Sinner's Revenge (Sinner's Creed MC #2)(26)
She becomes limp in my arms, all but her hand that fists in my shirt. I grab her knee, moving it over my cock. When she feels it beneath my jeans, her moan deepens. Trailing my fingers up her thigh, I guide them beneath her shirt, caressing the smooth skin with my fingertips. Keeping my mouth on hers, I slip my hand into her panties, and she pushes against me, begging me to touch her.
The feel of her bare * against my fingers isn’t enough. So I part her lips, feeling the wet heat on my middle finger as I drag it up to her clit. Rubbing it in slow circles, I look down at her as her head falls back, breaking our kiss completely.
A guttural moan rips from her, and it’s the sexiest f*cking thing I’ve ever heard. Her mouth is open, her eyes squeezed shut, and every few seconds, her breath catches in her throat. She is the epitome of sexy. Slowly, I drop my finger lower, shoving it inside her—groaning when I feel how wet and satiny her walls feel around me.
I can smell the sweet scent of her arousal from beneath her panties. If it’s intoxicating from here, I can only imagine what it must be like with my nose buried in her *. My tongue thrusting in and out of her—tasting her . . . drinking her . . . f*cking devouring her.
I can’t f*ck her. She’s too hurt and I’m too anxious to trust myself to take it slow. I know that watching her come will give me the worst case of blue balls I’ve ever had. But I can’t deny her. Not now. So I work my magic with my hands, and soon, she’s coming in my arms. She doesn’t jerk or spasm like I expect, she simply goes limp—her entire body relaxing as she lets out a slow moan on a breath.
It’s like I’ve just lifted the weight of the world off her shoulders. Like I’m the world’s greatest drug—guaranteed to escape her from reality. Or, at least my fingers are. I cup her * in my hand, leaning down to kiss the hollow of her throat before sliding it out of her panties, up her stomach, and finally to her tits.
Fuck, they feel so good. I squeeze them gently, rubbing my thumb across her nipple as I wait for her to break through the fog. She’s still breathing slowly, every once in a while letting out a soft moan. She’s limp, spent, and sated. I still my hand, but the little moans continue and it doesn’t take me long to realize she’s asleep.
“You’re welcome,” I mutter, easing the recliner shut and standing with her in my arms. Figures I’d get the shitty end of this deal. Not only will I have to jerk off, but now I have to carry her ass to bed too. If I could put her to sleep this fast with my fingers, she’d be f*cking comatose if I showed her what I could do with my tongue. I smirk at the thought.
Tomorrow, I just might have to try that.
*
My plan with Death Mob needs some rethinking. So Rookie and Carrie are coming over for what Diem thinks is a barbeque. She’s been here over a week, and even though she tries to hide it, she looks a little excited at the thought of company. I’m excited about not having to eat her cooking. I think the bitch is trying to kill me.
“I have a problem,” she announces, busting through the bathroom door while I’m in the shower.
“No shit you have problems, but which one are you talking about.”
She ignores my comment, and I hear her flip the lid down on the toilet and take a seat. “I don’t have any shoes.”
“And?” I ask, washing the soap from my hair.
“And I don’t want to look like a hillbilly.” I smile. Even with overalls and a piece of straw hanging out of her mouth, there was no way Diem could look like a hillbilly.
“You look fine.”
“I need you to go shoe shopping.”
My hands still in my hair. She did not just tell me to go shoe shopping. “Yeah, that shit’s gonna happen.”
There’s a long silence before she speaks. “If I don’t have shoes, then you don’t have shoes.”
Even as I say the words, I begin to doubt them. “But I do have shoes. Lots of ’em.”
“Yes, you do. But you’ll never find them unless you get me some.” That sneaky, conniving, bitch.
“Diem,” I growl in warning.
“Zeke,” she says, in a terrible attempt to mock me.
I turn the water off and jerk the curtain open. She looks up at me innocently. Glaring at her, I snatch my towel from the rack, wrapping it around my waist as I go look in my closet. They’re gone. All of them. Even the ones I never wear. I walk to the living room and even my tennis shoes are gone. I open the front door, and my boots that usually sit covered in mud on the porch are gone.
I slam the door, stomping through the house to find her still sitting on the toilet with a pleased smile on her face. “So, do we have a deal?” she asks, raising her eyebrows in question.
Any man who has ever owned a decent pair of riding boots knows how long it takes to break them in. I could buy a hundred more pairs, but none will fit as well as my favorite ones do. That goes for my running shoes, my rain boots, and even my f*cking flip-flops that I wear on really rare occasions.
“Diem,” I start, moving closer to her. My eyes narrow on hers as the rage inside me begins to build. It’s not just about the shoes—it’s the whole f*cking situation. And because she’d just come all over my fingers less than twenty-four hours ago and I couldn’t beat my dick enough to get the memory out of my head.
“I will torture you. I will make you wish you left a long time ago. You’ve played your little games long enough. If you don’t have my shit waiting for me, in the exact condition you found them in, by the time I get dressed, I’m going to put your ass in the trunk of my car and drive you so far into the middle of nowhere that you’ll never find your way back home.”