Curly (Hell's Handlers MC Florida Chapter 1)

Gazes locked, they each went to work, shedding their own pants. The second her shorts pooled at her feet, she kicked them away along with her panties, then her attention snagged on the hard cock fisted in his hand and her knees nearly buckled.

He lounged back on one elbow as he stroked himself with a self-satisfied smirk. The man knew what he was doing to her and he loved it. “You do need it bad. You need this cock, baby?”

Her insides clenched. Whether it was his thick hard-on, near purple and angry from the surge of blood, or the pet name, it didn’t matter. All she could think about was filling the emptiness inside her with that length. “I need it,” she said as her heart thudded and her belly quivered.

Just as she was about to climb on the bed next to him and lie on her back, he smirked. “Then come take it.”

She froze. “What?”

Still wearing that sexy smirk, he scooted back until he lay with his head on a pile of pillows and legs spread wide enough, she could see his heavy sac resting on her comforter. Then he resumed playing with himself as though he did this in front of a woman every day. Hell, for all she knew, he did.

“You’ve been on two rides today. Isn’t there a saying about good things coming in threes?”

Her tongue dried up, so she nodded. They did say that. Though she was pretty sure they were on the hundredth good moment of the day.

“Wanna go for your third ride? I guarantee this will blow the first two out of the water.” His husky, strained voice had her head spinning.

Did she want to climb on top of him and ride him, both of them, to an explosive finish? “Y-yes.” God, did she ever want that.

Could she do it? It was the ultimate in vulnerable positions. Letting him see everything, touch anything, trust he wouldn’t criticize.

He spread his arms in offering. As he released his cock, it slapped against his stomach. Nothing short of a gun to the head could have forced her attention elsewhere. “Then I’m all yours. Do with me what you’d like.”

Her gaze snapped to his. Holy shit, she might come on the spot from the idea of being in control of a man like him. Even before her marriage had gone bad and her husband had revealed his true colors, he had no tolerance for what he called “an aggressive woman.” She was there to be fucked by him, not to do any fucking. Eventually, she recognized it was another way of controlling her. God forbid a woman exert herself in bed or have her own needs.

Day by day, Curly was introducing her to a different type of man. One confident in his masculinity and not intimated by a strong woman. At least for now.

And the here and now was all that mattered. If he meant it, she’d explore every inch of his body with her hands, lips, and tongue until he was strung tight with need and begging her to take his cock. Shit, she was lightheaded just at the notion of it.

“I can do anything?” she whispered. Her voice shook as she tried to suppress her eagerness.

“Anything.” Once again, he fisted his dick, resuming the show. “Brooke, when it comes to fucking there isn’t a goddammed thing I wouldn’t want you to do to me.”

“Holy shit.” She spoke so low, he probably didn’t hear her, but his grin expanded to something almost daring. After swallowing down a spike of nerves, Brooke breathed in a burst of confidence. “Stop touching yourself. Only I get to touch that cock.”

One of his eyebrows rose, but he immediately did as she asked, settling his hands on the comforter at his sides.

“You’re so gorgeous,” she said as she knelt in the space between his feet.

“I’ve got nothing on you, Brooke. Do you have any idea how much time I’ve spent thinking about this over the past few weeks? Thinking about seeing you naked and hungry for me? All your tanned skin. Those tits I tasted. Your drenched pussy.”

If it was anywhere around the number of times she’d imagined him—hundreds.

“Hands stay there,” she said. “No matter what.” This newfound boldness and confidence with her nudity came from him. From the appreciative way his gaze raked over her nakedness. Maybe he needed glasses as he didn’t seem to notice the cellulite on her thighs or the roundness of her belly. She kept her lacy bra on, not quite ready to have her forty-plus-year-old breasts drooping over him yet she had a feeling he’d be blind to her flaws there, too.

He grunted and she swore his entire body trembled. Chill from the air conditioner? Desire? Anticipation? “Yes, ma’am.”

As proud of herself as she was for the hard-won independence she’d never relinquish to a man, as much as she loved her life and had grown to love herself, she couldn’t deny the thrill of having a man express admiration for her body.