Damon:A Bad Boy MC Romance Novel(21)

"Yes, Damon," Tricia groaned, and now she had to disobey, she had to  move against him. Her hips worked on their own accord as his thumb  flicked over her clit, his cock grinding her sanity to bits, her muscles  tensing to the point of pain. She looked into his dark eyes, feeling  her passion rise in a torrent  –  she was going to come, just like he  wanted, she was going to break apart in his arms, she wanted to, she  wanted to do anything he wanted, she wanted to be his to command …

"You're mine," he growled, and slammed up into her, holding her down,  feeling her hips undulate against him, felt her clit tighten under his  thumb.

"Yes! Yes! Fuck, yes! Damon, I'm yours, all yours, all fucking yours, Damon, fuck, I'm gonna, I'm gonna … "

"Come, Tricia," he growled, and gave her clit one last, hard flick,  pushing his cock so deep into her that her thighs clenched around him,  her body relenting, the torrent exploding as she came, her pussy  contracting around his hugeness, juices spilling around him and onto his  thighs, her arms clutching him close against her bucking, shuddering  body. "That's right, just like that, just fuckin' like that … "

Tricia had barely recovered when she felt him stand up, holding her in  both arms, then plunging her back onto the bed, on her back, his manhood  still buried into her wet slit. Immediately, he began to thrust into  her, long, hard strokes that only drove her climax deeper. His teeth  closed around the flesh of her shoulder, his hands pinning her down,  taking what he needed from her soft and pliant flesh. And she wanted to  give it, needed to give it.

He fucked her selfishly now, and it only got her off more; the feeling  that she was his to use, whenever he wanted, however he wanted. She  rolled her hips to meet his strokes, feeling her clit press against the  base of his shaft as he buried himself in her again and again, growling  and biting at her flesh. He'd leave bruises, and she wanted them. She  wanted him to claim her, to finally take her. With each driving, violent  thrust, she felt her pleasure budding anew. Her arms clutched around  his shoulders.

"Damon," she muttered into his ear. "Damon, come in me, I want you to come in me, I want to come with you … "

The words seemed to drive him into a frenzy, and he pulled away, his  hands on her arms, holding her down as he slammed into her. She lifted  her knees, letting him slip deeper into her pussy, reaching those soft  and needy places that so few could reach.

Her skin flushed, an icy warmth up her spine, everything a contradiction  and everything necessary and everything swelling and reaching and  peaking until he found it, found what they needed, buried himself in  tight and burst inside her, feeling her pussy clench around him, milking  the cum from his cock as she was swept up by her own climax, both  shuddering and bucking in time while he emptied into her, giving her all  he had  –  and watching, feeling, her take everything.

"Oh, shit," Tricia moaned, sliding off of him when it was done. She  tumbled onto her back, the cold air conditioning welcome now as it  cooled her heated flesh.         

     



 

"I thought it was pretty good, myself," he said, grinning over at her. "But to each their own … "

She was confused for a moment, and then realized he was joking; she  groaned, biting back a smile. No one had ever made her feel that way  –   ever. Her body still tingled all over, still felt like it was barely  even touching the bed beneath her. She closed her eyes, savoring this  prolonged afterglow. When Damon spoke again, his words fell softly  against her ears, and she didn't bother to stop her smile from  spreading.

"There's the perfect amen. You're your own gospel. And you bring good news to me … "

"Who's that?" she asked, still with her eyes closed.

"Patricia Spears Jones," he said, his voice a deep rumble.

"Oh," she said, and suddenly felt like laughing. He'd tried to make  things serious. She wasn't having it. "I hope you don't think I'm a  cheap date, by the way. I still expect to get that fancy dinner you  promised."

She opened her eyes just in time to squeal as he launched himself over  her, pinning her down to the bed, wiggling his hips above hers slightly  as his mouth came down to nip her neck. Amazed, she felt him growing  hard again between her legs as he played his tongue along her  collarbone.

"Well, I was distracted the first time," he growled, coming back up to  her ear, his words making her stomach fill with a flurry. "I didn't get a  chance to make sure you're worth the expense."

He bit at her ear playfully, and she laughed, pushing at his chest; her  strength was nowhere near enough to move him, but he pulled away  regardless. She wiggled her own hips slightly, letting her thighs part  again.

"Mr. Volanis, that is extremely rude, and quite uncouth," she said,  feigning offense with a pout. But then she wrapped her arms around his  neck, pulling him down again and sighing as the head of his cock slipped  between her slit once more. "Which just happens to be the way I like  it."

She felt, rather than saw, the smile on his lips as he nuzzled against  her neck, then gasped as he plunged forward, burying himself inside her  again. And holding him close, Tricia felt something strange happen  inside her. As confusing, and unexpected, and impossible as it was, she  felt what she'd been craving the whole time she'd been in Kingdom.

She felt like she'd come home.





22





Damon and Tricia left Charleston behind, feeling quite bad for the maid  who had to deal with their mess of bedsheets and the evidence they'd  left behind. Tricia had the brilliant idea to leave their leftovers from  the restaurant in the mini-fridge, along with a note and a generous  tip. Hopefully the cleaning crew would enjoy the braised lamb, beet  salad, and cornmeal-dusted catfish as much as Tricia and Damon had  enjoyed them the night before. Damon, for one, had enjoyed the sight of  Tricia in her green, silky dress more than anything put on the table  before them, a fact that made her blush when he revealed it.

They stopped in Savannah, Georgia for an early lunch, strolling  hand-in-hand through the plazas and parks, coins in fountains and art  students posing as artists all along the streets. Damon wanted to see  some of the landmarks from Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil,  which Tricia hadn't seen. She didn't even feel like she needed to see it  after Damon was finished telling her about it; his eye for detail, his  absorbing way of speaking, the way he captured the subtle things that  made a film a film, left her feeling like she'd watched the movie unfold  in her own mind.

It was as romantic a day as Tricia could imagine for herself, but something nagged at her. Something big.

She couldn't forget the anger in Damon's eyes when he went after the kid  at the pool. This was a man who'd killed. This was a man who fought.  His battered knuckles told a story  –  but she wanted to hear that story  from his own mouth, not just the scars left behind. And she needed to  know, now, where they were headed  –  Miami, of course, but for what? She  was diving head-first into this whole thing. She needed to make sure  there was water in the pool before she leapt off.

If Damon noticed this subtle change in Tricia's attitude, he didn't mention it or let on.

The air on the highway grew saltier and saltier as they entered Florida,  palm trees like a postcard welcoming them to The Sunshine State.

"I was too young to remember living in Florida. We only stayed for a  year or two, right after I was born. But my uncle worked in the  everglades for a long time," Damon said. "Had some good stories about  snapping turtles and alligators. He had this little dog, Chev, who had a  sixth sense for gators. He would sit on the porch with Chev and pick  ‘em off with his shotgun. And my great-grandmother, she lived down here  after ditching my great-grandpa. She ran off with a smuggler, during  Prohibition, this Cuban bootlegger who played trumpet in a Mambo band.  They'd sneak liquor in instrument cases and … "         

     



 

"Damon," Tricia said, looking out the window as though she could soften the blow that way. "I want you to tell me now."

"Tell you what?" he asked, feigning distraction as he changed lanes. She sighed and turned to look at him.

"You're too smart to act like you don't know," she said. "You don't play games, remember?"

"I remember," he said, and she noted the way his knuckles flexed around  the steering wheel. "It's just … it's a hard thing to explain. It's a hard  story to tell."

She bit her lip. If he didn't tell her, if he didn't want to tell her,  she wasn't going to make him; how could she? But it would also mean that  he didn't trust her. And that hurt. Because she would have trusted him  with anything, including her life. He'd already saved it once.