Rage (A Thunder Gypsies MC Outlaw Biker Romance) (5 page)

“I’m sorry, Callan!”

His brow furrowed but he didn’t back away. He was all the way against me, the muscles that had been flexing beneath my hands for the last twelve hours as he drove the bike suddenly tight and unyielding. His gaze narrowed.

“What are you sorry for, Avery?”

I sucked a breath in. He didn’t sound angry, but then I didn’t have a lot of experience with an angry Callan Tilley. Even at Freya’s with the other Gypsies riding his ass, he’d never lost his cool. Only last night at my house had I seen the rage he was capable of and, even then, he had kept a tight rein on it.

“For whatever I did wrong,” I stuttered.

He nodded and then his mouth puckered in a weird little smile. Unshouldering my backpack, he tossed it between the two beds then settled more of his weight against my chest.

“What you did wrong,” he explained, “was ride my back like you were dry fucking me for the last six hundred miles, baby.”

“Oh...” My mouth retained the shape of my answer and, before I knew it, Callan kissed me. He moved more slowly than that first kiss in my father’s kitchen and his hands ventured lower and harder than they had earlier.

“Dry fucking is fun, baby, but it’s just the warm up for the real thing.” He squeezed at my mound, the teasing pressure releasing a flood of juices from deep inside me. He let go to run his hands over my hips, a heavy sigh vibrating through his chest. “You can’t ride in those tight little yoga pants Freya makes you wear, but, damn, I’ve fantasized so many times about peeling them off you.”

My head bobbed as warm air staggered past my lips. “I can put them back on.”

He smiled down at me, his green gaze glittering as our shadows danced on the wall behind me. “You think I’m that patient, baby?”

I didn’t have to think my way through the question at all, his eyes and the hungry way he bit his lip told me everything. I shook my head just as he unthreaded the button on my jeans. He pulled the zipper down then forced his hands inside, his palm flat against each hip.

I took a ragged breath in as I realized this was really going to happen. Callan Tilley was going to strip me naked and...

The thought snagged inside my head. I didn’t want to think or care about whether this would be lovemaking or raw sex. We were on the run and any feelings we might have been nursing before yesterday we had kept to ourselves. Not once in all my fantasies of Callan had I forced the word “love” past his lips. He was an outlaw, even if he wasn’t anything like the other outlaws I had encountered. Keeping that word buried had kept me safe, not only from Callan but from my own need to please those I loved, or had once loved, at any cost. If I let that word in now, I would be powerless and I didn’t know if I could trust Callan beyond the next few hours or days.

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pushed against him, my body cresting upwards as I sought his ear and gently bit at the lobe. “Fuck me, Callan.”

A groan shuddered through him and then he threw my arms off his body and spun me to my right. The dresser stood just a few feet from the doorway and he bent me over it. My jeans and panties were around my knees a second later.

My stomach lurched at just how ready Callan was to bend me over and take me. Even with the words I had used to encourage him, I expected something slower.

He dropped to his knees, his breath curling along my exposed labia. With my flesh burning for his touch, the air felt cool and I jerked when it hit me.

“Baby, you’re so wet.” His fingers traced a line down each hip, his hand never venturing toward the dripping center of which he spoke. He already had my knees weak from wanting him, but he traced a line along their backs, the gentle touch more than enough to make them bend.

When my bottom dipped down, I knew why he had done it -- to bring my wet lips closer to his. I heard him inhale, then felt just the tip of his nose as it brushed against the red, silken hairs covering my sex. His mouth touched me at last, but not where I wanted.

He planted a kiss at the top of each thigh, just below the fold where they joined my bottom. I shifted my legs, hoping I could take a wider stance, but the jeans and panties around my knees kept my legs close together.

“Impatient,” he teased.

I snorted. “This coming from a man who couldn’t wait while I changed into different pants!”

He kissed me again, both sides and just a little higher and closer to the center. “That’s before you let me see this, Avery.”

The back of his fingertips brushed the wet hairs, the flesh beneath so sensitive that I tightened immediately. Pinching my swollen labia, he separated them and blew softly against the melting flesh they had shielded from his view.

“This isn’t something a man should rush.” He punctuated his words with an open kiss against my sex, his lips wide and his tongue questing. The tongue found my hole while one of his thumbs found my clit. Gently rubbing that hard spine, Callan pushed his tongue into me as far as it would go. Firmly embedded, it began to wiggle.

What was left of my sanity popped like kernels in a microwave.

Grabbing the edges of the dresser, I pressed my face hard against the cool surface of the wood. I needed to scream, the pleasure was that great. I’d only had my own hand before this, my attempts frustrated as often as not because I didn’t want to be alone.

I had wanted Callan those nights I touched myself, and now I had him.

“Please,” I begged. I’d never heard a sound so plaintive or genuine pass my lips. I would beg him as much as it took to get him to finish, to make me orgasm and then fill me with his cock.

His tongue retreated and he returned to kissing at the periphery of my aching cunt. His hands moved down my body to help me out of the jeans and my bottom clothing. Then he had me spread my legs wide. I wondered then whether he would stand and unzip his own jeans, but he wasn’t done teasing me.

One thumb pushed inside my pussy. With his own legs spread to where he all but sat on the ground, he angled his face up, allowing his tongue to flick and slurp along my clit. I moaned another plea and he just chuckled at me.

“I’ve never been a fast eater, baby.”

My cheeks heated at the joke. He really was eating me, making a full meal, his teeth nibbling at the tender, swollen labia before his tongue would return to tracing a hard line up and down my clit. Keeping his thumb hold on my cunt, he made sure I couldn’t move or control the encounter. He made me his to devour and he was taking his sweet time, bringing me to the edge, measuring my gasps and moans and how hard and often my pussy tensed before he backed off, softly laughing at my wailing need.

My release ungranted, Callan stood. I waited, certain he would take me now, that I would hear the slide of his zipper any second. Instead, he scooped me up like a rag doll and took me to the bed furthest from the door. He placed me sitting at the edge. Taking a spot between my open legs, he drew my denim jacket down just enough to trap my arms against my sides.

His mouth covered most of one breast, the t-shirt and bra blocking the contact of our flesh but not the sensation. He bit, lightly, and brought my nipple to full attention. I squirmed against him, trying to free my arms while I rubbed my wet pussy against his chest. Our clothes grew saturated, my t-shirt from his sucking at my breast through the fabric and his shirt from the heavy flow of my juices as he made me want him more and more.

When his hands finally went down to his jeans to unfasten them, I impatiently stripped my jacket off and reached for the bottom hem of my t-shirt to pull it over my head. He stopped me with a growl and the upward, predatory slant of his gaze.

I blinked, eyes watering with frustration. He wasn’t done teasing me -- not by a long shot.

Callan stood, lifting me off the bed and molding my legs around his waist. His damn jeans were still on and the cotton briefs beneath, but I could feel the fat top knob of his erection poking at my sex.

“Is that sweet pussy going to drool all over my underwear, baby?”

I whimpered. If he kept talking like that, I would flood the damn carpet before he allowed my climax.

Chewing lightly at my neck, he slid one hand under the back of my t-shirt and unhooked my bra before he braced both arms around me for support.

“Take this shit off now,” he commanded.

All I had left were the t-shirt and bra. I stripped them away, my body completely naked while he had only removed his jacket and unzipped his jeans.

He shifted me higher up his body, my legs hugging his torso. My pussy pressed hard against the top of his abdominal muscles while my breasts heaved level with his face. He captured one nipple and tugged at it with his teeth.

“Baby, I don’t know how to fuck other than rough,” he warned.

My eyes rolled back in my head at all the possibilities his words conjured.

“I can handle it,” I whispered. My whole life had been rough, why should sex be any different? I knew whatever Callan did, I would enjoy it. Every nerve ending in my body was wide awake and screaming for more. There was no way I wouldn’t like what he was about to do.

His hand maneuvered under my bottom to push down his jeans and briefs far enough to free the head of his cock. He nestled the fat tip against the entrance to my cunt, his strong grip preventing me from pushing down onto him.

“Let’s find out if you really can.” He breathed the challenge into my ear then placed me gently on the bed.

Knowing my gaze was locked on his lower body, Callan made a show of exposing the entire length of his cock before he stripped his t-shirt off. I licked my lips as more moisture pulsed from my cunt to wet the bedspread beneath me.

The Gypsies might call him Last Drop, but the women that hung out at Freya’s and the Gypsy clubhouse had another nickname for Callan Tilley.

The Tube.

“Let me see you again.” He moved his legs as he spoke, prodding my knees apart then using his hands to make sure I had my thighs spread wide. His gaze felt fierce upon my skin as he studied my wet pussy. With one thumb on my clit, he started a gentle exploration of the hole below. Two fingers in, a twist, a curling withdrawal. “How many men have you let in here, Avery?”

His tone was possessive without being accusatory.

“I haven’t,” I answered. I wasn’t ashamed to admit it, not with the way he looked at me. I knew then my virginity wasn’t because I was undesirable to most men. I was invisible because I wanted to be -- but not with Callan. He could see what I tried to hide and I didn’t want to hide from him anymore.

“Didn’t think so,” he said and dropped to his knees.

Seeing his cock disappear beneath the line of the mattress, I growled my frustration at him. “What are you doing? I want you in me!”

A cocky grin shaped his lips into the sexiest smile I’d ever seen.

“I told you, baby girl, I’m a slow eater.” His lips parted but he didn’t place them against me. Instead, he slipped two fingers inside once more. “And I need this sweet pussy wet and stretched before I sink my cock into it.”

“Wet isn’t a problem,” I groaned, relaxing into the mattress and telling my brain to let Callan fuck me exactly as he wanted to fuck me.

“But tight is,” he agreed and slid a third finger in before his mouth descended to cover the rest of my sex.

My fingers crept to my thighs then onto his head, their direction navigated by the need centered between my legs. I wanted to hold him tight to me, but his hair was too short to effectively knot my fingers in. But I could push and rub at his scalp, my hips lifting and squirming as he sucked at my clit and fucked his fingers deeper into my cunt. I froze, trembled, collapsed then tightened all over again.

He buried his digits down to the base knuckle, flexing to make them feel a whole lot thicker than just three wide. He twisted, the pads pushing up on some spot I could never hope to reach on my own. My pussy suctioned around him, wet joining with tight so that I could hear the slurp of my own juices as he pushed in and out.

“Callan...” I let the points of my nails dig at the back of his head, my threat that of a clawless kitten. Screams, unmistakably erotic, began to leave my throat. My torso convulsed in slow rolling waves as he kept me right at the edge of release.

Out came three fingers, in went four. Any more and his whole hand would be inside me.

“Yes, Callan, please,” I moaned. “Please let me come so you can fuck me.”

His assent rumbled from his mouth to my clit. He sucked harder, flexed wider, pushed deeper. I brought my legs up, my heels digging into the small of his back. I couldn’t imagine so much pleasure rolled into one moment, one heartbeat.

I exploded. I whipped my hands up to my face, my nails dragging at my bottom lip. My upper body tried to roll on my side in escape but Callan held on, forcing me to ride the crest of my orgasm, his mouth and fingers still lashing against and inside me.

“Callan!” Tears rolled down my cheek -- too much pleasure turned to joy that turned to salt I could taste on my tongue.

Relenting, he released me and quickly stripped the rest of his clothes away. One arm cradling me, he lifted my body until I was center of the mattress and then he forced my legs apart and settled between them.

“You come like a banshee in the rain, baby. All wet and screaming,” he teased as he positioned his cock to enter me. “Are you ready to come again?”