“Feels so good,” I purr.
“Just getting started.” He inhales, burying his nose in the dip of my bust. “Smell so fucking good.”
I grapple at him, digging my fingers into his shirt. “Take this off.”
Crawford jerks his head. “Not yet.” He steps forward, taking me with him. The back of my legs tap his bike, and I reach out for stability. His chuckle tickles my already heightened sensitivity. “I got you.”
A hum trips up my throat. “I like the sound of that.”
He crouches in front of me, palms wrapping around my calves. “These boots are hot as fuck, but they need to go.” His deft fingers lower the zippers, and he yanks the soles off my feet.
He attacks my jeans next, but grunts after getting the button open.
I quirk a brow. “Problem?”
“Your pants might be sexy, but they’re clinging worse than glue.”
“That’s what you get for making me cover up when it’s almost July.”
Crawford snorts. “Biker attire does have its down side.”
“Compared to what?”
“That glitter bomb you wore to the bar.”
I shimmy and shove off the tight denim with some added force. The fabric gets thrown away with the rest. Only my bra and panties remain, but I have a feeling those will be stripped off soon enough. He lifts me up onto the seat, the sunbaked leather stinging my bare flesh.
“That’s hot,” I hiss.
His eyes flare with smoky embers. “I seem to recall you finding pleasure with a bite of pain.”
“Thanks for the preview.” After sprawling and reclining against the rear saddle, I grasp the bars for support. I bow my spine and edge closer to him. My lower half hangs in the balance, but not for long.
Crawford tears the thong from between my thighs, tucking it in his pocket. He crouches in front of me, hoisting one of my legs over his wide shoulder. I don’t get a chance to protest before he’s leaning in. “Remember, I want you spreading wide for me.”
This position makes that more challenging, but I stretch until my muscles burn. “I’m definitely open for this.”
“Exactly how I prefer you.” He chuckles, a hot puff of air caressing my folds.
I open my mouth with a retort, but a whimpering moan escapes instead. Crawford licks along my slit, making two excruciatingly lazy passes from top to bottom. I spear my fingers into the length of his hair, gripping at the roots with a harsh pull. A wheeze tumbles from the depths of my lungs while I drag him harder into me.
He circles two fingers at my entrance, feeding those digits into me with a slow glide. I welcome him with a sigh as the coils in my lower belly twist. The teasing touch isn’t nearly enough, and I buck my hips.
“So greedy for me,” he whispers against my exposed center.
“It’s your fault,” I whimper.
“Then I better be the one to fix it.”
Crawford laps at my clit with dizzying spirals. I’m panting, silent pleas dripping off my parting lips. What I want to beg for is beyond me.
I’m grinding against him, seeking the friction he readily gives. “More, please. I need you deeper.”
He rams his fingers into me, crooking them up in search of my hidden detonator. The instant he finds that secret spot, my toes curl and everything goes still. For a split second, as I hover on that edge between pure pleasure and desperation, nothing exists except clawing need. I struggle to draw in enough air. All of my energy is centered on what this man’s mouth is doing to me, sending me higher, further yet, until a burst of stars explodes across the blue sky.
With a final swipe, I’m shoved over the cliff and tumbling. Or gliding. I can’t tell what’s up and down, only able to ride out the quaking tremble radiating throughout every molecule inside of me. I’m suspended in a state of spine-numbing euphoria as seconds blend into minutes. The tide rolls over me, ripples of shockwaves tingling my hands.
When I regain control of my muscles, I prop up on a shaky elbow. My vision swims when I glance down at him still kneeling in front of me. His glistening mouth twitches with the beginnings of a smirk. He has every right to be cocky after that award-winning demonstration.
“Good?” Crawford straightens while wiping a sloppy palm over his lips.
I give him a crooked smile of my own. “Best yet.”
“Careful, you might inflate my ego.”
I hook my ankle around the bend of his knee, reeling him in. “Oh, I plan to do a lot more than that.”
Healing Hug #22: The instant before realization strikes and all is calm.
Two fantasy-inducing weeks have flown by since I brought Keegan to my landing in the prairie. Since then, we’ve managed to crank the sexual creativity scale to hotter than a July afternoon. My body is depleted, yet wholly satisfied. The constant throbbing in my veins is a welcome reprieve from the bitter dullness I’d grown accustomed to. I can’t stay away from her for more than a couple of days. By some miracle, or rare stroke of luck, the woman sitting on my left seems to share the same potent desire for me.
This is how I find myself once again being chauffeured to a secret location by the irresistible blonde behind the wheel. Almost an hour has ticked by. My skin is starting to itch, but I keep the pissy agitation on lockdown.
