clothes. “Get naked.” I almost use his club name, but I saw how whispering his real name affected him in the alley. I can’t imagine he tells many people what it is. It’s an honor that he bestowed on me, a secret that he gave up and put in my hands. I’ll call use it for as long as he’d like me to. “Please, Owen.”

That’s all it takes. He rolls his shoulder back, tilts his face up, and closes his eyes like he’s uttering an irreverent silent prayer. He grabs the neck of his t-shirt and yanks it over his head.

I’d seen snippets of his ink before, but damn… this man is incredibly beautiful. He’s entirely made of rock hard, sinewy muscle. Thick in the shoulders and arms, leaner as his chest narrows to his waist. He’s an athlete and then some. He looks more like a cage fighter or a boxer, not a weightlifter. Dark ink swirls over much of his skin. His arms are entirely covered, his pecs and chest too, but it’s not a solid picture. I’ve seen illustrations of old timey tattoos, and that’s what he has. I wonder how many he’s given himself.

Swallows, a lighthouse, a praying saint with long swirling robes, brass knuckles, a gun… I want to keep looking and take it all in, but he’s already undoing his jeans and toeing off his boots. He undresses without a hint of being self-conscious, but then, why would he be? He’s glorious.

He steps out of his boots and slides his jeans and boxers down.

I felt the length of his cock in the cab, but somehow, it’s longer and thicker than I made it out to be in my head. The tip is swollen and shiny, with precum already leaking out. The tattoos extend over his stomach and all the way down his legs. I imagine that it would be easier to tattoo yourself there.

“T-turn around,” I stammer.

I’m knocked straight up breathless at the beauty of him. I’ve seen plenty of diagrams of naked men and women before, plenty of art, even, but never in a movie. Certainly never in real life.

I’ve gone straight from boring, repressed, virginal nothingness to this .

He does what I ask, rotating slowly. I cover my mouth with both hands when I see his back. There’s a huge ship, surrounded by rope and waves, offset by an anchor and several roses. All his work his black. It’s the mermaid and the squid on his ass that really do me in.

“Can- can I touch you?”

He cranks his head over his shoulder and grins at me. It’s so very different than anything I could have seen Crow doing before that I almost reel back. “I’d like that, Tarynn.” He fucking winks at me at the end.

I don’t know if he’s daring me to do it or if he thinks that I’m going to run my fingertips over him like a scared little girl, but I’m going to touch him how I’ve been longing to touch him.

I wrap my arms around his waist, hugging him from behind. He goes stiff, proving that he wasn’t prepared for it. I drop a kiss between his shoulder blades. He’s warm and solid. Back here, his skin is soft and silky overtop the hard layers of muscle. I kiss down his spine, dragging the outlaw gasoline and leather scent of him in deep. He’s obviously not wearing cologne, which I like. I’ve spent a lifetime smelling it at church. I feel like it’s gag worthy and pretentious. I do like the scent of his deodorant though. It’s unique, rum and bourbon, but maybe I’m just associating all his nautical artwork with the scent now. I don’t know what either of those actually smell like.

I drop to my knees, setting my hands at either side of his hips. I kiss the small of his back and dip down, running my tongue over the little divots right where his ass starts.

Before he can stop me, I sink my teeth below that, right into the rock hard ass cheek.

“Christ!” He doesn’t yelp it or try and get away from me, though. He utters an oath under his breath and lets me explore him.

In my mind, this isn’t what I thought I’d do first. I’ve barely read anything this depraved, but I want to taste him here. I get as far as kissing the top of his crack and flicking my tongue out before he whirls around.

“I didn’t think anything could shock me, but you win. You want to do that, though, you should save it for after a shower.”

I look up at him, finding his dark eyes dancing with humor. “Would you let me? in the shower?”

“Eat my ass? Sure, if that’s your thing.”

“Would you eat mine?”

“There’s not a spot on your body that I don’t want my tongue,” he drawls, low and sexy and deep.

I can feel how soaked my panties are, right along with that agonizing pull in my midsection, mixed with butterflies and nerves and the incessant, empty throbbing accompanying it all.

His cock is right by my face. I have no idea what to do with it or how to give a blowjob. It feels like something I should also ask permission for. I keep my eyes on his as my cheeks get hot.

“Would it be alright if I sucked your cock?”

“Fuck,” he groans, exhaling long and low. “You can, but just so you know, I feel like I’m on the edge already. Complements of everything we’ve done so far, I could blow at any second. I should be the one asking you if it’s okay to tear my dick out of your mouth and paint you in my come.”

Oh my god. It’s so filthy. It’s so hot and filthy and deliciously wonderful.

“You could come in my mouth.”

He threads his fingers through my hair, holding me in place. “If that’s what you want, but you might not be ready for that. I can give you warning and let you decide.”

“Okay, give it now.”

He blinks at me.

“Because this is about to be so good that you’re only going to last a few seconds.”

His eyes flutter closed. He looks like he’s in pain, having a mental battle of wills. “Is this the alcohol or the years of living a repressed life?”

“Neither,” I whisper. I close my hand around the base of his cock, satisfied with the feral sound that escapes his throat and the shudder that ripples through him. “It’s you.”

“Just so we’re clear, you’re going to ride my face after this. Backwards and forwards and any other damn direction I choose.”

I’m aching so badly that, as I stroke my hand down his length, it takes all my self-control not to reach down and touch myself too. It would feel so good, but I want to wait. I want Owen to touch me. I want him to be the one to make me come.

He’s so long that I can’t imagine fitting much more than the tip of him and maybe an inch or two after that, into my mouth. I work him with my hand as I lean forward, bringing my other hand up to cup his balls.

“Tare… Tare…”

His hands are in my hair, his head tipped back, a picture of male bliss, power, and dominance, but he doesn’t urge my face forward. He’s not going to instruct me. He’s not going to boss me around or make demands. He’s going to let me figure this out for myself. He knows that I’ve had enough of taking orders. It’s not the same with him, but I like that he lets me do this for him. It’s as much for me too, and he’s figured that out. Likely long before I did.

I lick the tip of his cock, circling the head with my tongue before I plunge my mouth forward. I don’t gag myself. I stop when I feel him at the back of my tongue and draw back. He’s thick and my jaw immediately feels the strain. I love the burn as much as I love the salty, musky taste of him.

“Fuck me senseless, mother of mercy,” he chants above me, under his breath. He knows more religious sayings than I do.

I pull back, working him with my mouth and my hand in tandem. It’s not hard to set a rhythm. I use my tongue to trace the veins on his shaft, playing over his tip, tracing the slit. I might never have done this before, but I know I’m doing it right, or at least, right enough.

Owen trembles and quakes, big tremors that I’m causing. He’s fearsome and gorgeous in turn, mysterious and smart, well read, probably well-traveled, confident on the exterior, a natural born protector, an artist, the epitome of male power, in his prime, and I’m the one down here, giving him such pleasure that he’s about to tear out of his own skin.

I’ve never known a sensation like this. Pure wicked lust, mixed up with a heady sense of my own innate power, but beyond that, just sheer delight that I’m here and that this man trusts me to do this for him.

Trusting your body, your secrets, your pleasure, your innermost self to another person is a big deal.

I’m a living, pulsing beacon between my thighs. It’s killing me that I can’t have him there. Giving him pleasure makes me feel good. So good. I want more. I want it all.

I love being down on my knees for him, his face brutal and fierce, controlling himself and longing all missed together. His hand glides through my hair, coiling up some of the strands, gripping tight.

“That’s it, babe. You’re sucking my dick so good.”

I know what a praise kink is, and honestly, I don’t think I have one. His words don’t make me glow all over. I’m already red hot as a fire poker, stoked to the brink with lust. My panties are ruined. I bring my other hand up, slipping it up my thigh and under the short leather skirt.

“That’s it. Touch yourself. I want your fingers on your clit while you’re sucking me off. Want to see you come apart for me.”

I lick the whole of his shaft, swirling my tongue over the tip to gather up the precum dripping there. Nothing has ever felt better than this, worshipping this man, making him feel so good that his powerful body trembles at a single touch.

I push my panties to the side. They’re drenched and cloying, but it only takes a pass of my fingers back and forth to get them completely slicked. I push two fingers to my entrance, gasping as I play them inside myself shallowly.

“Yes,” he groans. “Fuck, yes.”

I play through every dirty fantasy I’ve ever had as I grasp his cock with my hand, slicking my own wetness down his length before I lick it off, tasting myself.

His cock pulses in my hand, and his face changes, morphing into something that’s pure wild.

I go back to touching myself, playing lightly over my clit. A few touches is all it would take to send me off and I’m not ready for that yet. I want to come with him, this man who is too sexy and kind to be real.

I use my hand on his shaft while I get bold enough to lick his balls. I suck on them, the skin so fascinatingly strange. He’s all man and salt, especially as a I trace my way up his shaft with my tongue, mapping out the veins that wrap around his hard length. I suck on his head, finding that sensitive place on the underside and pressing my tongue against it until he grunts at the sensation.

More beast than man. That’s all me. I’m the one doing this for him.

I feel that straight to the basest part of me, down to my bones and blood.

My fingers work harder, slicking through my wet folds, touching myself sloppily and frantic.

“Can I fuck your mouth? Just a little?”

I nod eagerly. He’s already between my lips. He pushes forward, the smallest surge of his hips, seeing how much of his thick length he can get into my mouth.

It’s not much. I open as wide as I can, but it doesn’t seem like long until I feel him at the back of my throat. I swallow over and over, trying to keep myself from choking and gagging. Drool forms at the corners of my lips. I’m half worried I’ll suffocate, then then he pulls back, keeping his thrusts shallow.

He uses my mouth, dragging his cock over my tongue again and again. I hollow out my cheeks, sucking him hard, not wanting to let him go.

His head tips back, his legs tremble, his abs are like cut diamonds right in front of my face, his ink flexing with every spasm and breath. I work him eagerly, meeting the pulses of his hips with thrusts of my own. A strange sound rumbles up out of him, a masculine moan.

“Fuck, Tare. I’m going to come.”

I nod, sucking him harder.

“No. Not in your mouth. That’ll scare the shit out of you.”

I want it. I shake my head, refusing to stop what I’m doing, working myself with my fingers.

His hand on my hair, cradling my head, stops me. “Tarynn.” His voice carries all the solemnity in the world. “I don’t want to hurt you or scare you. As hot as it would be to come down your throat, you know what I would like even more? Coming on those beautiful tits. I- shit, I mean breasts.”

“It’s okay. I like when you call them tits.” I sit back just long enough to say it, before taking him into my mouth, working him vigorously with my hand and mouth again.

I attack my clit, touching myself with my own hands for the first time. I’m so far gone that I don’t need to be experienced.

My fingers are messy and wet. So is my mouth. The sounds I make, little whimpers, but also the sucking, dirty, amazing sucking sounds of blowing him, tip me straight over the edge.

“Yeah, babe. That’s it. Love watching you shatter.”

My legs shake violently as I ride my hand, mashing my clit, riding out the electric pleasure. This isn’t gentle and mellow like the showerhead, and I thought that was good. This is red hot and wicked, almost violent because it’s so intense. I throw my head forward, using everything I have to make Owen come, and keep going, fucking myself unmercifully, pressing on my clit over and over again, though now it’s starting to get into borderline painful territory.

When I can’t take it anymore, I grasp Owen’s muscular hips, sinking my nails into his ass as I bob my face on his cock, back and forth, until he shouts something that barely registers because my brain is so fucking blown, and tears out of my mouth.

His massive hand pumps his cock, once, twice, and then he’s coming in scalding jets all over my chin, my chest, my shoulders, my belly, the floor, my neck. He roars out his pleasure while he’s painting me in his cum, and then after, stands over me breathing like a stallion.

I’m so blissed out, but I can’t help but looking at his handiwork. I find him doing the same. “Holy shit,” I breathe, feeling nothing but satisfied and glowing, even though I know that this would be construed as enough of a sin to damn me for eternity. If I believed in that, I might feel some guilt, but there’s nothing. Nothing bad at all. Only a creeping, satiated relief that turns my limbs to liquid.

“Holy shit is right,” he pants, slicking his fingers through the wetness and rubbing it in slow circles, trying to massage it into me.

I gasp at the dirty act.

“Holy shit, your aim sucks. That isn’t on my breasts at all.”

His fingers are slick with his sticky seed. He cups my small breast, circling my nipple with his wet thumb. His touch is a shockwave arcing straight down to my pulsing clit.

It’s even more shocking when he paints my lips with his cum and then yanks me up and slams his mouth over mine, licking it up before his tongue plunges into my mouth, letting me taste.

It’s… different. Musky and salty.

Not only do I not hate it, my hands grasp onto his shoulders pulling him closer. I want nothing more than to have him inside of him, filling me, stroking me the way his tongue is, coming in me so deep he imprints the shape of himself on my insides.

There’s no way that I can spend a single minute more not having him and survive.

“Condoms,” I gasp out. “Let’s get dressed and go get some.”

“Are you serious?” He holds me at arms’ length, studying me gravely.

My hands trace his hard abs, feeling like a sex starved lunatic. “I want every inch of you. Over and over again.” I’m warm wax over hot steel.” I love tracing the outline of him, memorizing the silk of his skin. I want him thoroughly mapped out, a surveyor and cartographer both. I need him to know my body the same way.

He brackets my hips, huge palms fitted there just right. It’s amazing that we fit so well, already.

For a crushing second, I think he’s going to say no, but then his face breaks and softens. The chuckle that rolls out of him is like chocolate melting on my tongue.

“Okay. Let’s get you cleaned up, and then we’ll go.”

He swings me up into his arms, carrying me to the bathroom like I’m a queen. I expect the shower, but instead he rinses out a washcloth, soaking it in hot water. It’s rough against my sensitive skin, but I revel in the sensation of him caring for me.

I drag his face to mine while he’s working on it, kissing him until my lips feel bruised. Every bit of him, so different from me, feels like a match carved out of marble. He’s hard where I’m soft, and it’s the most beautiful puzzle, two pieces locking into place.

“I never want this night to end,” I whisper, tracing the lines of the lighthouse inked on his side.

His lips turn down just a little and his face is unguarded just for a second, almost boyish. I don’t know why I’ve made him sad, but I want to fix it. I hate knowing that he’s hurting, but the next instant, whatever that sorrow was, is banished and he gives me a smile much sweeter than anything I’ve seen from him yet. It’s breathtaking. He’s a marvel, this man, my biker.

“Okay.” He smooths back my hair and kisses me on the tip of my nose, a romantic gesture that pretty much turns me to goo. “Let’s go get dressed.”