Page 164 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

"Please—"

"Please what?"

"Fuck me. Make me forget everything except your cock inside me."

I line myself up and thrust in hard, burying myself completely in one stroke. She's so wet I slide in despite how tight she is, her cry echoing off the metal walls loud enough that anyone within fifty feet knows exactly what's happening.

The bike rocks under our weight, metal creaking, Tommy's handlebars groaning as she grips them white-knuckled. I grab her hips hard enough to bruise and fuck her with abandon, the wet sound of our bodies meeting obscene and unmistakable.

"Harder. I want to feel you tomorrow."

My hand wraps in her hair, pulling her head back as I slam into her. Each thrust rocks the bike, Tommy's "Gravity's Optional" sticker bouncing in and out of view. The work boots are back at our door, definitely watching, definitely recording.

"They're watching us. Recording me fucking you on a dead boy's bike."

That does it. Her pussy clenches impossibly tight as she comes, her whole body convulsing, a keening sound torn from her throat that echoes through the facility. The rhythmic squeezing around my cock triggers my own orgasm. I bury myself deep and come hard, filling her with rope after rope of cum while Tommy's bike rocks beneath us.

We stay connected for a moment, both panting, sweat dripping onto the bike seat. When I pull out, my cumimmediately starts dripping down her thighs, white against her flushed skin.

I help her stand on shaking legs, pulling her jeans back up even though they're soaked through with our combined arousal. My own pants are a mess, cock still half-hard and slick. We both look thoroughly fucked—hair wild, clothes destroyed, that specific glazed expression that screams sex.

My shirt is torn at the shoulder where she grabbed me during her orgasm, and her expensive silk blouse is completely destroyed, hanging in ribbons.

"Tommy would've loved this." I run my thumb over the faded sticker. "The scandal of it. Getting caught in a storage unit."

She tries to hold the remnants of her shirt closed. "He would've loved that you're finally living."

I grab the tarp and start to cover the bike, then stop. My hands hover over the handlebars where she gripped them minutes ago, now slick with her sweat.

Not ready to take it home. But not a grave anymore either.

I pull the tarp over it gently. Like protecting something precious instead of hiding something painful.

Rolling the metal door down feels different now. The screech of metal doesn't sound like finality anymore. Just... pause.

I lock the padlock and we walk toward the car. The security guard at the main office absolutely knows when we walk past—my torn shirt, her destroyed blouse barely covered, both of us walking with that specific looseness that comes after rough fucking. He gives us a knowing smirk and obviously adjusts himself in his chair.

Let him look. Don't care anymore.

In the car, the leather seats stick to our sweaty skin. Mira shows me her phone—a video file from twenty minutes ago,her on her knees with my cock in her mouth, the storage unit number clearly visible in frame.

"You filmed it?"

"Your exhibitionist side. My evidence collection habits." She pockets the phone. "For us."

"We'll need Vanessa to scrub any security footage from the facility." I adjust myself in my still-damp jeans. "Can't have that floating around."

Her entire body goes rigid. "Vanessa's going to see—"

"Just the exterior security cam footage. Not our video." I catch her hand before she can pull the phone away. "Besides, she's completely obsessed with Asher. Trust me, she doesn't even notice other men exist anymore."

The possessive fury in her eyes makes my cock twitch again. "She better not."

"Are you jealous?"

"I don't share." Her voice drops to that dangerous register. "Ever."

Noted. And hot as fuck.My cock twitches with renewed interest.