Jack (The Kings of Mayhem MC Tennessee 1)

I’ve fucked other women in this room.

Had threesomes in this bed.

Had foursomes amongst these sheets.

And Bronte deserves more than me claiming her in a clubhouse fuck room.

When I take her, she’s going to see stars and smell roses. Not grease and sweat and stale air. But just because I’m not going to be inside her tonight, doesn’t mean I’m not going to do other things to show her how much she means to me. At the very least, I’m going to make her come.

Lots.

“Jack… please…” she begs, but I kiss her plea from her quivering lips as my thumb continues its torturous tease of her clit.

I’m hard as fuck, and it’s taking every ounce of discipline not to give in and give her what she’s asking for.

In fact, it’s fucking torture.

I rise on my knees, and her eyes drop to the tented front of my sweatpants.

Yeah, there’s no hiding what touching her pussy is doing to me.

But this isn’t about me.

I’m going to satisfy my little flower’s throbbing need and then some.

I thrust open her thighs, and my lips fall apart with a tortured, ragged breath when I see how smooth and pink she is.

Holding back is going to be much harder than I thought.

“Fuck, wildflower…” I groan drinking in the view. “You’re goddamn perfect.”

Lust is a tight coil in my pelvis as I drop between her legs and lead a trail of kisses along her inner thigh, my tongue sliding across her flesh until I reach her wetness. She gasps when my tongue slides beneath the smooth warm flesh and penetrates her with deep, purposeful licks.

“Oh, Jack…” My name falls from her lips in a strangled whisper.

When my mouth closes over her clit and grazes the swollen bud of nerves, she anchors her toes to the bed and arches her back. Her moan comes from the very core of her. It’s deep and drawn out and brings me to the brink of my own climax.

“I’m going to come,” she cries. “Jack…” She reaches for the bedhead behind her, and her knees cage me as her body succumbs to the pleasure I’m conjuring at the altar of her pussy.

BRONTE

He makes me come three times.

And by the end of it, I’m nothing but a rag doll.

I can barely move.

I’m so supple, I am as pliable as playdough, so I lie on my side so I can look at him.

My big strong biker king.

He lies on his back with one arm tucked behind his head, the other stroking my arm as he stares at the ceiling. He seems content, but making me come has left him hard and his cock is a missile behind his sweatpants.

“It doesn’t seem very fair me lying here content while you’re so…”

His beautiful eyes question mine. “So?”

My gaze sweeps down to the rigid outline of his massive erection.

“Big?” he suggests with a tug of amusement on his lips. “Massive?”

I grin at his confidence. “I was going to say… ready.” With my eyes riveted to his, I slide my hand down his chest and across his abs.

He said he wouldn’t make love to me here, and for whatever his reasons are, I respect them. But he said nothing about denying himself the release.

“Wildflower…” he growls when my hand slides beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Shut up,” I say. “Let me do this.”

He shivers when I grasp him, and his lips part with a breathless groan as I start to stroke him, slowly, root to tip. His cock is big. Thick. And it feels deliciously heavy and hard against my palm.

“God, I feel like I’m going to combust.” He groans.

My grip tightens beneath his sweatpants, and I feel him swell against my palm. The pad of my thumb grazes the tip of his head, and he growls, “Fuck.”

His breathing quickens, and his hands fist the sheets beside him. “This isn’t going to take long,” he pants out as my pace picks up speed.

His chest rises and falls, but he shifts restlessly.

My skin tingles with anticipation—he’s going to come.

“Baby, squeeze my cock,” he begs. I do, and when he growls with appreciation, a new throb of arousal takes up in me as I watch his approaching orgasm ravage his handsome face.

I’m doing this to him.

I’m putting that look on his face.

His eyes glaze over, and his mouth slackens as ecstasy sweeps through his expression.

“Bronte…” He gasps my name and thrusts his head into the pillow. “Oh, God…”

With greedy eyes, I watch him come apart while I milk him. His cock jerks in my hand in time with the ragged, primal cry erupting from him. Wet warmth hits my skin with a pulse, one, two, three times, and a violent shudder quakes through him with the release.

Drunk on a post-orgasm high, he sinks into the mattress and draws in a deep, contented breath. “I needed that,” he whispers, pulling my face to his and kissing me.