Blood & Bones: Rook (Blood Fury MC 7)

In fact, she had begged for each and every palm-stinging strike.

She had also shocked the shit out of him when she asked him to use her own cuffs to restrain her hands behind her back.

To allow that, she had to trust him.

It blew his mind that she trusted him enough to be restrained.

She trusted him.

He had never been so fucking hard in his life than when he had her on her knees on the bed with those silver cuffs pressing into the pale skin of her back. With his fingers wrapped around her throat, controlling each breath she took.

Holding her life within his hand was another sign of her trust.

Each slap of her ass was hard enough to leave a handprint to go along with every drive of his dick to get deeper inside her. In his desperate, crazy need to somehow become a single soul with her. To possess her fully.

So no one could have her but him.

With every pause he was forced to take so he wouldn’t shatter, so the pleasurable pain she begged for didn’t turn into an abuse neither of them wanted, he denied her orgasm, denied his own.

Each pause that pulled them back from that dangerous edge turned their desire into a frenzy of searing white flames that could scar them both.

An undeniable burning desire neither could douse.

One he never experienced before. And he’d done some crazy, over-the-top shit with Billie.

But this wasn’t Billie. It was Jet.

Billie he could only take in small doses. Jet he couldn’t get enough of.

Billie was shared with his brothers. As long as he fucking breathed, he would never willingly share Jet.

When his middle finger slipped inside her cum-filled cunt and he began to work her more thoroughly, a little moan slipped from her lips. Her hips moved the slightest bit as she rode his finger and rocked the crease of her ass against his once again hard dick.

Yeah, he couldn’t get enough of her.

She released a soft sigh and rolled to her back, careful not to dislodge the finger gliding smoothly in and out of her, which he would soon replace with his dick.

Even in the dark he could see her eyes were now open and the welcoming smile now directed at him. Puffs of air escaped her parted lips.

A sharp pain shot through his chest as he stared down at her. She reached up and gripped his face, pulling him down to kiss her, to groan encouragement into his mouth.

He squeezed his eyes shut and let the words swirl through his head, but would never allow them to slip over his lips for the universe, or even Jet, to hear.

Can’t get enough of you, Jet.

Can’t fuckin’ get nearly enough of you.

Can’t have you, either.

Wanna make you mine, but you can never belong to me.

I can never fuckin’ belong to you.

He didn’t know what to fucking do about their situation. Maybe Jet didn’t even see it as a “situation.” She was likely content with keeping it simple and getting his dick when he was available to give it to her.

She was likely content with what they already had.

He should be, too, but he wasn’t.

He wasn’t sure what he wanted and how to get it, but he knew what they had right now wasn’t enough.

But the enough he wanted would be impossible.

When their kiss ended, he didn’t pull back right away. His mouth hovered over hers and he simply breathed her in.

When she whispered his name, he realized he hadn’t masked his expression.

His heart began to thump heavily. “Yeah.”

He didn’t want to talk about it, he didn’t want to “explore” what he was feeling. He didn’t do that shit.

Thank fuck she quickly snapped him out of his despair by asking, “Why do you have to have the same name as my father? It’s a bit disturbing.”

That was not what he was expecting her to say next. But then almost everything with Jet was unexpected. If she had something to say, she said it. If she wanted something in particular during sex, she demanded it or had no problem begging for it. If he went too far, she wasn’t afraid to tell him.

But he had no idea that her father’s name was the same as his. That had to be fucking strange. He’d be weirded out to fuck a woman named Bebe. To him, his mother’s name alone would be a big turn-off.

“It’s a common name,” he answered.

“I know, but why do you both have to have that one?”

“You call him Randall?”

“No. Dad.”

Yeah, she was working on getting him out of that dark head space. The space where he couldn’t stop hating himself for what—and who—he wanted. He wondered if she felt the same. Did she hate herself for wanting him? A pig-hating ex-con biker and grease-monkey?

If not, maybe she should.

“Nobody calls me by my real name. Everyone’s called me Rook since I was… Fuck… fifteen, I guess.”