I reach between us again, wrapping my fingers around his shaft, stroking from base to tip. He’s thick, veined, pulsing—pre-cum slicking the head.
He groans into my breast, hips jerking forward.
I guide him to my entrance, rubbing the tip against my clit until I’m trembling.
“Mason, please,” I whisper.
But he doesn’t make me wait.
With one thrust, he pushes inside me, stretching me around him.
It’s slow at first. Deep, claiming. But the fullness makes me cry out, legs wrapping tighter around him.
He starts moving, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in. The bed creaks beneath us. I meet every stroke, lifting my hips to take him deeper, my pussy clenching around him.
His hand finds my clit, fingers circling fast, rubbing in time with each thrust.
Pleasure builds quick, winding tight and sharp in my belly.
I rake my nails down his back, desperate and breathless. He shifts, hooking my leg over his arm to angle deeper, hitting that spot inside that makes stars burst behind my eyes.
“Come for me,” he murmurs, breath hot at my ear.
His pace quickens, cock pounding into me with rough rhythm. I break, coming hard around him, my orgasm tearing through me, back arching as I cry out his name.
He doesn’t stop. Keeps driving into me until his own release slams through him. He buries himself deep, groaning as he comes, filling me in hot, pulsing waves.
We stay tangled and panting, his weight a welcome press, the morning light warming our sweat-slick skin.
He kisses my forehead, softer now.
I smile, lips brushing his collarbone. “I could get used to this.”
His hand drags lazily down my spine.
“You should,” he says.
Later, we share leftover waffles on the tiny counter. He toasts them in the oven, and I laugh when he nearly burns his fingers pulling them out.
He just shrugs and says, "Worth it."
We take his bike toward the coffee truck, the engine growling beneath us as I hold on tight. One of his hands stays steady on the throttle, the other finds my thigh like it belongs there.
The wind cuts through my jacket, but his touch is warm. Strong and possessive in the best way.
But when we pull into the lot, something shifts.
His easy calm disappears, replaced by something sharper. Shoulders tense, jaw tight, eyes scanning.
Two prospects are already waiting. Both young. Alert. Not looking at me, not even once.
Viper kills the engine, turns to me.
"I’ve got some club business to take care of," he says. "But they’ll stay close. Make sure you’re safe."
My heart dips. I try not to show it.
"I was hoping you’d stay."
