Dragon Royal Bastards MC (Tulsa, OK)

“You’re in my bed tonight,” Dragon murmurs, his hot breath tickling the side of my neck. “Understood?”

My eyes flutter closed the second he presses a surprisingly sweet kiss to the side of my neck just below my ear. But then, not gently at all, he sucks on the flesh hard enough I cry out.

“Don’t get jizz in this car,” Koyn barks out from the front.

It’s his own damn fault if the Tahoe gets jizzed on for sending Dragon after me. The man distracts me with his expert touch and filthy tongue.

“I got lube at the gas station,” Dragon murmurs. “Be ready to get fucked so hard you can’t walk.”

“Here?” I practically shriek.

“No,” Koyn snarls. “Both of you keep your dicks in your pants. We’re almost there, for fuck’s sake.”

Dragon spears his fingers into my hair, tugging and tugging until he guides me toward his mouth. He somehow manages to undo my seat belt and pull me into his lap. Now that I’m officially distracted with grinding on his dick while making out with him, I couldn’t care less when we get to a hotel that’s up to Koyn’s standards.

I gasp as Dragon’s palms slide beneath my T-shirt, skimming up my sides over my ribs. Sometimes his touch is gentle and nearly reverent. It’s confusing considering the man himself is rough and gritty and wild. A moan escapes me, followed by Koyn’s bitching, but I don’t care. He wanted Dragon to distract me? Well, it fucking worked.

“Fuck, you’re hot,” Dragon murmurs against my lips, one of his hands working to unfasten my jeans. “So fucking hot.”

I’m just Cove.

Softer than any of these Royal Bastards. A bit jaded. Bad attitude. Not buff and tatted like Dragon.

And he thinks I’m hot.

It does wonders for my ego. Sometimes, I don’t fully feel like I fit in with these guys. Like I’m not tough enough or ruthless enough. I certainly don’t enjoy making bloody art from the human flesh like Dragon apparently does.

I bite down on his bottom lip and tug until it pops free of my teeth. Dragon chases my mouth, a ravenous moan rumbling from him. A smile curls my lips up when he finds me again. He tastes like Sweet Tarts he’d been eating since the last pit stop we made. Sweet. A little tart. Delicious.

“Next time we fuck, baby, I want you riding my dick just like this,” Dragon rasps out, squeezing both my ass cheeks over my jeans. “I want you to come all over me. Make a big fucking mess.”

My dick is throbbing to the point of pain. I want some relief. Now. I grab hold of his wrist, guiding it to where my erection is straining in my jeans. Dragon rubs on it, knowing just how to get me revved up.

The Tahoe slams to a stop and I nearly topple out of Dragon’s lap. Car doors slam and we’re left in silence aside from the sounds of our needy breathing. Dragon tugs at my shirt until he’s pulled it off completely. I shiver in his arms. He breaks from our kissing to give me open-mouthed kisses along my throat to my collarbone. I gasp, threading my fingers into his messy hair, when he bites down on the bone.

“Naked,” I plead. “Now.”

I start trying to shed off his too-tight T-shirt when someone bangs on the window. Dragon nips at my neck, unfazed by whoever interrupted us. Whipping my head toward the sound, I find Koyn holding up a keycard.

“Your room key,” Koyn barks out. “Get out of my fucking car and finish that shit behind closed doors. I’m tired as hell and don’t need to watch you two kids going at it.”

I somehow manage to untangle myself from Dragon’s hold. I’m dizzy and horny as fuck. All I want to do is find my room, shower off the grime of the day, and have Dragon fuck me into next week. Based on the way he stalks after me, I’d say he’s on the same page. The walk to our room on the fifth floor is interrupted plenty of times with heated make-out sessions against walls.

By the time we’ve reached our room, we’ve lost Koyn and Katana to their own rooms. Dragon slams the card into the slot to open our door before dragging me inside.

“What the hell?” I mutter. “This is a damn suite.”

“Prez doesn’t rough it. Ever.” Dragon smirks before peeling off his shirt to reveal his smooth, tattooed, muscular skin. “He’s…what does Stormy call it? Bougie?”

Prez and bougie in the same sentence is almost laughable.

Yet, here we are, in a fucking suite that’s nicer than any hotel I’ve ever stayed in.

“We’ll get it dirty,” I complain, gesturing at his still-bloody jeans. “Especially you.”

“Damn straight.”

“Shower,” I mutter. “I’m not doing shit until you get cleaned up.”

Dragon shrugs and then peels out of his boots and clothes. He saunters away, the muscles on his fine ass flexing as he walks. The spray of the shower can be heard through the door, so I quickly get naked too.