King's Reign (Sydney Storm MC #6)(60)
Once we were safely inside, he switched the bike off, removed his helmet, and turned his face to mine. “Come here,” he bossed, his voice full of gravel. It hit me everywhere it should have, and I moved off the bike fast.
I took my helmet off, enjoying the way his eyes ran all over my body. Heat blazed from him, and I decided to give him a show guaranteed to get him hard. I slowly lifted my dress and slid my fingers down into my panties so I could lower them.
Our eyes locked as I kicked my panties to the side and moved closer to him. He held my gaze as I unzipped him and pulled his cock out. Wrapping my hand around it, I said, “You want my mouth on your dick?”
He gripped my neck and pulled me in for a kiss. Demanding and greedy as usual, he left me wanting more. When he ended it, he growled, “I want your fucking cunt around my dick.”
I wanted that, too, but first I needed my lips around it. I loved King’s cock. Couldn’t get enough of it. Or of that piercing he had. My core clenched just thinking about how good it made sex.
Bending, I slid my mouth down over his dick, swirling my tongue around it as I went. I reached for his balls and cupped them at the same time, loving the deep growl of satisfaction that came from him. A girl could die happy knowing she’d made her man happy.
I sucked him with a slow rhythm until his hand curled around my neck and he forced my head up. His eyes burned with desire, and I knew he’d reached breaking point. He wanted inside of me, and he wanted that now.
Moving swiftly off the bike, he positioned himself behind me, bent me over the bike, and yanked my dress up. “Fuck,” he growled as he thrust inside me.
I clutched the seat and held on tightly while he worked me hard. The vibrations of the bike had me wet for him, and judging by the way he slammed into me, this wasn’t going to take long. I didn’t care. This was just a warm-up for the real thing. If I knew King, he wouldn’t let me sleep much tonight.
He came first, his fingers digging into my hips. I followed fast with an orgasm that shattered through me so completely that my legs threatened to give way. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stand, and remained bent over the bike after he pulled out.
He placed his hand on my lower back and asked, “You good?”
I shook my head. “No. You just killed me. I’m not sure I can walk.”
Before I knew what was happening, he lifted me into his arms and carried me inside. The garage opened into an expansive living area that was bare except for a lone couch sitting on a large rug, overlooking a glass door that stretched the length of the room.
He placed me down on the couch, and I immediately stood, and said, “I need to use the bathroom.” Glancing up at the mezzanine level above us, I asked, “Is it up there?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
I headed upstairs, taking in the exposed brick walls, polished concrete floors, and industrial-type fixtures and fittings. King’s home was masculine to the nth degree, not only with all those things but also with the dark greys and browns throughout. The only thing that surprised me was the lack of furniture. He had the couch downstairs, and upstairs he had a king-size bed and another rug, but so far, that was all I could see. The bathroom had a handful of toiletries, but not many belongings. It was almost like he didn’t actually live here.
I used the bathroom and made my way back downstairs, finding him in the kitchen. This room appeared more lived in, and I wondered if perhaps he was just in the middle of renovating the place, because it was amazing. I took a good look, loving what I saw. The high ceiling and large windows lent space and light to the room and allowed his use of black for the cupboards and black granite for the kitchen counters to work well. The splash of colour coming from the brick walls accented the black beautifully.
Meeting his gaze, I said, “Your home is not at all what I was expecting.”
He rested his ass against the counter and crossed his arms. “What were you expecting?”
“Well for one, a lot more furniture. Other than that, I guess I just wasn’t expecting a home that looked like an architect or designer had been in recently. I wouldn’t have picked you for a guy who would hire either of those. Are you renovating at the moment?”
He considered that question for a beat. He then moved to where I stood and said, “I bought this place eight years ago, but I don’t live here. I’d intended to renovate it and have a family here. Those plans got fucked up, and I walked away and just let it sit. I came back about a year ago to finish the work so I could sell the place, but for some fucking reason couldn’t bring myself to sell it, and never did finish the renovations.”
“It looks pretty good to me. You mustn’t have much left to do.” It looked better than pretty good; the perfection in what I’d seen showed he clearly valued attention to detail.
He looked out through the doorway to the living area. “There’s still a fuckload of shit to do.” Settling his eyes back on me, he added, “Figure I might get started on that soon.”
The way he said that made me feel he meant something deeper by his words, but I couldn’t be sure. “By the looks of what you’ve done so far, you’ve put your heart into this place, King. I can’t wait to see it when you’re finished.”
He studied me intently, causing flutters in my tummy. I didn’t know why, but there was something in the way he watched me. He didn’t say anything further about it, though. Instead, he finally dropped his gaze to my breasts and said, “You see that bed upstairs?”