BILLIONAIRE BIKERS: 3 MC Romance Books (14 page)

"Your dick feels so good inside of me, Flint. Oh my God. Oh my God." She turns her head fitfully to the side, her tousled red hair spilling down her ivory shoulders. A slick sheen of sweat makes her glisten, and I know I'm making her heart race as hard as my own in an effort to keep up. She drops one hand from my shoulder and twists the fabric of the front of her dress as I pump into her. "I'm going to come. Please. I'm going to come."

"You better come for me," I murmur into her ear once more. "I want to feel you surrendering on the other end of my cock, Ana. I want to know you can't fucking help yourself; that even though we're outside and anyone might be watching, you can't help but give them the show they're waiting for. You've got a secret, don't you? You like getting fucked by me more than anything. You like it hard and rough, anytime, anywhere. Why don't you go ahead and tell the class how you like it?"

"Harder," Ana urges me. "Oh God,
harder,
Flint. Fuck me right in my tight little pussy." She repeats this sentiment like a mantra, watching my length slide into her, thick as a pillar driving between her legs.

"You're so tight," I agree with a low groan. "God, Ana, I can't stand it." I can feel my control of the situation slipping away, especially when she cries out like a porn star like that, begging for the satisfaction of her body.

The bike heaves back and forth on its wheels, listing dangerously, but I'm beyond caring; it could fall down beneath us and I still wouldn't let her go, and like hell I would ever dream of stopping now.

Ana's fingers knead and twist the material of her dress, and she gazes down between her legs with her lips parted as if in shock at what is happening to her—of what I'm doing to her, and what she's allowing to be done to her. Then suddenly she throws her head back, and I feel the hand that remains on my shoulder bunch the fabric and pull the sleeve of my jacket tight.

"I'm coming," she pleads with me as if I can stop it, or would do anything to prevent her reaching climax. "I'm coming." She grabs hold of me and I lift her off the bike and into my arms, sheathing myself completely inside of her and forcing her to writhe on the rigid, unrelenting length that is the source of her ultimate pleasure.

Her legs wrap around me as contractions ripple through her. Her body spasms and grinds itself against me without Ana consciously realizing herself what she is doing. She rides me as wave upon wave courses through her, her neck straining, her face trained to the heavens as she wails at the feeling.

I groan as she continues to fuck me, even in orgasm, making it impossible for me to hold still any longer. I lower her to her feet before she's even ridden out the tail end of her orgasm and force her around. The red material of her dress shifts like a curtain between us. She forces her hands down on the seat of the bike, bending before me with her ass in the air, my cock still buried inside her.

The slap of flesh as I take her from behind just drives me further into my own primal state until I'm not sure I will ever surface again. She's reduced me to a man who needs one thing and one thing only, and that's the full-bodied satisfaction that comes from mating with the most gorgeous specimen of my species. Now it's my turn to fist my fingers in the material of her dress, and run my gloved hand along the bare swell of her white ass. I make a fist around the skirt of her dress and use my leash on her to force her back harder, faster.

"Ah! Ah! Ah!" Ana calls out with breathless abandon each time I bury myself to the hilt. I groan as I let my fist slip; the red dress slides like water from my fingers as I grasp either side of her and pull her back into me.

I can tell from the mounting volume of her voice that she is about to reach orgasm again, that the waves only slowed without ever truly stopping when I turned her over, and I am bringing her to that final threshold again. I feel, too, that I will join her this time; the heat that seems localized to the spot where Ana's backside slaps against my pelvis is blooming, until it threatens to consume me completely. But still it eludes me—still I haven't reached the breaking point.

And then, all at once, it hits me, and my voice joins Ana's in a wild chorus as I ejaculate. Orgasms rips through me as I empty my seed inside her; it's all I can do to keep myself from slumping across her bowed back and letting the sensation overtake me until I lapse into unconsciousness.

This is, without a doubt, the best sex I have ever had in my life, and I've always been the sort of man who isn't afraid to sample pleasure when it's offered. Still, that a feeling this good might have existed in the world, I could never have guessed.

I could never have guessed that a woman like
Ana
existed in the world.

I pull out of her, feeling subdued satisfaction when I see a small trickle of my seed running down from between her shaking legs. She turns her head and notices my smug smile, and quickly draws her dress back down over the evidence of our transaction.

              "Great," she mutters. I can tell she is as out of breath as I am, which is why I settle for grinning crookedly at her when she shoots me a look. "Look at the mess you've made of me. Now how am I supposed to ride over to the hotel? Much less look like I haven't just had the best sex of my life?"

              A warm feeling wells within me as she mirrors my private sentiments, but I say nothing about it. "Not my problem," I respond dismissively as I wrench my zipper back up and throw my leg over the bike. I feel a playful swat across the back of my shoulder as Ana mounts behind me. She takes some time rearranging herself, and I throttle the engine.

              When I feel a familiar pair of arms encircle themselves around me, I know that the warm feeling won't be going away.

ANA

After that torrid encounter in the alleyway, I'm not sure I can go through with this.

              I'm not even sure what the plan
is
anymore, if I'm being perfectly honest, so I decide to bring it up with Flint once we roll up outside the hotel.

              "Did I really make love to you hard enough to knock the plan right out of your head?" He stands over me, amused, with his arms crossed. I decide to dispense with swats and settle for punching him flat-out in the bicep. He flexes instantly, and I'm certain he's avoided any real pain I'd had hopes to inflict on him.

              "Mr. Carter, rest assured that was
not
making love," I correct him.

              "Miss Ryan, rest assured there is a very important factor at play when I draw that distinction, and that I stand by my words," he replies.

              I can only stare at him in response. I feel as if the wind has been knocked out of me by a single blow. In fact, the sensation is so strong that I swear it's physical. Flint stares back at me, his dark gaze deep and meaningful, and maybe a little impatient. When I regain my breath again, I almost hold it, wondering if he'll take it back.

              He doesn't.

              And yet, he doesn't elaborate on what he means. He looks at me almost as if he thinks it should be obvious, and I'm being a fool. I huff a little angrily, blowing red strands of my hair of my eyes.

If he thinks I'll be the first to say what's on both our minds, then he's dead wrong. There's no way
I'm
going to be the first to offer a real love confession. He can speak in riddles and do conversational gymnastics all he wants—at the end of the day, it's Flint Carter who's going to be the one to say he's in love with me.

              I step toward him and reach up to adjust the collar of his leather jacket. "How do you plan on getting in?" I mutter. "There's no way you're not going to draw attention at a place like this."

              "I'll use the service entrance," he responds as he gazes down at me. "I've done it before when I was on the road and between bank accounts. All you have to do is offer up the cash and the staff lets you in a side entrance."

              "Yeah right." I snort. "I'm sure getting illicit access has
nothing
to do with the way you look."

              "You tell me." Flint grins, and I smack him on the shoulder again. I can't deny I'm getting increasingly nervous to give my final performance. He arranges my hair and clothes, all to make sure it doesn't look like I've been carried through the streets on the back of a maverick's bike…much less been on the receiving end of his sexual prowess in an alleyway only a few blocks away.

              "Room Five-Oh-Three," I whisper. "Don't forget it. You better come and rescue me from the metaphorical train tracks you've effectively tied me to."

              "Did you just compare me to Snidely Whiplash?" Flint demands as I walk away from him. I turn my head to raise a coquettish eyebrow over my shoulder.

              "You wear all black. And I'd say your thwarted homicidal actions up until now place you firmly in the 'villain' category," I reply. "I'm counting on you to make a reformation in the next five minutes and save the damsel."

              "I've already saved her once," he calls over to me. "And I can tell you from personal experience this woman is no damsel."

              I hide a secret smile under my hair as I turn back around. I catch my reflection on the automatic glass door before it pulls aside, and think that Flint has done a good job of making me look presentable once more. If I look a little windswept, all the better—most drunks I've seen out wandering tonight look as if they've been assaulted by gales of varying strengths this evening. I'll fit right in.

              I flash the man behind the counter my newly acquired keycard as I stroll toward the elevators. My stride is unbreakable; I am sure to insert an occasional teeter on the heels Flint bought for me, heels that until this latest performance I have been able to walk perfectly in.
He really knows what suits me,
I reflect, as the hotel receptionist catches me in his peripheral and merely nods, and doesn't exactly look up from whatever paperwork is occupying his attention.

              I ascend the floors, my heart attempting to climb higher in my throat with each level gained. Within moments I am outside Tannenbaum’s door.

              He won't be back yet. That's why he sent me ahead with the card. I raise the card, pause, and hesitate.

              Another hand comes alongside mine, and I look up. Flint is standing over me. He isn't smiling, but when his hand comes down on mine to complete the motion, it's comforting and warm. He's seeking comfort in
me,
I realize. The part I've played all evening is over. Now Flint is here.

              We enter Tannenbaum’s suite together, easing the door open on a silent hinge. I'm shocked to hear something I instantly recognize as the voices of two men arguing in the other room. The main room holds the television, and I can clearly see that the screen is switched off, as is the light in the fixture.

              Flint and I exchange a look. Obviously I'm glad he's there with me. Was Tannenbaum planning to have more than one guest over this evening? The thought of meeting him in his room already churns my stomach, but now the thought of being ambushed actually threatens to make me sick.

              "You're telling me he's alive?" I've spent enough lap time with Tannenbaum to recognize that awful congested voice when I hear it. "Come on! First Richards fucks with me, now you? If this is some sort of office joke, you better not let it trickle down to the rest of the employees. You know how they felt about Carter's death."

              The second person speaking is harder to discern, but I feel confirmed in the fact that it is a male voice. Tannenbaum scoffs in response to whatever point the other has made.

              "Get out of here, Halligan. I don't even know how you found me, or why you thought it would be funny to pull this shit in person, but I'm expecting a guest any minute now. I'm about to get my dick wet, and seeing your ugly face is going to ruin the mood."

              I want to gag at the sentiment, but Flint is already pulling away from me. I realize it too late to do anything but follow him as he heads for the other room.

              I remember now. The name Tannenbaum just spoke—
Halligan—
that's the name of the third man responsible for Flint's attempted murder, and the mastermind who orchestrated the coup in the first place.

              To my surprise, he doesn't move fully into the other room; instead, Flint takes a seat on the arm of one of the chairs in the front room. Struck by my own idea, I flip the light on, before moving to join him in standing behind the chair.

              "Ah. There's my pretty little guest now," Tannenbaum says. "If you'll excuse me."

              His massive bulk fills the doorway, and whatever lewd expression he was wearing at the expectation of seeing me alone dies there and then on his face. He makes a choking noise, and despite his best efforts to keep out, he only manages to stumble forward into the room. A tall man with silver hair enters behind him. He reacts much more calmly to Flint's presence, although I see with some satisfaction that his eyes widen. He did not expect his reckoning to come so soon, if at all. Knowing what these men have done in the past to the rider I love makes it all the sweeter to see them squirm now. They nearly erased him from the earth three years before I would have ever stood a chance of meeting him—let them feel the full force of their anxiety and fear.

              "Hello again," I simper as I draw up behind Flint and lay my hand on the back of the chair. "I see you've brought a friend. So have I."

              I hear a click, and watch as Flint raises his gun. This time its appearance in the proceedings was planned in advance, and the sight of it in his hand no longer frightens me…especially since I happen to know firsthand that he emptied all of the bullets into the saddlebag of his bike.

              The bluff works. Tannenbaum sinks onto the couch in defeat at the situation; I'm not sure he had the breath to stand anymore. Halligan lingers by the door to the bedroom, but gives a signal that he might retreat. He can't—not when the three of us, me, Flint, and an unloaded gun, are standing between him and the door.

              "Richards said we should be expecting you," Halligan says in a smooth voice. "He quit this morning."

              "But how? You were dead!" Tannenbaum exclaims. His eyes cut to me, but I don't back down from his mean gaze. "And who's this tramp, really?"

              "My business partner," Flint replies tonelessly. "No chance I would give my best asset over to you again, is there? Good, trustworthy help is so hard to find these days, wouldn't you agree?"

              "What do you want from us?" Halligan asks. "You've already got to Richards. He turned in his resignation this morning, and I haven't been able to get him on the phone. You didn't kill him, did you?" He eyes the gun in Flint's hand speculatively.

              "No. Not kill." Flint withdraws the gun, though he doesn't move to replace it in his belt. "I cut him off."

              "What he probably means is he cut him up," Tannenbaum moans. "Do you see that look on his face? My God, he murdered him! He murdered Richards, and now he's going to murder us!"

              "Darling, do shut up," I interject sweetly, just happy to have a chance to enter the conversation that Flint commands once more. It's satisfying to see Tannenbaum’s mouth click closed, and watch as he gazes at me with a fear almost equal to his fear of Flint.

              "What I'm going to do," Flint continues, "is publicize every illegal transaction Green Star has taken part in. Thanks to our mutual friend Richards, I have documents and signatures in my possession, and a contact who sits a phone call away, ready to publish every record to the web if I don't call him off in the next"—here Flint holds up his wrist to gaze at his watch—"Oh, five minutes or so. Tell me, what will happen to you when the world knows that you've been making deals with Saudi Arabia?"

              "What do you want?" Halligan repeats. I notice he continues to keep his cool, to the extent that he looks like an ice sculpture about to melt beneath the heat of Flint's blazing sun.

              "Your stock in Green Star," Flint responds, as if it is the simplest request in the world. He pushes two identical packets of paper toward the two men. "Richards was pretty eager to sell to me already. You give me back my company in full, and then you fuck off, gentlemen. You resign. I don't care what you do after that, but I better not ever see or hear from you again."

              "And what about you?" Tannenbaum scoffs. "You come back from the dead? There's going to be a media shitstorm!"

              "I intend to stay dead," Flint replies. "Green Star will fall into the hands of better people than all of us, but only I get to decide what that means."

"What assurance do we have that you won't come after us?" Halligan asks finally. I watch from above as a slow, terrible smile inches its way across Flint's face.

"You don't," he says coldly. "Sign, gentlemen. I took the liberty of highlighting the lines for you."

              I leave the men to finish their business and exit the hotel lobby to stand outside in the cool night air. I hug myself, feeling exhilarated and longing for Flint to conclude his three years of tireless planning so he can engulf me in his arms. There is nothing so comforting anymore as the feeling of leather rasping across my skin, the smell of gasoline, the—

              A pair of hands clamp down around my mouth, muffling my scream. I spasm and throw my body into wild fits, but it's no use—whoever has ahold of me holds fast. I scream and scream and scream into the mute void of a gloved hand as I am hauled into the street and thrown into the backseat of a waiting car.

              I feel a knife blade press against my throat. I stop screaming. There is a man in a leather jacket exiting through the front door of the hotel. My pleading eyes fall to him, but I can't form the words to call for help.

              Lucky for me, he finds me anyway. "Ana!" Flint shouts. But it's too little. Too late. The door slams down like a barrier between us, and the unmarked car peels out of the parking lot…carrying me away from Flint into the bleak, black night.