Captive Ride (Death Lords MC 8)

Cock-blocking? How about claiming what’s mine?

“You know why. I’ve been waiting for you to give me the go-ahead, but you took too long. Time’s up.”

My right hand—the one closest to her—lands on her thigh. She flinches but doesn’t move away.

“Here’s your Stone IPA, sir.” The waitress sets the glass in front of me. “Your food will be here shortly.”

“Thanks.” I pick it up with my free hand and take a deep gulp. My right hand pushes the hem of Amy’s skirt even higher. When the waitress leaves, I set the glass back on the table and turn to Amy. “You think suit man has any idea how to use that tie for anything but choking himself?”

“I haven’t had the opportunity to find out.” She points discreetly to the front door. “You chased away my lunch date.”

“You mean you haven’t made the opportunity.” The skirt is tight, but I force it higher. She shifts, and the material moves upward.

“I’m very busy. And it really isn’t any of your business.” But even as the denial falls from her cherry-colored lips, I can see the flush deepening. The tips of my fingers dance against the lace-edged panties.

“I’m making it my business. How wet are you between your legs right now?” I murmur against her. “If I put my hand between your legs, tell me what would I find” I move my hand between her thighs.

“Flint, this is very inappropriate.” She pushes at my hand. “And you’re going to wrinkle my skirt. This is poplin, and it’s very prone to wrinkling.”

“Then you should unzip it and push it to the floor.”

“I’m not going to sit here without a skirt on,” she says with real shock in her voice. She’s faced down hardened criminals, but a little foreplay under the table shocks her. Oh, Amy. You need this. You need me.

“Then you’re going to have to live with wrinkles because I’m not moving an inch from this seat until I find out how wet you are from just talking. I suspect it’s real wet. I bet you’re sopping wet.”

My hand is at the upper part of her thighs, and the tight fabric of her skirt is restricting any easy movement. My fingertips are already getting damp, and I’m still a couple inches from the promised land.

Her hand grips my wrist. “Don’t,” she says.

“Don’t what? You need to be more explicit. Don’t stop? Don’t touch? Don’t make me come so hard that the table shakes?” She heaves another breath. “Amy, baby, you think too much.”

I shove my hand up higher, taking the skirt with me, until my fingers are right up against the cotton gusset of her panties. And they are soaked.

“Your food is here.”

I don’t know why she thinks the arrival of my food would provide her with an escape. I give a brief nod of acknowledgment to the waitress who delivers a plate full of tiny circles of steak and strange-looking fries. Amy starves herself and doesn’t even realize it, eating small plates and talking to folks only when it has to do with business.

And she’s hungry.

I feel it in the way her thighs clench hard around my fingers, and I haven’t even gotten to the good parts yet.

“What are you thinking about right now?” I growl in her ear. She doesn’t say anything. Her lips are pressed together in a way that tells me she doesn’t want to reveal what’s running through her mind. I flick my pinkie finger against her soaking wet crotch and a tiny sound escapes her throat. “I’ve had you every way possible, and a few that’s aren’t, in my head. I’ve fucked every hole a dozen times. Your mouth. Your pussy. Your ass. All of it. Now you tell me what you’re seeing in that pretty head of yours or I’m going to throw you on top of this table and show every person here exactly what I want to eat for lunch.”

“Your hand…is like a…handcuff on my…leg.” Between each word she gasps as if she can’t fill her lungs with enough air.

The panting, the words, the image she stirs up in my mind send a bolt of electricity right to my cock. My pants were tight before, but they’re fucking unbearable now. The zipper of my jeans is making an imprint on my shaft. I reach under the table and pull my cock upwards so that the inseam doesn’t strangle him to death.

Amy’s eyes track every movement of mine, and I feel a gush of wetness as she imagines what’s going on underneath the tablecloth. I bet she has a real good imagination.

“I want rip your panties off and come all over your pussy.” A soft gasp escapes her. I keep going. “I’m squeezing my balls right now because the pain is helping me keep my composure. You’re so hot, Amy, baby.” I tug the wet gusset of her panties to the side and rub my index and middle fingers over her swollen pussy lips. Her arousal lubes the way. I slide the two fingers inside that wet, hot channel. She groans and shifts backward, but the tight skirt and the tight quarters give her nowhere to run from me.

I curl my fingers as I drag them out, and she moans again.

“Quiet, baby. You don’t want the other folks in here to get curious and come over here. Some of these women don’t look like they’ve had a good fuck in a decade. They’ll want the same treatment as you’re getting.”

Her eyes narrow. “And you’ll give it to them?” She tightens the muscles in her cunt until it feels like a vise around my fingers.

I choke on my laughter. “The only one I want is you.”

And then I drive my fingers hard and deep.

“Ohhh fucckk,” she whimpers. Her hands clench around the edge of the table, biting into the tablecloth.

She tries to shut her legs, but my hand is there and she only drives my fingers deeper inside her.

“That’s right, baby,” I croon. I slip my fingers out to spread some of her wetness around her clit, circling that tiny bud in slow, even circles. She squirms on the leather seat of the booth. “You are wet and hot and tighter than I imagined, and trust me,” I chuckle low, “I’ve imagined plenty. I want to spread your legs and suck down all this juice you’re making for me right now. Fuck, sweetheart, hear how wet you are for me.”

I drive my fingers back inside of her, and we both strain to hear the sucking noises over the clang of the silverware striking dishes and people talking about this deal and that deal.

“Do you hear that?”

The normally talkative Amy is silent. She burns me with her eyes. I press my thumb against her clit and begin to pump my fingers rapidly. She grinds down, using the table as leverage. My own dick is aching. I fucking need to be inside her.

The telltale flutters of an impending orgasm beat against my fingers. I’m going to make this orgasm so explosive for her, she’ll forget her own name. With my free hand, I circle her neck so it looks like I’m drawing her close to me rather than choking her. I curl my fingers around the nape and lay my thumb against her windpipe.

Her eyes widen.

“Let go, Amy. I’ve got you. You don’t have to be careful with me.” I press down against her throat and reduce her airflow. Her wordless gasp becomes a keening noise which she immediately muffles by turning her head into my arm. Her come drenches my hand. Not once do I let up my pace.

Neither of us notice the waitress who arrives to ask if my untouched meal is okay. She asks twice.

“I think it’s fine, isn’t it, Amy?” I drop my hand to her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze before I pick up my beer and hold it to her lips.

She gulps once and then twice. In a raspy voice, she manages to get out, “It’s fine. He’s not hungry. He’s on a diet. Watching his figure and all that.”

The waitress gives me an appraising stare and under the table, I pull my fingers out. They smell like her. And I don’t give a flying fuck that anyone is watching me. There’s no way I don’t taste her.

I stick those two sopping fingers in my mouth and suck off every drop of essence Amy’s left on me. Dueling gasps and dropped mouths greet my every move.

I close my eyes.

Fuck. She tastes like heaven.

Amy

Flint calmly withdraws his hand. Even in the dim ligh

t of the Moonflower Eatery, I can see the evidence of how much I wanted this all over his fingers. He picks up a napkin—the one that Ron used—and wipes hands off.

The whole time he stares at me, daring me.

I take one deep breath and then another. And then another, until my racing heart slows down to a mild trot.

“We’ll take the check,” I manage to say to the waitress who is glued to the floor. She nods and flees. Whether she’s turned on or disgusted, I’m not sure. What I do know is that I won’t be returning to the Moonflower anytime soon. The waitress delivers the check silently and ghosts away. I lay down several bills and pick up my purse.

“I need to get back to the office, Flint. It was…good to see you again.” I offer the polite words because I’m not exactly sure how I feel right now other than terrified, mostly of myself and my own response.

“You need a break, Amy,” Flint says.

“Maybe.” I watch as he picks up my cash, folds it carefully and then tucks it into his vest pocket. He lays his own cash on the table and then slides out of the booth.

I’m still stuck to the leather, wondering what the hell just happened. Flint leans forward and cups my face. “Not maybe. You take a break and it’ll happen for you.”

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