Motorcycle Man (Dream Man #4)(47)

God, he felt good. So good. And he was good at it. Great. Unbelievable. No one better. No one.

I felt his teeth nip the skin of my neck and it arched as that and his driving c**k took me, already primed, crashing over the edge.

One of my hands released his ass and lifted, grasping his hair as I cried out. I lifted my hips, wrapping my legs around his back. I held on as he rode me through my orgasm, harder, harder, my body jolting, my limbs tightening, the beautiful pressure released only to build again instantly.

“You’re done and your pu**y wants more,” he growled in my ear, his hands spanning my hips, yanking me up to meet his deepening thrusts.

“Yes…,” I gasped through his grunts as I started coming again, the beauty of it rolling over me, “Yes.”

My neck arched and my heels dug in his back as I lifted my h*ps further and he drove harder.

I was coming down, holding him tight, Tack thrusting deep, grunting with the effort, my tongue at the skin of his neck when his rhythm changed, slowed, but all the power of him shifted to his h*ps as he pounded hard and his grunts turned to groans.

Then he stopped, buried deep inside me, and gave me his weight. I liked his weight, his warmth, his smell, his body connected to mine and I held on tighter.

In my life, I’d had five lovers and I had chosen them all carefully. I thought all were close enough to perfect before I took them to my bed. And none of them gave me what Tack gave me. Not even close.

He shifted some of his weight to a forearm in the bed as his other hand drifted up the skin of my side and with his lips at my ear he whispered, “Three hours.”

My limbs convulsed and I whispered back, “Why do you keep saying that?”

He lifted his head and I felt his eyes on my face through the darkness. “That’s how long they had you.”

I forgot how to breathe.

Tack did not. He spoke.

“They’re gonna bleed.”

It was a vow.

My body went as still as my lungs.

He went on. “Rivers of blood.”

That was a vow too.

Oh. My. God.

“Tack –” I forced out.

His body shifted slightly to the side and his hand curled around my throat like it did outside Hawk’s SUV. His fingers flexed in but the touch was light.

His tone was not.

“They took you,” he stated.

“Yes, but –”

He interrupted me. “They hooded you.”

“I know, but listen –”

“They touched you.”

“Well, only to –”

“They bound you.”

“Uh …”

“They scared you.”

“This is true, but –”

“No,” he ground out, his fingers flexing deeper into my throat, no pressure, no pain, his word final, his touch communicating the same – no response necessary.

My hand went to his cheek and I whispered, “Handsome.”

It was like I didn’t even talk. Tack stayed on target. “Had Roscoe on you. They clocked him with the butt of a gun. Six stitches. Shoulda put Hopper on you. Brick. No one would get the jump on Hop or Brick.”

“Roscoe?”

“Recruit. Not fresh, he’s been around a while. Smart kid. Seen some action. Done his part. Thought he’d do good. Fucked up.”

Oh boy, I was worried about the unknown Roscoe and his six stitches but I was worried more about Tack and his fury.

“Tack, you need to let me –”

“No,” he cut me off yet again. “I’ll explain, Red, you belong to Chaos. No one touches what belongs to Chaos. No one. They don’t touch it. They don’t hood it. They don’t bind it. They don’t even breathe in its space unless they have Chaos permission.”

Um. I had to admit, I liked that he was protective. I even liked that he was overprotective.

But it must be said I wasn’t feeling the love for being referred to as an “it”.

I thought it wasn’t the brightest move to inform him of that fact in his current mood so I kept on my current target in hopes of getting through. “Please let me –”

“You gotta get that, Red. And I swear to f**kin’ Christ, they’re gonna get it.”

I stared into his shadowy face and whispered, “You’re scaring me again, Tack.”

His fingers flexed into my throat again before his hand slid up, palm cupping my jaw, fingers wrapped around my neck and ear and his face came closer, his lips touching mine before he moved back.

“You shouldn’t be scared. The point I’m makin’ is that you should never be scared. But I promise, ‘cause of this shit, someone’s gonna feel fear. It just ain’t gonna be you. Not again. Not ever again. Not for three hours, Tyra, not for three f**kin’ minutes.”

“Tack –”

“I’m not inviting discussion, babe, I’m sayin’ it like it is.”

“Tack!” I snapped, coming to my end. I slapped his arm to get his attention and demanded, “Listen to me!”

“What?”

He waited and I didn’t know what to say.

Then I enquired, “If I ask nice, can I talk you out of rivers of blood?”

“Fuck no.”

Firm. Resolute.