Making of Them (Beating the Biker 3)

“I’ll buy you more.”

“That’s—”

The delicate lace tore free with a single yank. “I can’t help it.”

He stared at his prize, the sweetness between her legs glistening, bright pink and swollen. He stroked her tender flesh, and she writhed under his hand.

“You’re imp—” she started to say, but he took her mouth in the space of a lightning flash, devouring her lips with all-consuming passion. She pushed at his pants and boxers frantically, managing to move them off his ass and onto his thighs. He gasped as she pulled his cock, guiding him to the wet softness between her legs.

Saks’ teeth grit as he pulled back one last time and yanked his boxers free. Nothing was going to stand between him and the beautiful woman sprawled across his bed.

His woman sprawled across his bed.

Back atop her he fell, their lips crashing together as his callused fingers grasped for her hips. Forward he pushed, driving the length of himself all the way into her damp core. Her back arched, drowning out the height of her moans as she buried her face into his pillow. Her breasts and torso pushed into his chest, as if she needed him to be even closer than they already were.

“Chrissy,” he gasped. He’d barely been in her, and yet he already felt as if he would explode. She was too much, too sexy, and he couldn’t get enough of her.

His own moans grew louder, mixing with hers as he thrust in and out of her with needful speed. Down his head dipped, sucking in another nipple sharply as he willed her to come. Around his hips her legs tightened, meeting each of his thrusts with a frantic push of her hips. One glance into the depths of her glazed eyes told him she was near.

“Saks!” she cried out with one final jut of her hips. That was all it took, the sound of his name on her lips, to send Saks tumbling over the edge with her. Into one another they convulsed, riding out the waves of passion in a tangle of limbs and cry of moans that made it difficult to tell one from the next.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Chrissy held Saks’ hand as they entered the newsstand where Uncle Vits did business. Tobacco and newsprint hung thick in the air and caused her nose to wrinkle. Racks of magazines filled one short wall while glass counters were filled with boxes of cigars, and cigarettes hung like puzzle boxes on the back wall.

&nbsp

; It was a small place on Main Street, Westfield, with barely enough room for several people on the floor. But long association with the Serafini told her that this was not where the action happened.

“Hi, Dave,” Saks greeted the man behind the counter, who was busy ripping mastheads from old papers. “I’m here to see Uncle Vits.”

The man’s eyes narrowed on Chrissy. “Who’s that?”

“My fiancée.”

“Congrats. Let me check,” Dave said. He picked up the handset for an old landline phone.

“Anthony is here to see you. Yeah, that Anthony.” He hung up the phone. “Okay, you can go back.”

“Thanks, Dave.”

A buzzer sounded, and a door in the paneling at the end of the shop opened.

“Come on,” Saks told her as he pulled the door open. The room they entered was large, and filled with tables lined with old-fashioned landline phones. All of that space and all of those tools, though, and it was devoid of anyone at all.

“These days people place their bets from their cell phones,” Saks explained, “Vits’ boys work from wherever and deliver their bets to a secure server.”

“Wow,” Chrissy said. “Nice to know that work-from-home options exist for wise guys.”

Saks scoffed. “Be nice to my uncle.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll show him respect. I know the drill.”

Saks wrapped his arm around hers. “I know you do.”

Chrissy leaned into him and put her head on his arm for a second. She didn’t want to admit that she was nervous, but her stomach churned uncomfortably. From what Saks said Vits was against their marriage, even though he was the one who’d initiated their meeting.

At the end of the room, a young man stood at another door.