Chaos Bound (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #4)(60)
“Open for me, darlin’.”
The low rumble of his voice rippled through her, and she did as he asked. Holt stroked a finger through her folds, a barely there touch that had her angling her hips for more.
Holt chuckled. “You’re so wet, but I think we can make you wetter.” His finger circled her clit, up and around, but never touching, and then through her folds until her * felt swollen, aching for release.
God, he was nothing like the bikers she’d watched at the Black Jack clubhouse as she hid with the other club brats, learning the facts of life too early and in the most brutal way. Until Ally had set her up with regular guys, she had assumed sex was about taking, the focus on the man’s pleasure, the woman a means to an end and nothing more. Even after she’d started dating, it wasn’t hard to push men into that mold, forgo her own pleasure to get it over and done.
He leaned down and licked her clit, every so lightly, his tongue warm and wet. She jerked at the exquisite sensation, and Holt placed his hands over her hips holding her down. “Don’t think about going anywhere. Not until I’m done.”
His tongue slid down through her wet heat and back up again, circled her clit, stroking, lapping, so soft … relentless. Tension coiled inside her with every lick, her body tightening. A flush rose in her cheeks, but when she bucked against him, he held her still, his control giving her more assurance than fear. He slid his fingers along her folds, stroked along the sides of the little nub, and then pushed inside.
She sucked in a breath at the sensation of rough skin sliding over sensitive, swollen tissue. Fisting her hands behind her head, she dug her heels into the bed as he stroked in and out, driving her higher and higher.
Holt added a second finger, pumping them slowly as his tongue flicked over her clit, and she gave up on worrying about who he was or what he was doing, how she was reacting, or her need for control. Instead, she let go, gave herself over to his soft tongue and his gentle fingers and the damn relentless drive of her body toward release.
Holt hummed his approval, increasing his pace, alternating his fingers and tongue. Every sensation coalesced into one hot, urgent ball of need, her nerve endings raw and waiting. Another lick. Another slide. Her inner muscles contracted around him; her fingers dug painfully into her scalp. She angled her hips, arched into his mouth, taking what he offered. Wanting more.
“There she is,” he whispered, and then his rough tongue slid directly over her clit.
Her ecstasy released like an arrow, shooting white-hot lightening through her in relentless spasms of blissful heat. She loosened her hands and threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him still as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her body. He licked again, thrust again, drawing out her orgasm until she sank into the bed, her body limp and languid beneath him.
“I never … no one ever…” Her bottom lip quivered.
“Another first.” He gave her a warm smile. “And not the last. I’m not done with you, darlin’, unless you want to stop.”
She liked that he didn’t assume. That he kept asking if she wanted to keep going even though he was very clearly aroused. That he offered instead of taking. She wanted to give something back, not to get it over with, but because she wanted him, wanted to give him the kind of pleasure he’d given her. But more than that, she wanted to feel close to him. Intimate. Even naked, exposed, and emotionally raw, she felt safe with Holt.
“I don’t want to stop. I want you.”
He stroked her hair back from her face, and gently pulled her to sit. “Might need some help off with the clothes.”
“Of course.” She pushed herself up and slid her hands under his shirt, carefully pushed it up over his chest, avoiding the bandages. Although his injuries were healing, the marks of his ordeal were still clearly visible on his skin. On impulse, Naiya leaned close and pressed her lips over one of his scars.
Holt drew in a deep breath, and his hand slid through her hair. “Something to remember him by.”
“Like me.”
His jaw tightened, and his hand fisted her hair. “I’m gonna give you good memories so that when Viper and I are both gone, all you’ll remember is the feel of my lips on your skin.”
Emotion welled up in her throat at the brutal reminder that the path he’d chosen to follow didn’t include her. And although he’d never been anything but clear about where he was headed, she knew in her heart, she didn’t want to let him go.
Steeling herself, she pushed his shirt up, and kneeled on the bed to tug it over his head. Despite his ordeal, he was still well muscled albeit thin, his shoulders broad, and his biceps thick. She slid her hands down his torso, over the cuts of his obliques to his narrow waist and tugged open his belt.
“Where did you get these clothes? You smell of cheap perfume.”
“Pimp.” He stilled, and Naiya looked up for more explanation, but the firm line of his jaw told her it wouldn’t be forthcoming.
“Oh.” She didn’t want to think about the pimp who had given Holt the clothes or the kind of women Holt would have encountered during that meeting. She didn’t want to think about his comments in the bar or how he knew the cost of a blowjob in Missoula. Just like she hadn’t wanted to think about why Maurice stopped coming to her place every night or why he suddenly thought his place was too small for them both to hang out or why he sometimes smelled of perfume. Willful blindness was sometimes a blessing in disguise.