Page 103 of Biker Orc Baby Daddy
I clamor for the waistband of his boxers. Push them down.
His cock springs free. Hard and thick andready.
I look at him. Meet his eyes.
We stare at each other. The air between us is charged. Electric. Like the moment before a storm breaks.
I pull him to me. Wrap my hand around his cock. Feel him pulse under my touch.
He groans. A sound that slices right to my core.
I stroke him. Slow at first. Then faster. Harder.
His hips jerk. His breath comes faster. His hands fist in my hair.
"Cecie," he says. Voice rough. "Cecie, I?—"
I know what he needs. What he's asking for.
I let go of his cock. Step back. Lie back on the bed.
Spread my legs.
He moves between my legs. Kisses me. Slow at first. Then deeper. Harder.
I moan, garnering a reaction fromhiscore.
He kisses me until I'm shaking. Until I'm begging. Until I'mhis.
Then he moves up my body. Kisses my stomach. My breasts. My neck.
I lift my legs around him. Pull him closer. Feel him hard and ready against me.
He moves. Slow at first. Then faster. Harder. I meet him thrust for thrust. Move with him.Withhim. The bed creaks. Theroom fills with the sound of us. Our breaths. Our moans. Ourskin. He moves faster. Harder. Deeper.
I come. The growls lifting out of my very soul, my body shaking with violent shudders.
We collapse. Breathing hard. Sweaty. Sated. He rolls to the side. Pulls me against him. Wraps his arms around me. I let him. Let myself be held. Let myself behis. We lie like that. Breathing. Being.
The air between us is calm. Quiet. Like the moment after a storm breaks.
The morning light finds us tangled in each other. In the quiet of my bedroom, with Orry still asleep down the hall and the world still turning outside, we lie together in the aftermath of something that feels like a beginning.
CHAPTER 12
GUNTHER
Saturday morning. Seven AM. The plaza looks like a parade colliding with a craft fair.
I stand in front of our booth,ourbooth, because apparently that's my life now, holding a box of brochures while Colum directs a teenager with a balloon arch.
"Higher.Higher. Gunther, tell him higher."
"I think it's fine," I say.
"Fine is the enemy of memorable."
The kid adjusts the arch. One balloon pops. Colum doesn't flinch.
