I take a step, but then the air in my lungs rushes out when I go airborne. I’m unceremoniously tossed over a very broad shoulder. I don’t need to see a damn thing to know whose shoulder I’m dangling from.
My bag slips, but I’m able to grab it with a strangled groan. “What are you doing, Cowboy?”
His hand lands on my ass and the sound of it fills the hallway. I can only hope no one else is witnessing this little biker display of possession happening right now.
When we step onto the elevator, my body relaxes and I try again, “Seriously, what is going on? Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you to my room in the clubhouse,” his words are clipped, but they’re not angry.
He sounds like a man on edge and barely holding on. As if I wasn’t already turned on and making plans to go home and take care of the problem myself.
Because all I had was a ‘see you soon’ without any real knowledge about what that would mean. But here we are and, apparently, I’m going to get to see far more of Elysium than I anticipated. My body is buzzing.
“I’ve been watching you all night. Dancing. Fuck,” he grits out, “you used to only dance for me. As I watched you I realized I’m a possessive asshole who can’t stand the thought of you dancing for anyone except me.”
With a ding, I hear the woosh of the elevator and then we’re moving again.
“I was just doing my job,” I point out knowing damn well that performance is performance and it’s not like there was a pole involved.
Everton growls and the way it reverberates through me has me clenching my thighs together. Without warning, his hand lands on my ass again and I let out a yelp.
When he steps inside a room and the door closes behind us, silence descends. His movements are slow as he maneuvers me to slide down his body. And I feel it all.
I shudder as I push my hair back off my face and look up into whiskey-colored eyes filled with heat and fraying control. My heart thuds once in my chest before it starts racing as he takesmy mouth in a kiss that is all possession. He yanks me against his chest, our bodies aligning, as my fingers curl around the edge of his cut because it feels like I’ll float away if I don’t hold on.
“Fuck,” he grunts into my mouth, and I swallow down the sound.
My movements are slow as I run my hands up his chest to gently push his cut off his shoulders. I don’t let it hit the floor, grabbing it and hanging it on a hook near the door, his hold on me never loosening. When I push his shirt up, wanting it off to allow me to see the tattoo on his chest, the one he got for me, he has to help me since he’s a little too tall to make it easy on me.
Everton smirks down at me and my pussy clenches around nothing. The look in his eyes is predatory, and I find myself stepping back as he steps forward. He stalks toward me and I retreat in kind. When the back of my knees hit the bed, I realize he has me right where he wants me.
His touch is filled with reverence as he quickly strips me and them himself. I let out a surprised yelp when he picks me up by my hips when I expected him to push me back onto the bed. He easily maneuvers me until he’s sitting back against the headboard and I’m straddling his hips.
“You’re going to ride me,” his large hands clamp down on my hips, “until I can’t take it anymore and need you under me.”
My fingers run through the hair on the top of his head as I rise up on my knees. I feel the crown of his cock slide between my pussy lips. Our eyes stay locked and I can feel the way his soul eases into mine as I sink down until he’s filling me and his fingers flex on my hips.
“Yes,” he hisses, the muscles of his neck straining. “Now move.”
My nails bite into his shoulders as I follow his command. My hips swivel as I test out sliding up his shaft and then dropping back down. Every time I take him deep inside of me, he thrust his hips upward and I let out a low moan.
When my head drops back, my body arches and Everton doesn’t waste the opportunity. His mouth descends on one of my hardened nipples and sucks hard. I shudder as my movements become faster and harder.
I ignore the way my thighs are burning because chasing my pleasure with this man, the man I desperately want to be mine, is incandescent in every way that matters. His fingers dig deeper into my hips, and I can only hope he’ll leave bruises behind. I crave to see the evidence of his need on my body.
My heart is pounding in my chest and pleasure coils in my belly. It’s almost too much, but at the same time it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.
It feels like my body is straining for something.
“I need,” I gasp, my head tilting down so I can look into his eyes, my words a pleading gasp, “more.”
“Fuck, Tiny Dancer,” he growls and rolls us.
My legs wrap around his waist, and he doesn’t miss a stroke as he plants his forearms on either side of my head while powering into me. Every thrust has me reeling as I whimper with how fucking good it is.
“I’ve got you,” his words feel like a vow, like so much more than passion.
As my heart stills for one fleeting second, I desperately want to believe him. I allow myself to sink into it, into him, into everything his gaze promises.
