Despite being on my knees, his hands fisting my ponytail and guiding my head, this doesn’t feel like some kind of power play. I’m tight with desire—to come, to please him, to be his in any way I can. And while I’m tempted to slip into the water just in case anyone does come by, I also want to give him this. To trust him. To make this good for him, too.
“Harper,” he groans roughly, and when I struggle to take him all, to relax and let him in, I see how much he wants this. Me. Us. He’s so goddamned big that I have serious doubts about handling this, but I take him anyhow. I relax until my mouth’s stretched wide and he’s hitting the back of my throat.
He tugs on my hair and I look up. “Okay?” he asks.
I hum a little note of agreement and he groans.
“Fuck, Harper. You’re killing me.”
He’s discovered my secret master plan. I suck and moan, letting him know that we’re in this together, letting his hands on my head guide me. He fucks my mouth deeper, faster, harder, and I move with him, cupping his balls and stroking.
He yanks my hair, the sharp sting waking an answering pulse between my legs. “Gonna come, Harper.”
I nod around his dick. Yes. That’s my plan.
He moves faster, I suck harder, and then he’s grabbing my face, holding me still as he comes with a violent shudder. I swallow and then let him go.
“Jesus,” he whispers roughly, scooping me up in his arms. “Harper.”
He looks a little dazed and a whole lot possessive. Happy, too, which is funny when I think about it because as much as Vik’s always laughing and joking, I’m not sure I’d describe him as happy. I’m not sure he ever lets down his guard enough to be that. Whatever he is, however, he’s definitely mine.
“Good?” My gaze flips up to his and he nods.
“Your turn.” There’s a wealth of dirty promise in his voice as he wades into the water. The water is beyond icy, but it turns out that Vik knows exactly how to warm me up.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Harper
MY RELATIONSHIP WITH Vik feels as if it’s shifted somehow, even though we’re playing by the same set of rules as before. He always shows up when I text him for a booty call unless he has club business, but that’s just sex. Super-amazing, sometimes dirty, but always wonderful sex. I love the sex. And I trust Vik. But it still seems weird, although that’s probably my inner good girl making a token protest. She’s never had hookup sex before, so she just needs to practice some more and then everything will be fine.
God. The practicing.
Vik’s the sexiest man I’ve ever met. Honestly, he’s set the bar way too high for Mr. Right. Creativity, stamina and a dirty mouth—Vik’s bad-boy accessories are perfect. It’s almost enough to make me redo the mental job description I’ve been carrying around for Mr. Right.
Almost. Not quite.
Because there are moments—not all that often, but they happen—when it’s impossible to forget that Vik’s a biker. And while the commission of felonies may not be part of Vik’s day-to-day, he has club brothers who’ve served or are serving time. No matter how many Toys for Tots drives they spearhead, the Hard Riders aren’t firefighters, Boy Scouts or good-guy material. They’re willing to break rules they dislike, and no matter how many marks fill the plus column, the number of negatives outweigh them. I’m still getting crap from my coworkers about my biker client, and not one but two of the firm’s senior partners made a point of swinging by my office to “see how it’s going.” Convincing them I’m not laundering money for a drug cartel is harder than you’d think.
So tonight I’m focused on dating. Dating other men. Fine, upstanding, suit-wearing guys who have their eyes on a corner office and a home in the suburbs. I won’t find Mr. Right if I don’t get out there.
I steal a moment to text Vik and let him know about the night’s plans. Reaching out to him, though, is a mistake. I can’t think about him without remembering what he looked like naked in my bed, his clothes dropped on my floor. It kind of makes me want to invest in new furniture—maybe a four-poster bed I can tie him to spread-eagled. And since I have no plans to bring tonight’s date home with me, I really should take care of business now.
Dating feels like I’ve just stepped into the biggest, baddest all-you-can-eat Vegas buffet—too many choices, a super-long line at the door and my table’s way over in the corner. Tonight’s guy seems like a good bet, though. Swipe right, tap the heart...and then wait to see if he’d done the same for me. He had, and now here I am, getting dressed for a date that feels kind of like cheating on Vik.
Obviously, I’ll have to stop sleeping with him if it looks like there could be anything between me and Mr. Tinder. Vik’s assured me that he understands, and that our hookups will remain private, but is it something I should tell tonight’s date about?
How would I tell tonight’s date? Excuse me, but I’ve got this awesome friend with benefits who happens to be a badass biker. Oh. You want to know why I’m not seeing him? Yeah. It’s a good question, but I don’t think we could have more, something besides the smoking-hot sex and the comfortable rides. We’re friends, but I want a lover, and then eventually, I want a partner. Whoever he is, he’ll be the kind of guy who will take Bing to the vet with me—not commit a felony to get him back.
And yet
