Rhythm of the Road (Lost Kings MC 16)

She bends her leg, gently setting it on the couch cushion next to my thigh, and lowers herself onto my lap. “I said, take out your cock.”

“Told you I wanted to eat your pussy first.” I grin at her and lace my fingers behind my head, easing into the couch.

“I’m all sweaty and need a shower.”

“I’ll take you any way I can get you.”

“Hmm. You’re being awfully difficult.” She shifts back and attacks my belt, pulling it loose and diving for the button of my jeans.

“You’re not worried about someone—” I flap my hand toward the door, all words falling out of my brain as she starts stroking my cock. “Fuck.”

“Door’s locked.” She sneaks her hand in my pocket and pulls a condom free. “Good man.”

“I like to be prepared.” I wink at her and pluck the packet from her fingers.

I barely have it rolled on all the way when she rests one hand on my shoulder and uses the other to hike up her dress, hovering over my lap and lining herself up.

“Oh fuck,” I groan and squeeze my eyes shut. “I’m glad you’re primed and ready, because this is going to be short.”

She laughs softly and rakes her nails over my shirt, slowly easing her way down.

“Oh.” She lets out a soft grunt when she bottoms out.

I slide my hands up under her dress, appreciating the muscles in her legs straining. “Come on,” I encourage, grabbing her ass cheeks and pushing her forward. There’s too much dress in my way. My hands go to the zipper at her back and tug. “This needs to come off, right?”

“Y-yes.”

Tight, tiny little fucking zipper.

Finally, I tug it down enough that the straps fall off her shoulders. I drag the top down and flick the clasps of her bra loose. “Much better.” I cup her tits, holding them up for my eager mouth, and suck one nipple, then the other.

“Shit!” She stabs her fingers through my hair, yanking a fistful. “Oh my God, Logan.”

Her movements turn frantic as she loses her rhythm, her body crashing into mine in a chaotic frenzy.

“Already?” I kiss and lick at her neck, savoring the salt on her skin.

“Close,” she whispers.

“Yeah?” I suck my thumb in my mouth for a second and bring it to her clit, rubbing in quick, firm circles.

“Yes, yes, yes.” She rides me faster and faster, digging her nails into my shoulders.

That sexy trembling quiver takes hold of her legs. Fuck, if that doesn’t trigger my own orgasm.

I clamp my hands over her hips, holding her down while I hammer up into her. The shaking in her legs increases. “Fuck,” I roar through my release.

Breathless and pulsing with pleasure, I fall back against the couch. She slumps over me, our sweaty bodies clinging together.

I pinch the material of her dress. “We’re going to ruin this.”

“Don’t care,” she mumbles against me.

I run my hands up and down her back. She jumps and wiggles her hips. My softening cock, still inside her, perks up. “Careful,” I warn. “You’re so fucking hot. If you give me a minute, I’ll bend you over the end of the couch.”

She laughs softly and sits up, carefully extracting herself from my lap.

I crack open one eye and stare at her. Carefully curled and pinned hair—disheveled. Makeup—obliterated. Dress wrinkled and twisted around her waist. Pink blotches stain her chest and neck. All from our frantic fuck. “You are wrecked, woman.”

She glances down and giggles, pushing her dress off the rest of the way. “Never felt better, though.”

“Never looked better, either.” I groan as I sit up. “Was that one of those light-socket orgasms you mentioned?”

She ducks her head, her tangled hair obscuring her face. “Definitely.”

I reach for her hand, tugging gently. “I could tell. Your legs shake. Your eyes roll back in your head.”

“You make me sound demonic.”

“It’s hot as hell.”

She giggles again and I tickle her side. “Give me a second to clean up and I’ll help you pack.”

“Okay.”

I’m finishing up in the bathroom when she joins me. Sadly, she’s covered—jeans that hug her curvy legs, a long-sleeve T-shirt, and boots. Ready to ride. She holds up a few bottles of liquid or lotion. “I’m going to wash this crap off my face before we go.”

“Probably a good idea.”

She gasps when she glances in the mirror. “Why didn’t you tell me I look like a freakshow?”

“You look fucking hot to me.” I pat her ass as I squeeze past her.

The second band must have taken the stage. Loud beats rumble overhead and the dull roar of the crowd pulses through the walls.

“You want your dress in the trunk?” I call out.

“Sure.”

Inside the trunk, I find her laundry bag and I stuff her clothes in there. I toss the shoes in too, hoping that’s where they go. “Anything else?”

She steps out of the bathroom and scans the couch, dressing table, and chair. “Nope. That’s all of it.”