Move the Sun (Signal Bend #1)(33)

“I’m not jokin’, Sport.”

She only raised her eyebrows, challenging him. Knowing full well the show they were putting on and not giving a starving rat’s ass, he leaned down and kissed her ravenously, exulting in the eager movement of her tongue with his. Her arms looped snugly around his neck as she opened her mouth wide and let him have his way. He grabbed her thighs and pulled her up, hooking her legs around his hips. And then he walked them back toward the restrooms, ignoring the hoots of his brothers at their table.

He got her into the ladies’ and locked the door before he released her legs and let her slide them back to the floor. Still kissing her, he walked her backward until she bumped against the sink, and then he spun her around. She put her hands on either side of the old-fashioned porcelain bowl and looked at him in the mirror. He met her reflected gaze in the glass and brought his hands around her waist to undo her jeans. He moved quickly, yanking them and her –oh, nice—sheer white lace thong to her knees. He pushed gently but steadily between her shoulder blades until she bent forward. Then he snagged a condom from his wallet, opened his belt and jeans, and rolled it on.

“Come on, come on, come on,” she whispered.

“Easy, baby. Gimme a sec to get dressed. Told you I don’t intend to knock you up.” Condom on, he grabbed her hip in his left hand and slid his right down her ass and between her legs. God, she felt good, silky and so damn wet. “Fuck, Sport. No wonder you’re impatient. You’re so wet I could drink you.” He flicked his drenched fingers roughly over her clit until her hips bucked and twitched, then he positioned himself and slid easily into her.

“Oh, f*ck yeah. Go hard.”

He was deep in her, and she was tight and hot. He was already panting with the need to move. And this had to be a quickie. But they’d had really rough sex less than 24 hours earlier—blood-in-the-bed rough sex.

“You sure? After last night?”

She looked up and caught his eyes in the mirror. “Go!”

He took her at her word, starting off hard, slamming into her as hard and fast as he could. She bucked against him, her hands clutching the sides of the sink, her knuckles white. “Fuck, yeah! Yeah! Fuck, make me come! Harder, God, harder!”

Holy shit, this woman. He folded over her, bringing his hands from her hips to take her clit and a nipple, sliding into her top and pinching her through the soft lace of her bra. He was rough and moved fast, pinching and pulling as he drummed into her. She was making no effort whatsoever to be quiet, but the band was still playing, so people would have to be clustered around the restroom door to hear. Not that that wasn’t likely.

As worked up as she was, he was at least as much, though he was keeping comparatively quiet, biting his lip viciously to do so. He was worried he was going to come before her. He was alarmed at how often he had trouble holding off with her. It was not usually a problem.

But then she was coming, shouting wordlessly, her muscles clamping down around his throbbing, hypersensitive cock. He grabbed her hips again and held off until she was finished and then, with just a couple more deep, powerful thrusts, he came, too, grunting, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips, until he thought he’d collapse.

He rested his forehead on her back for a second, but then she stood straight and pushed back from the sink, making him slide quickly out of her and take an awkward step to keep his footing. She pulled a couple of paper towels from the dispenser and wiped herself. Pulling up her jeans and thong, she looked at him in the mirror and said, “Probably should get back out there.” She washed her hands and waited by the door for him to pull himself together.

An abrupt end to an intense f*ck. He was spun.

oOo

They closed the bar. Aside from a few parking lot scrapes, easily dispensed with, and one rowdily inebriated Darren Brown to contain and find a ride home for, the night was easy. They drank, they danced.

And they’d f*cked. They’d done another couple of rounds of shots between the band’s second and third sets, and Lilli was on the edge of being too drunk to keep her seat on his bike. From that point, Isaac’s mission became keeping her at that level of drunkenness and no more.

Lilli danced with all of the Horde who asked her. Isaac was pleased to see that she kept more distance from them than she had with him, but he also noticed the way all the men’s—all of them, not just his brothers—eyes tended to focus on her ass while she moved. It pissed him off. He understood it—Lilli had the kind of ass you see in ads for sexy underwear. Or on biker pinup calendars. Impossible not to appreciate. But he was feeling more and more territorial about her with each passing day. Fuck, with each passing hour. And he knew the town already considered her his, so he would have to respond to any challenge to that. So he glowered at his brothers dancing with her until he couldn’t take it anymore. He swallowed back the rest of his beer and stood up.

She was dancing alone, suddenly. Dan, her most recent partner, was headed off to the john. Isaac started making his way to her, around the tables and chairs, and the weaving bodies of drunk dancers, when he saw Steve Bohler grab her and spin her around, trying to dance with her. She pulled away sharply, but Bohler grabbed her again and put his hand square on her ass.

Oh, that * was going to lose that hand.

Isaac charged forward, plowing through the people on the dance floor, but when he got to Lilli, he stopped short. He didn’t see what she’d done, but Bohler was on the floor, clutching his throat and not breathing much at all. She must have punched him, her and her big silver rings.