Never Have an Outlaw's Baby (Deadly Pistols MC #3)(100)

Of course, he found out a second later. His fingers brushed over my folds, wet and slick and swollen. My * craved his touch, a rough primal magnetism stronger than the hate surging through my heart. I thrashed one more time, mostly against myself, abhorring my body's betrayal.

“I'm gonna make you come, babe, and you're gonna love it. Come on. Fuck my fingers. Show me how you'd ride my cock.”

If I could've imagined this was the way my first time would be with a man's fingers there, I would've whored myself out to some cheap high school kid years ago. Now, I had this brute stroking me, slathering his fingers in my wetness, grinding his fist against my *, slowly zeroing his circles in on my clit.

Each time his tips brushed me there, my whole body jerked. Electrified wasn't half of it. No, lightning struck deep again and again, rolling me against him, making me come undone.

My fragile will and virgin ignorance collapsed against his power, his years of experience. He stroked me like he already knew my body, listening carefully to the moans spilling from my tortured throat. I couldn't stop myself.

A single shot of sickness pulsed through my stomach once, and then I was sinking into his pleasure. Into his control. He locked his thumb on my clit and began to rock, circle, and jerk, a steady rhythm taking me over the edge.

My hips turned. They rocked against his hand, and my thighs clenched around him, drawing him to me. I wouldn't let myself look at him. The devilish satisfaction on his face burned without even seeing it, almost as hot as the hand between my legs.

Pushing. Pleasuring. Owning.

My head slipped back and I caught a quick blur of his lips moving. “Shit, you're beautiful when you come, aren't you? Let go, Sabrina. Enjoy these hands. They're just the very tip of the way I'm gonna f*ck you when I'm balls deep in that tight *. Think about that. And don't you dare stop grinding that clit against me.”

His breath was hot, hurried, the same as my breathing. I was turning him on, turning him mad with lust, and for some sick reason I loved it. I tried to resist the burning coal constricting everything in my womb for as long as I could. But all at once, it exploded, sending hot shards up and down my waist.

I clenched my jaw, smashed my thighs together, and rode his fingers for all I was worth.

I came like it was the end of the world. And for me, it probably was. Everything I knew was swept up in the roaring tide that passed through me with the pleasure, hurricane force ecstasy. It promised to leave me wet, exhausted, and destroyed.

I thought it would go on forever. Fiery pulse after pulse ripped through me, curling my toes each time muscles I didn't know I had convulsed. They hadn't ever been worked like this. Self-pleasure was a pathetic substitute for this man's touch, driving me apart with his tireless fingers, forcing me to understand.

When I started to come down from the high, I finally did.

He was in control. All the happy thoughts about resistance died right there in the bed. He was going to lead me to my demise or else my freedom some dark day. One thing was for sure: it was going to happen on his schedule, and there wasn't a single thing I could do about it.

I collapsed with half my sanity, spent and confused. It wasn't until I closed my sweat drenched thighs that I realized his hand was gone. Planting my palms on the bed, I forced myself up, pulling down the gown's hem, hiding the soft, leaking slit he'd ravaged.

The curtain was open. I saw him near a huge fireplace, going through some kind of large cabinet. I was still staring at him when he turned and saw me. My eyes shot to the small box in his hands.

Condoms. Fuck.

There was no putting the brakes on anything, was there? He was going to finish what he'd started, completely chisel out the last flimsy stones I had to hold onto for dear sanity.

Jesus, what were they again? What did I have left?

I tried to think about the article, the blog, my budding career. Everything I'd ever hoped to write and throw on a resume. I tried to think about the Silver Pear, about Uncle Gioulio, the honorable and ruthless blood that led me to his place.

Blood and family. Sophistication and sin.

I was a prisoner of war, wasn't I? Then why the hell was I giving everything to the enemy?

Maybe this was my fate, to pay the price for what my father and his brother had done. I swallowed hard, feeling the dryness in my throat. I tried to brace myself for what was about to come, but I couldn't.

Having his hand seizing me like that, forcing me to come on his fingers, was one thing. Having him deep inside me...shit. Losing my sanity wasn't just a figure of speech if that happened. I didn't know who I'd be, or if I'd ever be a functioning person again if he took me tonight.

I glanced up. Our eyes met, sharing new dark and light. His were strangely calmer – the exact opposite of what I'd expected after he'd taken me, after I'd seen the erection raging in his pants.

“Here.” He dropped the box he was holding on my lap. “This shit doesn't mean anything's changed. We're f*cking, Sabrina. But not today.”

My hand was shaking as I gripped the box and turned it over. No, not condoms after all, but birth control pills. Why?

“I'm a bastard on a one way mission. I'm not the f*cking monster you think I am.” He paused, reaching softly for my face, making sure I didn't break his gaze by holding up my chin. “I'll give you a few days to settle in. Give that shit some time to work if you're not already on it. Take it. Or don't, for all I care. I got no problem blowing off if you think you're gonna f*ck me over not taking it. I'll put a kid in you without hesitation. Shit, I'll need a son or two to take over all the new business we'll be dealing with once your family's outta it.”