Page 90 of Rest In Pieces
“If you only knew what you did to me,” he mutters. I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or himself, so I don’t reply—I’m not even sure I could form a sentence anyway.
He stands up, his hand sliding between my legs as he fucks his fingers into me slowly. I mewl in protest, still feeling too tender. He ignores me as he fucks his cum back into me. When he finally pulls his fingers free, he spins me around, keeping hold of my arm so I don’t fall over, and offers them to me.
I open my mouth, letting him slip them inside. The taste of him, of us, explodes in my mouth as I suck them clean.
He pulls them free before pressing a kiss to my lips.
“I don’t want her. I don’t want anyone but you. Got it?”
“Got it. I need to clean myself up. There’s some wipes in my?—”
I suck in a sharp breath when he drops into a squat and rubs his cum into my inner thighs and through the little strip of curls covering my sex.
“I want you wearing me on your skin like an invisible tattoo marking you as mine.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he stands back up and grips my jaw gently.
“It’s not a request, Amity. I need you to do this for me.”
I give in even though UTIs are not sexy. If I get one, I’ll punch him in the face.
He pulls my jeans up for me and refastens them. I ignore how my damp skin feels against the denim, willing to bend if it means something to him.
Once he’s tucked away and I’ve straightened my clothes, he holds my jacket open for me, and I slide my arms in.
“Feel better?”
“If you say anything about your dick being the perfect medicine, I will not be held responsible for my actions.”
“Well, maybe not the perfect medicine, but I’m sure a therapist would say it helps relieve stress and anxiety.”
I grumble just for the sake of complaining. I hate giving in, even though I know he’s right. After stressing all evening, he managed to calm me down in a few moments. Stupid man and his magic dick. I keep my mouth shut because I don't want him to know he has that kind of power over me.
“Okay, I’m ready. Do I look like I’ve just been ridden hard?”
“Maybe a little. You’re fucking a biker, baby. We always ride hard.” He smirks before grabbing my bag and tossing it over his shoulder.
Taking my hand, he leads me out of the warehouse and toward the clubhouse. I can hear the music from here—some kind of soft rock playing—but the words are muffled enough that I can’t make out the song.
“How do you sleep with all that noise?”
“All the bedrooms are soundproofed.”
“Ooh, that’s good to know. So I can scream ‘yes, Daddy’ at the top of my lungs, and nobody would hear?”
He stops and looks at me, his eyes flaring with the promise of something dark and dirty. “I’ve never been into daddy kink, but I said I’d try anything you want.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not calling youDaddy.”
“That’s fine. I’m good with Master or God.”
“Your ego is bigger than your cock, and that’s saying something.”
He laughs loudly, drawing the attention of the three bikers walking our way. One of them looks familiar, but the one with the scars on his face, I don’t know—or at least don’t remember. And the third guy, I think, might have come to the movie set a couple weeks ago.
“I wondered if we’d see you tonight,” the vaguely familiar guy says when they stop in front of us. He turns to look at me, and I have to fight the urge to shiver.
You know the saying,The lights are on, but nobody’s home? Well, this guy’s like a haunted house version of that. There are no lights on, and the only thing home are the dozens of ghosts haunting him.