By comparison to Saint and Ink, I felt kind of small. We were the same height, roughly all over six feet, but I had a smaller build. I pumped weights but I figured it was due to my age more than anything else. They looked like real men, and I felt like a fucking kid, but when she moved slightly, her lips trailing down over my clavicle and heading toward the split skin on my chest where my pecs were finally beginning to bulk up, I didn’t feel like a kid.
I just felt like hers.
I sighed when her mouth traced over my nipples, and I reached over to run my hand through her hair again. “You sure you’re ready?”
“Stopped being sore yesterday,” she mumbled. “Stupid vagina. What else takes so long to heal from being poked and prodded?”
Snorting out a laugh, I replied, “Definitely stupid, but it belongs to you, so I guess I can’t be too mad at it.”
Her eyes sparkled when she tilted her head back and laughed with me. That diamond-bright glitter stunned me even as it reeled me in, and when the laughter stuttered in both our chests, I cleared my throat and, in a husky voice, inquired, “You sure you want this?”
Her eyelashes fluttered, and her smile? Fuck, I knew without words she did, because that smile was every woman’s weapon against a man. It was sleepy and sexy and loaded with secrets. It told a man she wanted him anyway she could have him. It was knowing and cunning and reeled a guy in faster than the speed of light.
I had to taste that smile. Just had to. No alternative, no options. I dipped my head and pressed my mouth to hers, before I traced my tongue around the curve of her lips. The divot of her Cupid’s bow required multiple investigations, until she was giggling a little.
“That tickles,” she whispered, her eyes darkening.
I just hummed and, nipping at her bottom lip, tasted her for real. I didn’t let her escape, didn’t let her pull back. I just cupped the base of her skull and tasted her, made her know what it felt like to be kissed by me.
From what she’d said, I knew the crush she’d had on Ink all this time hadn’t been singular. She’d had one on Saint and me too. But crushes and attraction weren’t the same thing, and I had to admit, with those two around—two bikers who had half the sweetbutts’ tongues wagging—I did feel a little insecure. Not with the clubwhores. Hell, they fucked even the ugly motherfuckers, but with Ama? She was different.
She mattered.
And I was half terrified she was going to turn me away because the crush she felt for me didn’t run as deeply as the ones she had for them.
Maybe that was why I went slowly, leaving her sleep shirt on, why I was content just to kiss her. Just to let her taste me and be tasted in return, happy to explore her and have her explore me.
The morning light turned from gray and dark to warm. The brightness in here didn’t shift thanks to the curtains, but it pooled us both within its spotlight, and as I rolled her over onto her back, I felt relief swirl inside me as she parted her legs and lifted them to ride my hips.
The press of my dick to her pussy had us both shuddering, and when she began to rock her pelvis, grinding herself into me, her heat scorching me through my boxers? Fuck, it was a wonder I didn’t take off like a rocket.
With a grunt, I pulled away from her lips and pressed my forehead to hers. I rocked my hips and ground back just as hard as she did, and the friction was better than the sex I’d had with another woman.
Yeah.
Mind-blowing.
I gritted my teeth against the urge to cum. That was how she wrecked my control. I’d stopped being a two-pump-chump back when I was fourteen. I was actually pretty decent in bed—if I said so myself. But Ama messed with my head and my body, and I thanked God for that.
I grunted against her lips, checking, “Are you ready for this?”
“Hell, Jamie, can’t you tell I was born ready for you?” she whimpered as her words had me rocking faster against her softness. Her head fell back, making her throat arch.
Taking advantage now, I slipped down and reached for the hem of the