BILLIONAIRE BIKERS: 3 MC Romance Books (10 page)

The fingers inside me slow their strokes. He is all too aware of how close he has gotten me. I yearn to return the favor, and I reach for the erection I can feel pressing against the inside of my leg.

This time when I take hold of him, he doesn't pull away to deny me what I want.

Flint raises his head from where he lavishes attention on my breasts. He draws himself up and kisses me; I enjoy the sensuous, almost lazy feeling, as I feel him retract his fingers from deep inside me. I use the hand on his member to guide him to my entrance. If I wasn't ready before, I am more than ready now.

I pull him gently to me, and he pushes with his hips. I feel the dome of his throbbing cock slip inside me first, followed by the rest of his length. He fills me slowly, agonizingly, and I pull my hand back as I allow Flint to take control of the pace. Several seconds pass, and my heart flutters. I can still feel him sliding his immense length inside of me. Maybe I took on too much. I have never been with a partner that could fill me this full. What if he's too large? What if I can't handle what Flint Carter has to offer?

Yeah, right. No way I'm backing down from this.

I lift my hips off the bed and take him inside me. All of him. Flint hisses in what I think is approval as we fall back together down onto the bed. It was a bold move on my part, but if I concentrate too much on how huge he feels inside of me my head starts spinning. How does he comfortably ride a motorcycle when he's packing that much heat between his legs? When I felt his erection pressed against me the first night we spent together...how did I not know what I was in for?

"Too much for you?" I hear Flint's challenging whisper close to my ear. I turn my head and glare; I realize I'm breathing too hard to come up with a proper response right away.

"…no," I manage finally. Brilliantly. "Are you in already? I can barely feel you."

His response to this is unexpected: Flint
laughs.
A loud, drawn out, barrel-chested laugh, that shakes his whole body, and me by extension. He doesn't keep it up for very long, however—the shaking moves him inside of me, and we both react at once. Flint groans and sags his full weight atop me; I cry and curl my body around his.

"God, you feel amazing," he murmurs, completely forgetting his earlier lapse into mirth. I allow myself to forget, too, for now, and just enjoy the feel of him…but I will revisit the moment later, I vow. That was the first time I think I have ever heard Flint truly laugh. It deserves to be a moment ingrained in my memory; I'm not sure I will ever see it again.

Flint shifts against me, plunging himself deeper still inside of me. I cry out as he slams his hand down on the top of the headboard and hauls himself up. From his new vantage, he is able to brace himself better. I see every muscle in his arm bulge with exertion and stand out, straining in the low light cast on us by the desk lamp. His arms look so strong, so incredible. I reach over my head to grasp onto his bicep as he thrusts himself inside me again.

"Flint!" I shout his name, almost scream it. I pull my legs up to loop them around his waist as he drives into me with an intense, almost animal need. The pace he's setting for us doesn't seem sustainable...but who will give out first? Flint doesn't seem at all fatigued, despite the fact that I can see perspiration already starting to stand out on his skin. His chest glistens with the sheen of his exertion as he pumps into me, hard and fast. My breasts slide and bounce with each powerful thrust, and I cry and moan beneath him.

The next thrust rocks me back, and I knock myself against the headboard. It's not enough to really hurt, but I see now how rough something as tame as the missionary position can really be. When I try to slide myself into a half-seated position against it, I feel Flint's arms loop around me suddenly and yank me to him. I find myself sitting astride his lap, a prisoner of his arms, although he will find me an all-too-willing captive.

This new position feels incredible. He thrusts upward now almost lazily, allowing me to adjust to the new angle. Every small movement feels like the fire in my belly is shooting off sparks. I gasp and duck my head to watch, rolling my own hips in experimentation. By straddling Flint's lap, I find that while he is able to achieve new depths, I am able to achieve new, delicious friction.

I try to reach between my legs to rub my clit, but his arms tighten, forcing them back down to my sides. I moan in disappointment. I want to achieve that pure release so badly, but he
still
denies me what I want. The bastard probably knows exactly what he's keeping me from, too.

Well, two can play at that game. I tilt my chin up, beseeching him with my eyes, inviting him to kiss me, as if that and that alone is enough to satisfy me. The moment Flint ducks his head instinctively toward mine, I avert my chin. His chiseled jaw glances off me, his stubble scraping pleasurably across my smooth cheek.

"Oh, so that's how it is?" he growls from deep within his chest. He gives a punishing thrust, and my mask breaks, if only for a moment: I whimper in response. "You suddenly don't want to kiss anymore?"

"I never wanted to kiss you," I hiss the lie out as he thrusts into me again. "You won me in a bet, remember?"

"What else do I have to do to win you over?" asks Flint.

"Make me come," I plead. I'm done with the challenge, with the game. I'll give everything to him if only Flint will give me this one thing. "Please, Flint. I've wanted this for days now."

"So have I," he rumbles. "You think you're the only one who wants things? No. I think I'll make you wait a little longer. You took my revenge away from me; I think I can get some satisfaction back by using you now."

I shiver at the thought of being used by him. It's a fair exchange, isn't it? I'm not sitting on his lap because I don't get anything out of it; hell, I get a lot out of riding Flint Carter like this. But something about the idea of being possessed, of being owned by him, sets my heart racing in a new way, in a way that has nothing to do with the invigorating sensation of getting nailed by this mysterious, dead-sexy biker.

"And when will you be...satisfied...?" I pant. I wish my hips didn't move so eagerly against his. I wish I wasn't enabling his satisfaction, but I can tell just by looking at his face that I am. He's trying so hard to remain stoic, but he can't disguise each pleasurable flinch that my grinding incurs.

"With you?" he murmurs as he pulls me closer. "How can a man ever be?"

His tender words take me by surprise. I tuck my chin against his shoulder, staring off into the room in wonder, before a wild thrust makes me bury my lips in his neck and cry out.

There's no more talking between us now. He's picking up the pace, bouncing me roughly on his lap. I feel his cock slipping in and out, fucking me fast and steady, and he's groaning again. I offer small, pleasured cries of my own to compliment his. It feels so intimate between us now...now that the time for sexual challenges and verbal sparring has passed. All I want is to be made a lover by him. I don't care if it's the first and last time, or if he wants to go for another round immediately afterwards—all I want is Flint. All I want is this thing between us, no matter how confusing or doomed it may be. He could leave me heartbroken in the morning, go back to that house, and kill that man with one shot, firing the bullet that was always intended to seal his revenge straight into the treacherous flesh of the friend who left him for dead.

I don't care about any of it. In this moment, all I care about is—

My body is wracked by another, deeper shudder. I feel something intense building in my core, something threatening to burst.

"Hold me," I echo his earlier sentiment, and even thought I am already in his arms, Flint complies. He hugs me close and buries his face in my hair; then, at the exact right moment, he bends his head once more to kiss me.

The feeling of his lips locked with mine enflames and engulfs me. I buck my hips suddenly, wildly, and he buries his shaft to the hilt. I come hard, breaking off from the kiss, feeling the drag of his teeth on my lower lip as I cry out loud enough to shake the windows and wake our upscale neighbors. My inner walls contract as wave upon wave slams into me. I clutch his powerful shoulders, digging my nails into his arms until I feel his muscles tense in rebellion against the sweet pain.

"Oh fuck," Flint says, and then I feel the hot spurt of his seed deep inside me, proof of his own release shooting through me. He falls forward, taking me with him, and I am crushed beneath his full weight as he pumps into me. By the time he withdraws, I am wet with his cum; I feel it dripping from me, smearing my legs. I shake with the force of what we have just achieved, feeling satisfied—and a little smug—that he couldn't hold out even a minute longer than I could. Maybe it was my own orgasm that pushed him over the edge. Maybe seeing my eyebrows drawn together, my lips parted, my expression euphoric, was too much for even the hardened biker to withstand.

"Come here," he growls as he rolls aside and pulls me to him.

I giggle. "I thought I already did?"

"Your jokes get less funny when you don't have a dick inside you."

I gasp in affront and try to pull away, but he holds me fast. Despite being in the mood to insult me, his hand comes up to smooth my damp hair back. I'm as covered in sweat as he is; the sheets cling to my every curve, and I haven't even burrowed beneath them yet. Why would I, when I can burrow into a strong pair of arms? I have a feeling that cold sheets just aren't going to cut it anymore.

"We should shower," I mumble. Drowsiness hits me then, almost as intensely as my orgasm. I remember the events of the day and how much we've been through together in the past twenty-four hours. I think that must be the reason for my sudden fatigue.

Then again, I
did
just get thoroughly fucked by Flint Carter.

I'm not one to use the word normally, but I'm almost certain he is. And 'making love' to Flint just doesn't sound right. I still don't know what this is. I don't know if I'm just another lay along the road, or something more.

But I'm willing to stick around to find out.

FLINT

I awake the next morning to a fiery-haired angel sleeping soundly in my bed.

              I stir and draw myself up onto my elbow for a better look. I feel better rested than I have for ages, and I have no real doubt to the cause. Beside me, Ana slumbers on, her radiant face pillowed in a halo of tangled dark red hair.

But I can't rest easy. Not when my plans have been thrown into complete chaos. What am I supposed to do with myself, now that I have slept with this woman who is a total stranger to me? Granted, she doesn't feel as unfamiliar as my usual one-night stands; if anything, sleeping with Ana felt like it was a long time coming. No pun intended. It felt like I had known her for far longer than a few days. It
felt
right.

But I still don't know anything about her. I thought it didn't matter before, back when I was ready to ditch her at a second's notice, but now I'm not so certain. She's as much a mystery to me as I am certain I was to her before last night. Her past, her reasons for running with me…they shouldn't matter.

If only my head could convince my heart that my reasoning is sound.

              For the first time in three years, my defenses are down. I feel my own vulnerability, and it has nothing—or everything—to do with the fact that I am lying naked in bed beside this woman.

The first wall I am able to erect, after last night, is to put some distance between us physically. I slip from beneath the sheets, careful not to disturb her awake, and hunt for my clothing. My quest takes me the length of the room, and out into the living room, where I find and pull on my clothes from the day before.

When I return to the bedroom, Ana is sitting upright, with the thin sheet tucked in around her breasts and armpits. She has a magazine open in her lap. She turns the page slowly, never lifting her eyes to acknowledge me.

I prop my forearm up and lean in the doorway. "You're up early, Red. I thought after last night you would need the extra rest."

"I'm just trying to learn more about the billionaire I slept with," she returns as she flips to the next page. I notice for the first time that she is reading Time Magazine. I narrow my eyes.

"Where did you get that?" I demand. I don't remember seeing it on the bedside table, or anywhere inside the hotel room, for that matter. This was an upscale operation; it wasn't a hair salon that left ancient issues lying about.

"Back at the motel, after I figured out who you were. I decided to keep it with me so I could study you better."

"Why don't you just ask me if you have questions?" I say. I cross to the kitchenette and rip open a packet of ground coffee. I hear the bed creak as Ana raises up a little further to look. When I raise my eyes beneath my bent brow, I notice she is still pretending to read her magazine.

"Fine. When you lived in a mansion, did you always make your own coffee?" she inquired as she turned another page. At the rate she appeared to be reading the articles, she was almost certainly faking it.

"Of course," I reply. "And I bought it at the store, just like everyone else. I didn't have it specially imported; I didn't grow it on my own farm on my own island. Coffee is a tool for productivity. I don't see the point in making it a ridiculous expense."

"I think I'm in love," Ana says. My head jerks up, and I see her blush rose-red and quickly try to seek refuge once more in her magazine. Unfortunately, her faux reading has already caused her to reach the back cover. "I mean…" she continues quickly, "I think it's really admirable that you were always so practical. Not everyone is like that once they come into money."

"I didn't earn my fortune by being impractical." I turn on the coffee maker and come back around the side of the kitchen bar. I'm about to rejoin her on the bed, but I stop myself; instead, I cross my arms and stare at her critically. "And anyway, I'm not that man anymore. I've fallen far. Further than you can imagine."

"But at least you're not a murderer," she insists. She closes the magazine and retires it to the side of the bed. As she leans, the sheet she wears slips down, exposing the side of one breast. She doesn't seem to notice, and I don't tell her. "Right?" she prompts. "Or have you…?"

"I haven't killed anyone. Yet." The qualification is important. I can't let her think my plans for revenge have been disrupted…even though I'm starting to suspect they have been derailed already, more than I can know in that instant.

It was true that Ana had interfered last night, but I wonder how much my own distaste for murder had spared Richards in the end. I had been ready to do it, and suffer the consequences to my soul, but by the light of morning, my three-year plan suddenly seemed like a fool's errand. This wasn't me; I hadn't started an earth-conscious movement like Green Star only to be reduced to an agent of destruction once the company was out of my hands.

I'm tangled up. I don't know who I am, or what I'm supposed to do now. So I redirect.

"You seem to know an awful lot about me," I say. "I wonder when I'm going to start getting some of my own questions answered."

"I don't hear you asking any. Besides, you've seen me naked," Ana points out. "I would say you know quite a bit about me, Flint Carter."

"I see you naked now."

The thought amuses me at first, but as soon as the observation is out of my mouth I know I am in trouble. The snatched visions I get every time she rotates her torso, or even
moves,
are driving me crazy. I'm the sort of man who can appreciate a good amount of side-boob, and covered or not, this woman is certainly endowed from every angle.

The only solution to being troubled, then, is to make Ana in as much trouble as I am.

I cross to the bed, snatch her arm, and yank her out of bed. She comes to me with a wordless exclamation of protest, but I can see the fire of challenge in her eyes. She loves this—last night was enough to prove as much to me. I have taken lesser lovers before, women who couldn't handle my thirsts, much less quench them in any satisfactory way.

I lay my hands on her, binding her to me, and kiss her roughly. I regret putting my clothes on now—if I could do anything differently, I would be naked now. She would be that much easier for the taking.

Ana knows what I want. She wants the same thing. My clothes are off again in a matter of moments, and I lift her off the floor and into my arms. She wraps her legs around me, using the sharp, mean angles of my hips to keep herself comfortably seated. I feel the seam of her tight, pert ass perfectly position above my raging cock. I grasp her backside and maneuver her back; her pussy is already slick with wanting. I love the way her body betrays her every time I handle her. If it was left up to the woman, she would fight tooth and nail to deny me this encounter, just so she could feel smug about it later.

But I know things that will make her feel a whole lot better than winning one over on me. And she knows it too, now.

My erection bends, tilting upward between her thighs, finding itself in a prime position to enter her. As I pull Ana back into the circle of my arms, I feel my cock submerge itself in her all too readily—she wasn't the only one physically primed for this encounter. I have never met a woman who could make me so hard, so fast, in a matter of moments. With her I am completely insatiable.

"Ohhh,"
she moans as I sink into her. I feel the legs wrapped around my waist tense, every muscle flexing as she keeps herself upright. I have no fear of losing her, though—my arms are strong, and she weighs next to nothing. I could lift five Anas with the amount of adrenaline pumping through my veins. But why bother, when the wall is right there?

I slam her back into it, kissing her punishingly as I thrust, making her climb the wall beneath me. Ana gasps in what I take for wordless encouragement, and I feel the arms looped around my shoulders tighten, slide, and shift. I can feel the rock-hard tension of my own muscles straining beneath her frantic touch.

              "Yeah?" I hear myself growl the nonsensical word as if I hadn't been the one to ask the question to begin with. "You like that?"

              "Yes!" she pants. "Oh God, Flint!" Her words deescalate to moaning and crying out. In the wake of such tantalizing vocalizations, how am I supposed to control myself? I press my chest tightly against her heaving breasts until there is scarcely room left between us to breath; until we are forced to breathe together if we want to breathe at all. I try to control each rough exhalation, if only to try and prove something…but what I'm trying to prove, I've already forgotten. There is no pretending that thrusting into the redheaded beauty, forcing her against a wall, and silencing her with the needs of my body, doesn't have me turned the hell on.

              My lips drag across hers; our teeth clash and scrape together in a rough display of passion, just the way I like it. Never before have I been able to find this kind of satisfaction with just one woman and one woman alone. My tastes have forced me from one bed to the next in a seemingly never-ending revolving door of women: blonde, brunette, and redheaded, just like Ana. There was always the potential to overpower them with what I desired, to be too much for just one woman to handle, and I had handled plenty as a result—seeking fulfillment in snatched encounters and unsatisfying trysts along the road. Even before the road, that was how it had been for me: hiding the fire and dark passion, taming the animal that lurked inside me as if I was presenting myself inside a boardroom.

              Ana slides back down beneath me, and I pause our exertions to give her a sensuous, appreciative kiss. She is performing wonderfully. I know it's an arrogant thought to have, but I didn't make it this far in life…and subsequently fall…due to humility. Besides, my own performance is of the utmost importance to me. I think I can read how well I'm doing in the way her body moves, and in the euphoric expression on her face that I see lurking just below the intensity.

              "Relax," I murmur as I thrust myself inside her. I hear her tailbone connect with the wall, just hard enough to keep her attention and make sure she knows who is in charge of this latest heated session. "It's okay to let go."

              "Don't tempt me," Ana gasps. "I want to make it last. And you're making it
very
hard to do what I want."

              I can't help the ferocious grin that overtakes my lips at her assertion. My hips quest against hers in a driving rhythm. I don't relent, even though she expressed it is what she wants. I think we both know what she really wants.

              I feel her thighs tighten, the innermost part of her knees drive into my waist, and she utters a choked cry that shouldn't threaten to undo me as much as it does. It was her own release that brought me to orgasm last night, and I'm desperate now to hold out…desperate to give her more pleasure, desperate not to repeat a show of my own weakness…but I know it's a lost cause the moment I see her beautiful face thrown back in ecstasy. I feel the hot coil in my belly tense, so close to unraveling. I hold fast to my shredded willpower as she rides me, taking all she can, every last ounce and chasing, tangible thrill of pleasure.

              And then I come. Hard. My entire body stiffens as if there is an electric current running through it, and then I come maddeningly, blissfully undone. I utter a low groan, and I only think a moment later to clench my teeth over the sound and keep from betraying any more. But there is no suppressing the instinctive response of my body to hers. I feel tightness and warmth as she engulfs me, and I fall over the precipice into her. I feel the hot spurt of my seed as I empty myself inside of her; I feel the renewed grip of her arms as they envelope me, and I carry us sideways down onto the bed. I hear her breathless laugh of satisfaction stifled beneath the oppressive weight of my chest. I keep her pinned down beneath me, grinning as she struggles to come up for air. When I finally relent, she wriggles herself into a better fit inside the ring of my arms. I might even go so far as to say it was perfect fit.

              "Quit smiling like you think you won something," she says, but her words are a continuation of her laugh. "Is this what sex with you is always going to be like? Some weird anti-race to the finish, where one person gets to hold their non-victory over the other until the next round? And anyway," she continues, "since you clearly think you won by making me come quickest, I'd say it was more of a tie. You can't hold out once I go over."

              "Are you always this talkative post-sex?" I grunt. "If I was doing my job properly, you should be ready to call it a day. Maybe I'm not fucking you thoroughly enough."

              "I can't call it a day already! It's
morning!"
Ana protests as I roll myself over on top of her and bury my face in her collarbone. I don't have to lay my lips on her to know how she'll taste: like the pure salt of sweat and exertion. I know she'll taste delicious without allowing myself a sample, but I do anyway. My lips ghost across her neck, and she sighs.

              It was only after morning sex with Ana that two things occurred to me: one, the coffee had gone cold. And two, she had successfully avoided answering any questions I might have about her past. She hadn't even let me get to the point of asking.

              Maybe I wasn't as in control of things as I thought.