Page 87 of Riding Free

My husband’s mouth is magical. So damn magical. He doesn’t stop, and I would never ask him to. His tongue works me… works me in a way that is out of this world. Works me like only he’s ever been able to do.

When one hand reaches for my inner thigh, gripping me there as he widens my legs, a whimper bubbles up from my chest. Brock shifts his mouth to my clit, his tongue focusing on me there while his other hand shifts between my legs.

I feel two fingers slip inside me, and I exhale a sigh.

So damn good.

So.

So.

So.

Damn good.

Brock’s fingers curl inside me, causing my eyes to roll into the back of my head.

They make come-hither motions as his mouth continues its focus on my clit, and my back arches.

So. Damn. Good.

I’m seconds away from falling over the edge. I don’t know how he does it, but he can bring me to the brink of an orgasm in seconds, no matter what.

And here I am.

About to topple.

He doesn’t stop his beautiful, amazing, out-of-this-world torture of me. His tongue continues to focus on my clit, his fingers continue to curl inside me, and I am on the edge and about to jump over in ecstasy when he stops.

I open my mouth to argue, to demand that he finish the job, when his body glides up mine and in one single motion, he’s inside me. He fills me, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to burst.

When his mouth touches mine, he begins to move inside me with lazy, even-rhythmed strokes. Simple perfection. That is all I can think as he continues to move, to fill me, to grind his pelvis against my clit on each downstroke.

I’ve got one foot over the edge, and I’m ready to fall, my body warm as I prepare to jump, or tumble, or fly. I’m not sure. When it happens, it’s not fast, like a freight train rolling through me. It’s like caramel, warm, melty, gooey caramel, and I let it flow down to my toes, up to my head, and then down my arms as I come.

I’m lost in my release. The rest of the world vanishes, and then, as if I’m slammed back into reality, he begins to move harder and faster, his hips thrusting with wild abandon. He stops suddenly, burying himself deep as he comes, filling me with his release.

He rips his mouth from mine, his roar filling the room, bouncing off the artless walls. When he opens his eyes, they find mine. I watch as a smile appears, the heat in his gaze like a burning flame ready to explode.

“Morning, baby,” he rasps softly.

My lips curve up into a grin—well, a smile that couldn’t be wiped from my face right now, no matter what. It’s a smile of contentment and love. So much damn love. I’ve never felt this before, and I hope it never goes away.

Brock dips his chin, his lips brushing mine before he guides himself out of me and lies down on the pillow beside me. Wordlessly, he gathers me in his arms, then I feel his lips at the top of my head.

“Love you, Keely,” he murmurs against my hair.

Closing my eyes, I let out a long exhale and curl closer to him. “I love you, Brock. So damn much.”

I do love him, more than I could probably ever truly express. There is something about this man that consumes me in the best way possible. Something magical and beautiful. It goes beyond sex, beyond our daughter, but those do help. It’s how at peace he makes me feel, and I’m not sure he should.

He’s a biker, an outlaw. He’s lived a life of free sex, and it should turn me off. Everything about him is like a gigantic warning, a red flag that flies higher than the Eiffel Tower restaurant where we had our wedding dinner. But I feel anything but warnings when it comes to him.

I feel whole and peaceful. I feel taken care of, cherished, and loved beyond measure. Maybe it’ll bite me in the ass, but at least I’ll have this feeling to think back on if it does, and how, for a moment in my life, I felt like I was living and it was a beautiful life.

Thea begins to cry, which is my indication that the day has started. We climb out of bed, and Brock helps me get Thea up and settled so I can feed her. He leaves the house once she’s fed and I’ve showered, with a promise to return later this afternoon.

“I’ll be back before you need to go to the massage school, okay?” Brock calls out before he closes the front door. “Then we’ll go see Chassis and the baby.”