“Three more, baby,” he growls, voice rough with lust. The next three slides in faster, cold metal shifting deep, making me feel impossibly full, impossibly his.
“Fuck,” he breathes, palming my ass with both hands, spreading me open to admire his work. “Your ass is a goddamn masterpiece.”
Then his cock slams in with one brutal thrust, filling my pussy while the balls shift inside me. I cry out, back bowing. He sets a relentless pace, hips snapping, every ridge of him dragging against my walls.
One hand fists my hair, arching me hard, forcing my ass higher against him. With the other he tugs the string. The first ball pops free, and the sudden drag sends lightning up my spine.
Another thrust. Another ball pulled free. My whole body coils tighter, tighter.
The third comes out on a hard snap of his hips, and I shatter, screaming his name into the mattress, pussy clenching around him in violent waves while the balls shift and roll with every spasm. He doesn’t stop, just fucks me through it, drawing the orgasm out until I’m sobbing from the intensity. Then he groans, like an animal, and I feel the cum, warm and hot, filling me.
Only when I collapse, limp and trembling, does he slow, pressing a kiss between my shoulder blades.
“I think you will sleep now.” He whispers, his chest pressing on my back.
I nod, with a slow, lazy laugh. “I need to clean up.”
“No,” he coos, voice heavy and deep. He rolls onto the mattress and takes me with him. “You will sleep with my cum inside you.”
“Flynn—”
“Shh, wife. Get some sleep.” He kisses the top of my head and holds me tight in his strong, tatted arms, and I’ve never felt safer.
We meet in the lobby. The Callaghans are already there, helmets in hand, dressed head-to-toe in black riding gear. They look like a small army preparing to conquer a city.
Flynn had given me the same: black pants and a heavy jacket that feels more like armour than clothing. He’d said,“Dress for the slide, not the ride.”
At the time I didn’t understand, but when I see the bikes waiting outside, they are these massive black beasts lined up like they’re breathing, and I finally get it.
We step out into the cold foggy morning. Men mount their bikes in silence, six of them. Another armoured SUV sits behind with four more men loading in. Guns. Vests. Darkness.
“Let’s get out of here,” Declan says.
Flynn steps in front of me. He lifts a huge matte-black helmet and settles it over my head with slow, careful hands. His fingers brush my jaw, my cheeks, my hairline as he fastens the straps under my chin. His green eyes flicker up at me through the glass, and for a moment they’re not feral, not dark, not hungry.
They’re soft.
Like he’s really seeing me.
My heart stutters.
“Done,” he murmurs, tapping the side of my helmet. “You can talk to me if you need anything, okay?”
I nod, because my voice won’t work.
He puts on his own helmet, swings a leg over the bike, and Kian walks up to steady me with a gloved hand as I climb on behind Flynn. The seat is high, the machine warm and vibrating under me.
Then I wrap my arms around Flynn’s waist.
God. The way his body feels—solid, broad, tense with control—my fingers automatically curl into his jacket. His back is hot even through the layers.
“Let’s roll out,” Declan’s voice crackles through my helmet, making me jump.
Viviana sits behind him, her arms snug around his torso.
Kian and Connor fall in behind us, and finally Flynn turns his head slightly, as if checking I’m there before he takes off.
We start slow, but when we hit the open road, Flynn twists the throttle, and the bike roars like something alive. He leans forward, and I’m dragged with him, my chest pressing into his back, my arms tightening. The wind rushes around us, cold and sharp.
