Page 34 of My Ex-Military Biker

His rhythm is getting erratic now, losing the steady pace, and I can tell he's close from the way he's gripping my hips, from the way he's moving.

"Where?" he grits out between thrusts.

"What?" I'm too lost to understand.

"Where do you want it, where do you want me to come?"

Understanding finally hits. "Inside, I want you inside me."

He groans low and desperate, three more hard thrusts and then he comes. I feel it clearly, feel him pulsing inside me, filling me completely.

He stays buried deep for a long moment while we're both breathing hard, then he pulls out. I collapse forward immediately, can't hold myself up on my shaking arms anymore. He collapses next to me on the bed.

We lie there side by side, not touching yet, both desperately trying to catch our breath.

My body is singing, sore in places I didn't even know could be sore, but satisfied in a way I've genuinely never felt before in my entire life.

That was sex, real sex. Not the careful quiet thing I thought it was supposed to be. Raw and rough and animalistic and exactly what I needed without even knowing I needed it.

I turn my head on the pillow to look at him. He's on his back with his eyes closed, chest rising and falling rapidly.

"You okay?" he asks without opening his eyes.

"Yes."

"You're going to be sore tomorrow."

"I know."

"Probably going to be sore tonight too."

"I know."

He turns his head and opens his eyes, looking directly at me.

"Any regrets?"

I actually think about it. About the pain that was real. About how rough he was with me. About the fact that I've known him for only a few hours and just let him fuck me exactly like that.

"No," I say clearly. "No regrets."

Something in his expression softens just slightly, barely visible but definitely there.

"Good," he says quietly.

We lie there in silence for a while longer. My body is still humming, still processing everything that just happened.

Between my legs I'm wet and sore and throbbing. I can feel exactly where he was, where he marked me from the inside, where he's left evidence of himself.

"I should probably clean up," I say eventually, though I don't actually move yet.

"In a minute," he says.

"Okay."

More comfortable silence, neither of us rushing to move or speak or define what just happened between us.

"Natalie?"