Her tongue lashed the crown of his cock, danced and flicked just under it, curled around his shaft as he thrust deep, cutting off her air. She didn’t care about breathing either. Everything was for him. She felt his cock expand, pushing at the soft tissues of her mouth, and then he was pulsing, jerking, and she was swallowing, nearly choking as he poured down her throat.
Ice pulled back slightly, just enough for her to breathe. His hands loosened in her hair, so his palm could stroke caresses over it. “Fuckin’ hell, princess. I’ve had a million blow jobs in my time, sometimes with more than one woman trying to bring me off. You did it in minutes. All by yourself. Without help from me. That’s never happened. Not one single time.”
He sounded shocked. Awed. He didn’t remove his semi-hard cock. “Clean the monster, baby, so I’m not a mess. Unlike you, I don’t have a change of clothes.”
She was more than happy to. She felt the burn of tears behind her eyes, and she hoped she’d given him something to remember her by. She loved what she’d done. She loved having him in her mouth, giving to him what he’d done so generously for her. It was just one more thing to put down in her fantasy fairy tale.SEVENRiding on the back of a Harley in a couture gown wasn’t the easiest, although the two long sides of the skirt had been brought up to Soleil’s waist and tied there. She sat on the seat in the bodice made of peekaboo chiffon and nothing else, yet she looked as elegant as hell. Her tits were tight against his back, and her bare mound, covered by that peekaboo material, just as tight against his buttocks. The machine roared with life, another sexy monster Ice used to shamelessly entice her into his world.
Ice had pulled her arms around him once Alena and Maestro had helped her onto the bike in her sexy heels. Now he had her so close to their goal. The chapel was just ahead. Everything was arranged. Alena had done exactly what he’d asked and had given his woman another drink while she’d helped her dress and done her hair.
Soleil hadn’t asked questions, but she had drunk the whiskey Alena had supplied. Ice wasn’t about to lose her, not after what had happened. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Soleil he’d been blown by countless women, sometimes two and three at a time. He’d still had to command his fuckin’ cock to work if he wanted release. They had done their best, trying to suck him dry, yet he’d never once had a natural release, not until her sweet, talented mouth had closed around him. It had been all he could do to stay in control and not shove his cock down her throat. She’d been that good.
Nothing had ever felt like it had right there in that shop with Soleil on her knees looking up at him. Paradise. Another fucking dimension. There was no forcing of his body, no controlling, no commanding his own release. She was his, made for him. How it happened, he didn’t have the first idea, but his body wanted hers. Reacted to hers. He had always appreciated the female form, but his body had been taught from childhood never to react on its own. He hadn’t been able to overcome that training. Nothing—and no one—had ever ruined his control until Soleil.
She had enjoyed blowing him. It was more than that. She’d wanted to do that for him. She hadn’t been thinking about herself at all. That had been all about him. He could tell. He’d had a hell of a lot of blow jobs, and no woman had ever looked at him the way she did. For whatever reason, she looked at him and saw something in him no one else did—but he needed it.
He made the run to the chapel with his brothers surrounding him, taking his back, making certain to show Soleil what family was all about. She needed them every bit as much as she needed him. That was one thing he could provide for her, and as far as he was concerned, Torpedo Ink was the only family they would ever need.
Ice had known, when she’d made that decision to stay on her knees, his cock in her mouth, in front of a window with a judgmental woman coming straight at them, that he would never let her go. He’d seen indecision on her face, but when he’d told her she couldn’t stop, desperation—he was certain—in his voice, he’d been too close, she cared more about him and taking him to oblivion than about getting caught by the owner.
She’d chosen him over bullshit moral rules. He’d never thought he’d find a woman who could put up with his needs, and on top of that, get him off without his commanding his cock to cooperate, but she fit every requirement. He wasn’t fool enough to throw a miracle away.