Crash (Brazen Bulls MC #1)(35)

“Willa, Jesus f*ck,” he grunted as her hands slid into the hair between his legs. “Jesus f*ck.”

She finally took hold of him, wrapping both fists around his shaft. She squeezed, just on the edge of too tight. Without moving her hands, she pulsed her grip, tightening just too much, then releasing, again and again, until the untouched head of his cock was vivid red and swollen with need, and he’d thrown his other hand to the wall as well, leaning in, unsure he’d be able to keep his feet without their support. Every throb of her grip drew a grunt from him, each louder and more desperate than the one before it, until his voice, sounding barely human, echoed off the tile walls.

It went on forever. As intense and brilliant as it was, the tightness of her grip and her determined avoidance of his tip was going to keep him from coming. He thought he could actually die this way, if she didn’t let him come.

“Come on, baby, come on, baby, come on. Let me have it. Come on.” He was ready to beg. Maybe he was already begging.

He felt her lips and tongue on his back, then a light nip of her teeth. And then she let him have it. Her fists slid over him, making him shout as her fingers finally, finally closed over his tip, and he shot his load like a fire hose. She stayed on him, her hands slipping deliciously back and forth, until she’d wrung every drop from him.

While he leaned his whole body against the wall, recovering from what might have been the most intense orgasm of his life—from a hand job!—Willa washed his hair, turning the shower head so that she could rinse the shampoo from it without making him move. He closed his eyes and let water and suds slide down his face. Her fingers scratched lightly over his scalp, and his skin rose up in gooseflesh, despite the water’s heat.

He wasn’t worried about her leg anymore. He was too interested in whether his own pair would keep him up.

The water turned off, and the curtain opened, rattling on its metal rings. A rush of humid air, warm with steam but still cooler than the shower, swept over his body, and he opened his eyes.

He was alone in the tub. Willa stood at the sink, wrapping a blue towel around herself, tucking the end in above her breasts. She was still wet, droplets sparkling on her shoulders, the ends of her hair making drips that cascaded down her spine, slipping under the towel at the gap her shoulder blades made.

The tattoo on her back—her only ink—was more complex than a simple bluebird. It was naturally rendered, as if in flight, in the center of her back. But over her left shoulder blade, another, smaller bluebird, flew toward it, their beaks nearly touching, as if to kiss.

Rad was spent, wearily sated in body and mind, but his cock twitched at the sight of her.

She picked up the other towel from the toilet and handed it to him. “Wanna go to bed?”

He owed her a spectacular orgasm, and he was not a man who welched.



oOo



Her bedroom, no surprise, suited the rest of her house. These walls were white, and adorned with interesting art. On the space over the low headboard of her bed hung a wide, narrow framed photo of a longhorn steer, facing forward, a piece Rad found charming in its stark reality. In the corner by the window were several potted plants, on stands or hanging from the ceiling in hemp hangers.

The rosy glow he’d noticed earlier came from the lamp at the side of her bed. A patterned red scarf had been arranged over the shade.

Her bedding was white, with the kind of old-fashioned spread his mother and grandmother had favored—chenille, he thought it was called. Her bed was a little rumpled, the cover turned down, and it occurred to him, for the first time, that Willa had been wearing different clothes—jeans and a button-down shirt—when he’d picked her up to take her to the clubhouse. Had she been in bed already when he’d called from Terry’s?

Watching her now, as she pulled the towel from around her body and ruffled it through her wet hair, Rad decided that what she had been doing earlier, away from him, was irrelevant. What she was doing now, with him, was all that mattered. He dropped his towel and went to her.

With a playful smile, she dodged his hands and got onto her bed, tossing her towel to the floor. Rad saw her take care with her sore leg, but he had decided to let her make the decisions about what her injury could and could not tolerate.

She arranged herself on top of the covers, in the middle of the bed, on her back, propped up with the pillows. She spread her legs, showing him her tight pink * and her tidy wedge of dark gold hair. And she smiled.

He needed no clearer invitation than that.

He climbed onto her bed from the foot and lay prone between her legs, taking special care with her right. Sliding his hands under her sweet, perfect ass, he lifted her hips off the bed and tasted her, taking her clit into his mouth immediately.

She moaned lustily, and he felt the muscles of her ass turn to stone in his hands. He drew his tongue through her folds, and she cried out and grabbed hold of his hair with both hands.

“You taste like honey,” he murmured against her thigh. “I am gonna eat you out until you can’t move, and then I’m gonna turn you on your side and tuck in behind you. I’m gonna get so deep inside you, you’ll still be comin’ tomorrow night.”

“Oh f*ck, Rad…” she gasped.

He chuckled and proceeded to make good on his promise.





CHAPTER TEN



Willa threw her hands up and clutched the top of her headboard, trying to find purchase on reality—but she’d lost reality the day before, standing on the highway beside her downed bike. Whatever this life was now, since then, it was new and couldn’t possibly be real. Too much insanity had happened in too short a time for it to be real.