“Hawkins,” she mewls, “please.”
Somehow the fucking moon gets brighter, or maybe its that my senses sharpen. I can see her so fucking clearly bent over in front of me. Like an offering.
Like mine. All fucking mine.
My hands grip her hips, and I pull her back to meet my thrusts as I start fucking her. Just like she begged me to. Just like she needs me to.
The sounds of our panting breaths and our skin slapping together wraps around us. Then there are her breathy moans and the slick sound of my shaft sliding in and out of her tight, wet heat.
“Yes, right there,” her words feel like praise. “Don’t stop,” she gasps.
“I’m not fucking stopping,” I grit out through my clenched jaw.
It’s the only thing stopping me from filling her with my cum far too quickly. Because I’ve never felt anything like my woman’s sweet pussy wrapped around my dick. It’s too fucking good.
And I never want to be inside anyone else. This is it for me. She’s it for me.
“Quincy,” my fingers bite into her flesh, “your pussy is begging for my cum. You want to feel me fill you up?”
“Oh,” she coos, “please. Fill me up.”
And that’s when I feel it. She’s close. Her walls ripple around me and she lets out a sound which is not quite gasp, not quite an admonishment. It’s pure fucking pleasure and it wraps around my balls and squeezes. A tingle shoots up my spine and makes me gnash my teeth together and let out a snarl which is far more animal than man.
Her body locks up and I bury myself inside of her as deep as I can go. I’m not going to be able to stop my orgasm. Not with the way she’s milking me and moaning my name.
“Yes,” I grunt, blowing a hard breath out of my nose. “Take it all, Hollywood.”
“Hawkins,” she breathes out.
And I’m fucking done for.
I pull out of her, wishing I could watch my cum slide out of her just-fucked hole, but there’s not enough light. While standing her up, I turn her and cradle her in my arms. The way she snuggles into my chest, instead of putting distance between us, gives me a little hope.
Like maybe I can get her to believe this wasn’t some quick fuck while overlooking the neon that holds so many captive without them knowing because it’s nothing more than a mirage of prosperity.
CHAPTER 7
QUINCY
I should probably be embarrassed. Being fucked by a man I’ve just met isn’t normal for me. I’m not entirely sure how it all happened, but what I know for sure is it felt right. So fucking right.
My legs are still a little wobbly, but that could be because we’re back on Hawkins’ bike and speeding closer to the oasis of the city.
I’m still surprised it felt as normal as it did to open up to him. I wasn’t even sure about talking to Margot about my feelings and concerns, but talking to Hawkins felt easy. It wasn’t even something I needed to think about.
How wild is that?
The ride back toward the city doesn’t take nearly as long; at least it feels that way. Isn’t that always the way? The anticipation made every second stretch the first time I was wrapped around Hawkins. Now, it’s like time knows I’m not ready to let go and is speeding up.
I don’t like it at all, but there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. Time, as I’ve learned over the years, marches on whether we want it to or not.
It would be far too easy to let myself get lost in the embarrassment threatening to creep into my mind. I’ve prided myself on staying in control and not doing things which could get me on the front page of a tabloid. That would include fucking a random man who just happens to be in a motorcycle club that you met in a poker room which probably shouldn’t even exist.
When we pull up in front of the hotel, I slide off from behind Hawkins far too quickly. Ignoring the people staring at us, I force a smile onto my face. The way he tilts his head slightly, his blue eyes intently staring at me, makes me feel like his prey.
“Thanks for showing me the city from a distance. It was quite the view,” my voice sounds bright, but the words are hollow.
His tongue slides across his bottom lip as he slides off his bike. He looms over me and my pussy clenches. Which is not a good idea because getting cleaned up on the side of the road was…not easy. At least the man travels with wet wipes in his saddle bag.
