Out of the Ashes (Sons of Templar MC #3)(45)

“No f*ckin’ bra,” he grunted furiously. “Strutting around here, ass and legs encased in that tight shit, not wearing a f*ckin’ bra,” he growled, fingers tweaking harder. I cried out once more, my panties already soaked.

“You waltz around like that, you’re begging to be claimed,” he whispered in my ear. “Careful what you wish for, Wildcat,” he murmured. Then his mouth was gone, as were his hands.

I felt him yank my ponytail roughly, pulling my head backward to the point of pain. “You f*ckin’ move, I’ll tan your ass so hard you won’t sit for a week,” he promised.

I didn’t make a sound, my body pulsating with need.

He yanked harder. “Got me?”

“Got you,” I whimpered.

He didn’t let go. “You come when I say—you say my name when you come,” he continued.

“Okay, Zane,” I whispered hoarsely.

I felt his breath tickle my face a moment, then he was gone. His hands went to my belt and it clattered to the floor. He made quick work of my jeans and they were around my ankles in an instant. I felt the cool breeze against my bare skin. I was standing exposed in the middle of a f*cking hallway. I should’ve been embarrassed, ashamed, not hugely turned on.

Zane didn’t touch me, didn’t prep me. I didn’t need it; I was soaked. Without warning, he thrust into me, filling me. One hand bit into my hip, the other spanned my collarbone. I cried out when he filled me to the hilt, in danger of coming from just that. I felt pressure on my ponytail.

“When I say,” he grunted.

I managed a strangled moan in response.

Then he went for it. He took me, relentless, hard to almost the point of pain, but never beyond. I met him thrust for thrust, desperate for release, holding on.

“Zane,” I moaned. “I can’t....”

His hand tightened at my neck. “You f*ckin’ can, Wildcat,” he grunted, taking me harder.

I thought I was going to die, or at the very least collapse from the sheer amount of pleasure that needed releasing. I was even more petrified of that release, one that was in danger of shattering me. The buildup taking me to heights I had never been to before.

I struggled to stay upright. Then Zane’s hands moved. He was no longer roughly biting into the flesh at my hip and neck. His back moved to be plastered to mine, his hands laying atop of mine against the wall. His mouth tickled my neck. This position wasn’t the impersonal, erotic, and brutal one like before. This was intimate, decidedly more erotic. “You gonna explode, baby?” he murmured in my ear.

I nodded helplessly.

“Come,” he commanded.

He had barely finished the word and my world started exploding around me. I screamed out his name as he continued to pump through my shudders. I lost feeling in my knees and his hand moved to my belly to keep me upright. Through my orgasm fog, I was aware of his body tightening, him shooting his release into me, which caused me to explode all over again. I shook as I came down.

We were silent, both panting. I had no idea what that was. But it was f*cking amazing.

Then I felt it, the loss of him as he moved out of me. I felt him trickle down my leg. I screwed my nose up. This was the not so glamorous part of letting someone screw you without a condom in the middle of a party.

He turned me quickly; how I didn’t fall over with my jeans around my ankles was a mystery. I was beginning to believe he had alpha man powers where laws of things like gravity and physics shriveled and did his bidding.

He unearthed a bandanna out of his back pocket and commenced cleaning between my legs. His eyes never left mine. My mind raced. Was that bandana for that purpose only? Did he just carry it around for situations such as this? Was this his sperm cleaning bandana? In that case, was it clean?

I didn’t know how to articulate my questions so I chose to stay silent. Also, since I had been well and truly f*cked I wasn’t sure if my vocal chords still worked. So Zane finished in silence, tucked the bandana away and gently pulled my jeans up. He even buttoned them. I stayed silent. He’d rendered me mute from a good screwing.

He looked at me through the dim light in the hallway, his eyes searching mine as if he was going to say something. Then the shutter went down and his face hardened. And with that, he turned and walked away. I stared agape at the man on the motorcycle that decorated the back of his cut. He held no explanation either. Had Zane just seriously saved me from getting groped from a drunk biker, then dragged me into a hallway and brutally f*cked me? Yes, yes, he had. And had I loved it? Yes, yes, I did. And had he just walked away without a word, making me slightly confused and feeling tawdry and used? Um, yes, he f*cking had.





“Mia! Oh, thank God,” a breathless voice greeted when I answered the phone.

“Gwen?” I asked, the familiar voice sounding frazzled. “Are you okay?” I asked again, worried. I then heard a screaming child in the background.

“Yes, I’m so sorry to call you with this. There’s just no one else.” She paused and I heard her speak slightly out of the phone. “Shh, baby, please. Mummy knows it hurts.”

“Cade’s away on some biker mission, Mum’s in a different time zone, and all the other people I know are bikers and girlfriends who do not know how to deal with a screaming, teething baby, I’m sorry, I just didn’t know who else to call.” She sounded near tears herself.