Page 35 of My Enemy Biker

"Give me a second or this is going to be over embarrassingly fast."

I tighten around him, testing. His hips jerk in response and a rough sound tears from his throat.

"You're trying to kill me," he says, voice strained.

"Then move." I squeeze again, watching his jaw clench. "Or I'll keep doing that."

He pulls back and slams in hard enough I cry out. Does it again. And again. Finding a rhythm that makes my spine arch, makes sounds tear from my throat I can't control. Hard and fast and deep and exactly what I've been needing since he kissed me three days ago.

I wrap my legs around his hips, heels digging into his ass to pull him deeper. He shifts the angle and suddenly he's hitting something inside me that makes my fingers claw at his back.

"There," I gasp. "Right there, don't you dare stop—"

"Wasn't planning on it." His voice is rough, wrecked. One hand grips my hip hard enough I'll have finger-shaped bruises tomorrow and I want them, want proof this happened. His other hand braces beside my head, muscles in his arm flexing with each thrust. "Christ, Anna. You feel so fucking good. So tight. So perfect."

He's hitting that spot with every thrust now, relentless, and I'm climbing toward something bigger than the first two orgasms. My body is wound so tight I might shatter.

"Mine," he says against my throat, and the possessiveness in his voice does something to me I don't want to examine. "Say it."

"I can't—I can't think—"

"You don't need to think." His rhythm doesn't falter, doesn't slow. "Just feel. Just take it."

I'm so close. Right on the edge. Need something more, something I can't name.

His hand slides between us. Finds my clit. The first touch makes me jolt.

"One more," he says, mouth at my ear. "Give me one more and then I'll let you breathe."

"I can't, it's too much—"

"You can." His thumb works my clit in circles that match his thrusts and I'm trembling, shaking, right there. "Come on my cock, Anna. Want to feel you fall apart."

The combination of his voice and his thumb and the angle and the rhythm breaks something in me.

I come screaming his name, my whole body seizing, clenching around him hard enough it almost hurts. The orgasm rips through me in waves, endless, devastating.

He groans and thrusts three more times, chasing his own release. Buries himself deep and comes, and I feel the heat of him filling me, feel him shuddering against me while he empties himself inside.

We stay like that for long seconds, both breathing hard, sweat-slicked and trembling.

He's still inside me, his weight pressing me into the mattress. Should be too heavy. Isn't. I run my hands down his back, feeling muscle and heat and the dampness of exertion.

"You okay?" he asks eventually, voice rough.

"If you ask me that one more time I'm kicking you out."

"Can't kick me out." His breath is warm against my neck. "You can barely move."

He's right. I'm boneless, wrung out, completely satisfied in a way I've never been before.

"Give me two minutes," he says against my neck, "and we're going again."

"Two minutes? You're forty, not twenty."

"Want to test that theory?"

I can already feel him getting hard again inside me. "Apparently I do."