Page 26 of Zeppelin (Satan’s Angels MC #9)

His body is a work of art all the way from his powerful shoulders down to his trim, muscular waist. He could honestly dress up and be on one of those sexy calendars.

He’s big enough to be brutish, strong enough that he could probably sweep my whole body up with just one hand and hold me over his head, but also gentle enough that I know he’d never hurt me.

Even if I wasn’t pregnant, he’d take care.

I’m not fragile. I’m not weak. But I do feel small and delicate in the face of his raw masculinity.

He doesn’t shed his jeans immediately. He makes a show of undoing his fly nice and slow and taking twenty million years to open the button. He keeps his eyes on me the entire time, even while he pushes them down. I’m too busy enjoying the strip show to say a word.

Finally he’s standing there mostly naked except for his boxers. The way the thin fabric is tenting at the front doesn’t leave much to the imagination.

I creep towards the bathroom my cosmetic bag held in front of me like a weapon.

Zeppelin’s left his boxers on, and I can’t keep my eyes off his body.

His legs are thick and muscular everywhere, his chest and arms heavily muscled and powerful.

It’s no wonder that he can handle such a big bike with such grace and ease.

I wonder what it would feel like to have all that power straddled between his thighs.

I want to be straddled between his thighs.

Does that even make sense?

I barely register the details in the bathroom. Black shower curtain, and a black bathmat. No granny-chic touches here.

Zeppelin’s eyes darken with hunger as soon as I step into the small space. “I changed my mind about the ice cream. I think I’d like to eat it right off your freshly shaved pussy, blending it with your sweeter cream as I make you come all over my tongue.”

I imagined so many filthy things on the way here. My panties were already wet, but now I’m sure that I’m soaked through.

“Why do you think I’m going to shave for you?” He clearly means to watch . Why do I find that so hot?

“You’re not. I’m going to do it for you.”

I practically fall over. My legs have zero power left in them. “W-what makes you think that I’d agree to that?”

“Have you ever shaved before? Your nerve endings are so sensitive.”

“I- have. I just prefer to look like a woman.”

“Do you think shaving your pussy makes you less of a woman?”

“Stop it. You’re not really going to do that.” I slam the cosmetic bag down on the small countertop bordering the sink and angle away, mostly so I can catch my breath.

“I will if you’d like me to.”

I’ve never done anything like this before.

I had to put up a token amount of protest to make myself believe that I’m still the one in control and not just blindly taking orders, but I sure unzip my bag fast enough and produce my razor.

If I didn’t want to do this, I wouldn’t have put on a fresh blade right before I left.

There’s no way I can just hand it over. I set it down on the other edge of the sink and leave it there.

My face is a thousand degrees, but it’s nothing compared to how hot my body is.

My skin is already oversensitive all over as I peel my dress over my head.

I believe in comfort above all, but I put on the nicest bra I own.

It’s beige to match my panties and pushes up my breasts slightly without the painful underwire.

Zeppelin growls after I unhook it, freeing my breasts.

My belly is still perfectly flat. I’m tall, it’s my first pregnancy, and it’s still very early. From what I read online, I might not even show until I’m around six months. I couldn’t tell Bronte was pregnant at that time, but it’s not like I saw her without clothes on.

My breasts have changed already. They’re bigger, rounder, and so sensitive that even taking the bra off makes me want to weep with relief.

Zeppelin seems to take up the whole bathroom. He steps close to me and runs his hand over the curl of my hip. His fingers travel down, over my panties. “Is this for me?”

I jerk my head down, sucking in my breath when I see the wet spot on the front of them. “Yes,” I whisper hoarsely.

I lean against the sink, an image of Zeppelin tearing off these panties and hiking me up onto it, wrapping my legs around his muscular waist and thrusting into me with a single rough stroke, sends a hot gush of wet to add to the growing damp patch on my panties.

“I love the way you look at me,” Zeppelin groans. “How your eyes go bright like that and so dark. How your cheeks are so pretty when they’re flushed bright pink as you think all those dirty, lust-filled thoughts. You want this, don’t you Ginny? You’ve been thinking about it for days.”

Is there any point in denying it when my body will just give me away? “Yes.” I feel like I’ve just admitted to wanting him to fill me up with his come by the unfiltered glow of triumph that makes him smirk. There’s something wrong with me that I even like that.

“Did you think about this?” He cups one of my oversensitive breasts in his palm and swirls his tongue over the nipple.

I hiss with pleasure, threading my fingers through his hair.

He releases my nipple with a loud pop. “This is just a taste. You want the real thing, you can get in that shower, put your hands above your head, and spread your legs for me.”

“What? Like a good girl?” I sass. A good girl who blindly follows orders? That’s not me. I’ve always been too self-assured and confident in my own power.

“No, darling. Like a very bad, bad girl. Like a bad girl who wants me to shave her bare and feast on her sweet pussy until she’s coming so hard that she can’t even stand up.

Like a bad girl who wants to be taken soaking wet on my bed, ass in the air, that tight little pussy impaled on my cock.

Like a bad girl who knows that I’ve been craving her to the point of utter madness, who knows that I won’t stop until I’ve come so deep inside of you that it’s going to be leaking out of you all the way to your sister’s house. ”

Oh my fuck.

I strip my panties off and get into the shower. I stand under the warm spray and get my hands above my head. The shower is a stall with a curtain. It’s not fancy or expensive, but it’s the perfect size for Zeppelin to kneel down in front of me, razor in hand.

He runs a finger down my slick seam, and just that motion and the hot water spraying gently over my sensitive breasts and nipples, causes me to tremble. Heat coils in my belly.

I’ve always preferred to leave hair down there, but I do trim. The first stroke of the razor in Zep’s capable hands takes off a strip of hair right down the center. He’s not going to leave anything. When he said bare, he meant it.

My breath hitches at the next stroke and the next. He rinses the razor off in the water pooling in the basin by the drain at my feet.

The top is easier, my skin already tingling and prickling at the freshly shaved, clean feeling, but when he parts the rest of me and holds part of me taut while he glides the razor over my skin, I throw my head back and close my eyes.

My hands shift, splaying against each side of the shower to hold myself up.

He parts me with his thick fingers again and again, shaving all the hard to reach spots with more ease than he has any right to given that he doesn’t have this anatomy.

This should not be hot.

It shouldn’t.

It should be weird, embarrassing, and invasive.

If it was, I would stop him, but of course it’s not.

Zeppelin is so commanding and assured between my legs, but he’s so gentle too.

Seeing his head bowed, a look of concentration tightening his granite features, his massive body leashed and all his power held back so he can perform the most intimate task for me—it all translates into heat coiling in my belly.

It builds and builds, combining with the shower’s spray to make me shivery and sensitive all over.

By the time he’s done, I’m a trembling wreck. I’m so far gone that I’d do anything he wanted to do. I want his tongue and his cock filling every single part of my body until I’m raw and spent from taking it.

I nearly scream at him when he reaches past me and shuts the shower off without licking or touching or kissing my body at all.

Does he want me to beg for it?

Normally that would be a hurt turn off, but this isn’t normal. I’ll beg. Happily.

“Come here,” he coaxes me, extending a hand. He looks and sounds so unaffected, but his eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them. A muscle in his jaw leaps, throbbing all the way up to his temple. I can tell that he’s paying for this careful and calm demeanor.

As soon as I set my hand on his palm, he tugs me into him. He sweeps me up so fast that I lose my breath. He carries me from the bathroom and drapes me over the black comforter on his bed.

He fishes that container of ice cream out of the trashcan and pops the lid.

We’re both soaked, dripping water all over.

I want to lick up all the little beads on his golden skin, run my tongue over his boxed abs, lick that prominent V that disappears into his soaked boxers.

I want my mouth on that massive bulge there.

I want to suck his balls, ride his face, have him lick me until I’m so swollen that it hurts to take his cock.

I want everything. Fuck, I just want something .

I do want his careful control and eyes glittering with devilment and danger because he can tell how desperate I am for him.

He digs two fingers into the ice cream and pulls them out. He walks over, sits down on the edge of the bed, and paints my lips without warning. “Want you to show me how you’d suck my cock, Ginny. Fuck my fingers with that pretty mouth.”

I do, grasping his wrist and nearly choking myself in my hurry. I suck his fingers, laving them with my tongue, rolling it over his fingertips.