I moaned, lying opened to him, spread out for him.
All for him.
Punch, punch, punch, roll.
God.
“Anniversary fuck,” he growled.
Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam . . .
I gasped.
Bam . . . float.
God, watching him fuck me like that, his beautiful body moving, his big dick owning me, him slamming against my clit.
“Rush,” I forced out urgently.
The wave and glide, and then he reached in and tweaked my clit and he did it hard.
That did it.
I flew.
Flew.
He caught the backs of my knees when my legs started to drop automatically with my orgasm and he thumped into me, encouraging, “Give it, Rebel. Give it, baby.”
I exhaled.
He let one knee go and pinched my clit.
I gasped and resumed soaring.
“Yeah,” he groaned, fucking me hard. “Give it, baby.”
Then he went, joining me, doing it slamming into me.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he grunted with each thrust. Then I cried out in surprise when I was hauled up, lifted in his arms, and driven down on his cock with one last, “Fuck.”
My forehead drifted to his shoulder.
A couple more thrusts, fainter.
Then I whinnied when I lost his dick and I was again on my back on the bed between his knees, my legs cocked and spread wide.
“Rush,” I whispered.
His eyes moved up from between my legs to my face.
“This mine?” he asked.
Oh God.
This was big.
No.
I knew this was huge.
“Honey.”
He slid his hand down the inside of my thigh and covered my sex lightly.
“This mine, Rebel?”
There was only one answer to that.
“Yes.”
He slid his thumb over my clit, I jerked, then he buried it inside and I sighed.
“This mine?”
“Yes, Rush,” I whispered.
He slid his thumb out, his hand flat going up, over my belly, up, to where he had to feel my heart beating.
“How about this?”
I pressed my hand against my belly.
Oh God.
Yes, this was huge.
Colossal.
Everything.
“Rush.”
“Not too soon. Give it, Rebel.”
I stared right into his eyes, the moonlight from the windows filtering them silver.
He was so beautiful.
So, so beautiful.
“I can’t give something you already own.”
I barely got the words past my lips before I cried out again when I was up, Rush was down, my thigh was thrown, two hands on my hips tugged me down, and then he was eating me.
My head fell back and it was my body waving, rolling on his mouth.
I planted a hand on the window in front of me and rode his face.
Rode him and rode him and rode him . . . desperately.
“Yeah,” he growled against my clit, before eating out my orgasm.
Then he was out from under me, on his knees behind me, and I had both hands to the widow, his fingers tugging at my nipple, two from the other hand between my legs, fucking me.
“Rush,” I gasped.
“How often can you come?” he asked my neck.
My hips jerked as he stroked deep. “I . . . I don’t know.”
He slid his tongue along my ear.
“Let’s see.”
I mewed.
His fingers left me and his cock slid inside.
His hand went to the middle of my back, pressing in, arching me.
“Ride that, Rebel,” he growled.
I gave him what he wanted and got some of my own when I reached behind us and squeezed his balls just as he was coming, the rough, beautiful bark of his climax beating into my shoulder.
Coming down, rooted on his cock, he wrapped a hand around my throat, the pads of his fingers digging in gently.
“This, baby, is free,” he grated in my ear. “And no matter what goes down, that’s always what we got. That’s always gonna be you and me.”
“Always,” I whispered.
His grip eased before his hand moved so his fingers stroked my throat.
“Always.”
Rush
Seven thirty-three, Wednesday evening . . .
“This is not the way it’s done!” Elvira’s voice could be heard from the kitchen.
“Bring us a board!” Hound shouted back from the living room.
“Come and get your own board, Hound!” Lanie was also shouting.
“I can’t go into that kitchen again! I still got a headache from the last time I went in!” Hound bellowed.
Women could be heard laughing.
Rush heard Rebel’s come the loudest.
A cat jumped on Shy, who was sprawled on the floor, Playboy on his chest, and Playboy squealed and reached to claim fur.
The cat jumped away.
“Shouldn’t he be in bed?” High asked.
“Tab and I have learned he’ll pass out when he passes out,” Shy replied.
“And I’ll get to deal with that tomorrow,” Big Petey, Chaos’s Chaplain, and de facto biker nanny, sitting in one of Rebel’s uncomfortable chairs, grumbled.