Page 5 of The Biker’s Single Mom (Fox Ridge MC #5)

His eyes darken at my words, pupils blown wide with desire.

He lowers his mouth to mine, but instead of the urgent claiming I expect, this kiss is devastatingly slow.

His lips move against mine with deliberate precision, coaxing rather than demanding, his tongue tracing the seam of my mouth until I part for him with a sigh.

One of his hands cradles my jaw, tilting my head to deepen the kiss while the other slides along my side, mapping the curve from breast to hip with maddening restraint. My skin prickles with awareness at his touch, goosebumps rising in the wake of his calloused fingers.

"I've thought about this," he murmurs against my lips, "since I first saw you standing in my garage."

"Liar," I breathe, unable to stop my smile. "You were annoyed."

"Annoyed," he agrees, trailing kisses along my jaw to the sensitive spot beneath my ear. "And interested. You stood there in that yellow sundress with your chin up, looking at me like I was the problem instead of the solution."

His teeth graze my earlobe, sending a shiver down my spine. "I wanted to bend you over my bike right then."

The crude confession, spoken in that low, rough voice, sends liquid heat pooling between my thighs. "Daniel," I gasp as his mouth moves to my neck, sucking hard enough to mark.

"Patience," he murmurs, his beard scraping deliciously against my skin as he works his way down my throat, across my collarbone, between my breasts.

But patience has never been my virtue. Not when his weight pins me to the mattress in the most exquisite way. Not when his mouth hovers just above my breast, his hot breath teasing my already hardened nipple without touching it.

I arch up, seeking contact, but he pulls back with a wicked smile. "Eager?"

"Cruel," I counter, threading my fingers through his dark hair, trying to guide him where I want him.

He resists, holding my gaze as he deliberately lowers his head to press kisses around my breast, everywhere but where I need him most. The teasing is sweet torture, building a desperate ache inside me.

When his mouth finally closes around my nipple, the sensation is so intense I cry out, my back bowing off the bed.

He sucks and licks, using the perfect pressure to send jolts of pleasure straight to my core.

His hand finds my other breast, rolling and pinching the neglected nipple in time with the strokes of his tongue.

"More," I plead, my hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into the hard muscle there.

He switches to my other breast, giving it the same torturous attention while his hand slides down my stomach with agonizing slowness. I hold my breath as his fingers trail lower, dipping into my navel, tracing the slight curve of my belly, before finally, finally moving between my thighs.

I'm already slick and swollen, have been since his mouth first touched mine. When his fingers find my center, I nearly come undone at the first deliberate stroke.

"So wet," he growls against my skin. "So perfect."

His touch is somehow both gentle and commanding, first circling, then stroking, then dipping inside me before returning to that bundle of nerves that makes my breath catch and my hips rise to meet him. He builds a rhythm that has me gasping, teetering on the edge of release.

But just as the pressure builds to the breaking point, he withdraws, leaving me aching and empty.

"Daniel," I protest, opening eyes I hadn't realized I'd closed.

He silences me with a kiss, moving down my body with clear intent. His shoulders push my thighs wider as he settles between them, his beard rough against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. The first stroke of his tongue makes me jerk, the sensation almost too intense after his teasing.

"Relax," he murmurs against me, his breath hot and intimate. "Let me taste you."

I surrender to his mouth, to the wicked, deliberate pressure of his tongue, to the way his fingers join the torment, sliding inside me as he sucks and licks. The dual sensation is overwhelming, pleasure spiraling tighter and tighter until I'm trembling on the edge.

Once again, he pulls back just before I can fall. A frustrated sound escapes me, half sob, half laugh.

"You're enjoying this too much," I accuse, my voice shaky.

He rises above me, lips glistening with evidence of my arousal. "Yes," he admits unapologetically. "I want to make it last. Want to remember every sound you make, every way your body responds to me."

The raw honesty in his voice steals my breath. But I don't want to be merely received. I want to give as well.

Summoning strength I didn't know I had, I push against his chest. He looks down, confused, until I roll us, straddling his hips in one fluid motion. The surprise on his face gives way to raw hunger as I settle over him, my hands braced on his chest.

"My turn," I tell him, enjoying the way his breath hitches when I rock against him, my wetness sliding along his hardness.

I've never been this bold, this demanding. Daniel's eyes drink me in like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, hands gripping my hips with barely restrained desire, and the power of it rushes through me like whiskey, warm, intoxicating, dangerous.

I lean down to kiss him, letting my breasts brush against his chest, the friction of skin on skin making us both moan. Then I work my way down his body, trailing kisses over the inked skin of his chest and abdomen, following the dark line of hair that leads downward.

When I take him in my hand, his entire body tenses, a strangled sound escaping his throat. I stroke him slowly, learning the feel of him, the weight and heat in my palm.

"Daisy," he warns, voice strained. "You don't have to—"

I silence him by taking him in my mouth, watching his face as pleasure overtakes him. His eyes never leave mine, even as his hands fist in the sheets beside him. The power I feel in this moment is intoxicating, this dangerous man, undone by my touch.

I take my time, exploring what makes his breath catch, what draws those deep groans from his chest. When his hand tangles in my hair, guiding but not forcing, I let him set the rhythm, enjoying the way he struggles to maintain control.

"Enough," he finally rasps, gently pulling me up. "Or this ends too soon."

I crawl back up his body, settling over his hips once more. This time I reach between us, guiding him to my entrance, then slowly—achingly slowly—lower myself onto him.

The stretch and fullness make me gasp, my eyes fluttering closed at the intensity of the sensation. He's larger than I expected, filling me completely, the slight burn of accommodation quickly giving way to pleasure.

"Look at me," he commands, his hands gripping my hips. "I want to see you."

I open my eyes, meeting his gaze as I take him fully inside me. The connection is electric, beyond physical. For a moment we stay perfectly still, adjusting to the feel of each other, the sheer rightness of our bodies joined.

Then I begin to move.

I start slow, rising and falling in a rhythm that makes us both groan.

His hands guide my hips but don't control them, letting me set the pace.

The view above him is intoxicating—his powerful body beneath mine, the muscles in his chest and arms flexing with each movement, the raw desire in his eyes as he watches me take my pleasure.

"You're fucking magnificent," he says, voice strained with the effort of restraint.

The praise washes over me, feeding something hungry and neglected. I move faster, chasing the building pressure at my core. One of his hands leaves my hip to find my breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers in time with my movements.

"That's it," he encourages as my rhythm falters. "Take what you need."

The permission breaks something open inside me. I ride him harder, my head falling back as pleasure builds and builds. His thumb finds my center, pressing and circling until I shatter, crying out as waves of release pulse through me.

I collapse against his chest, trembling with aftershocks, but he gives me no time to recover. In one smooth motion, he flips us so I'm beneath him again, still joined, my body sensitive and tingling from release.

"Again," he demands, his voice rough with need. He hooks one of my legs over his arm, opening me wider as he drives into me with new urgency.

This angle is devastating, hitting places inside me that make stars burst behind my eyelids. Each thrust sends echoes of my first climax rippling through me, building toward another peak I didn't think possible so soon.

"Harder," I gasp, surprising myself with the demand.

He growls in response, the sound primal and thrilling.

His pace increases, the slap of skin against skin filling the room along with our ragged breathing.

The headboard knocks against the wall with the force of his movements, and I find myself hoping the others can hear, can know exactly what he's doing to me.

"Daniel," I moan as the pressure builds again. "I'm close."

"Not yet," he says, suddenly slowing, drawing back.

I make a sound of protest, but he silences me with a kiss as he withdraws completely. Before I can complain, he's turning me onto my side, sliding in behind me. One strong arm wraps around my waist, pulling my back against his chest as he enters me again in one smooth thrust.

This position is somehow more intimate than the others. I can feel the solid wall of his chest against my back, his breath hot on my neck, his arm a band of steel around me. He moves slower now, each thrust deep and deliberate.

"Feel how perfectly you take me," he murmurs in my ear, his voice a rough caress. "Like you were made for this. For me."

His words send a fresh surge of heat through me. One of his hands cups my breast, thumb circling the sensitive peak while his lips and teeth work at the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder.

"Daniel," I gasp as the pleasure builds again, different this time—deeper, more consuming. "Please."