“I'm moving in with you,” I gasp, hips rocking against his hand. “Next weekend. All my shit. All yours. Forever.”
He growls low, adds a third finger, stretches me until my thighs shake. “Good girl. Now come for me. Let me feel how wet you get when you say you're mine. Can't fuck you yet but I can still make you scream.”
I clench around his fingers, moaning loud enough the neighbors probably hear it. He doesn't let up, just pumps faster, thumb pressing harder on my clit, free hand shoving my shirt up so he can suck a nipple into his hot mouth. The combination rips through me. I come hard, crying out, nails digging into his shoulders, whole body locking up while he keeps working me through it until I'm trembling and boneless.
He pulls his fingers free slowly, brings them to his mouth, licks them clean while staring down at me like I'm his favorite meal. “Fuck, you taste good when you're mine. Can't wait to bury my face between your legs.”
I reach for his waistband, pop the button, shove his sweats down just enough to free him. He's rock-hard, tip already leaking. I wrap my hand around him, stroke slowly and firm from base to head.
His breath hisses out. “Baby...”
“Your turn,” I whisper, squeezing tighter. “Let me make you come. Let me feel you lose it knowing I'm moving in next weekend. Doctor didn't say anything about hands.”
He groans, hips jerking into my fist. I pump faster, twist my wrist on the upstroke, thumb swiping over the slit to spread the precum. He drops his forehead to mine, breathing ragged.
“Fuck... just like that. Harder.”
I tighten my grip, stroke quicker, other hand cupping his balls, rolling them gently. He curses under his breath, hips snapping.
“Gonna come,” he warns, voice wrecked. “Gonna come all over your hand thinking about you in my house every day.”
“Do it,” I breathe against his mouth. “Come for me, Lucky. Show me how bad you want this.”
He slams his mouth to mine, kisses me all messy and desperate while he thrusts into my fist one last time. He comes hard, hot pulses spilling over my fingers, down my wrist, his whole body shaking as he growls my name against my lips.
We stay like that for a minute, both panting, foreheads pressed together. He finally opens his eyes, looks at the mess on my hand, then at me.
“Bedroom,” he says, voice still rough. “We're not done. I want my mouth on you again before we eat. Doc didn't ban that.”
I grin, wipe my hand on his shirt because why not. “Lead the way.”
He scoops me up, throws me over his shoulder caveman-style, smacks my ass hard enough to sting. “Next weekend,” he says, already heading down the hall. “You're officially mine. No take-backs.”
I laugh, upside down, hair swinging. “No take-backs, biker boy.”
I blink back to the present, the memory so vivid I can still feel his hand fisting my hair. I smile to myself, then swing my legs over the edge of the bed, toes hitting the cool hardwood.
I pad barefoot down the hall. He's at the stove in the kitchen, back to me, gray sweats hanging low on his hips. The scar on his chest shows when he reaches for the spatula. Pink, raised, jagged line right where the bullet punched through. He still winces if he twists too fast or lifts something heavy, but he doesn't bitch. Never has.
He glances over his shoulder when he hears my footsteps. That crooked grin hits me square in the chest. "Morning, gorgeous."
"Morning." I slide up behind him, wrap my arms around his waist, press my cheek to his back. His skin's warm. Solid. Alive. I breathe him in deep. Soap, motor oil from the garage, and that smell that's just him. "You sleep okay?"
"Better than okay." He flips the bacon, sets the tongs down, and slides the pan off the burner. He turns in my arms and cups my face with both hands. Thumbs brush my cheeks. "No nightmares. No waking up thinking I was bleeding out in a van. Just you stealing all the blankets again."
I snort. "Liar. You hog them every single night."
"Guilty." He leans down, kisses me slowly. His tongue slips in just enough to make me sigh. When he pulls back his eyes are dark. "The doctor cleared me yesterday. Full go. No restrictions."
My pulse jumps. "Full go?"
"Full fucking go." His hands slide down to my hips, squeeze hard. "Two months of gentle bullshit is over. I'm done being careful."
Heat rushes low in my belly. "Lucky..."
He kisses me again. Harder. Backs me against the counter. Hands slip under the hem of his old t-shirt I'm wearing. Fingers skim my ribs, thumbs graze the undersides of my breasts. I gasp into his mouth.
"Bedroom," I breathe. "Now."
