Damon:A Bad Boy MC Romance Novel(27)

He wouldn't be satisfied that easily, either. His hand found her mound,  pushing her dress up to her hips and yanking roughly at her panties  until he could part her lips, brush her clit with his knuckle, feel her  wetness against the back of his hand. He turned his hand over, palm up,  and ground it against her, forcing two fingers into her slit, rewarded  by the buckle of her knees, the thrust of her hips.         

     



 

He pressed his palm against her clit. She pulled away just slightly,  taking his bottom lip between her teeth and sucking it in, her eyes  meeting his, a challenge lurking behind the molten gold. It incited  something inside him, sparked a feral desire to take her any way he  wanted to, without asking her permission, without waiting for her to be  ready. He stamped it down, but it was too late. She'd seen it in his  eyes. And her body responded in kind.

Her skin, flushed and hot, felt like it would burn anyone who tried to  touch her. Greedy, mindlessly, she ground against his hand, forcing his  fingers deeper into her wet slit, her clit throbbing into the course  flesh of his palm. Her own fingers stroked him from base to tip and back  again, squeezing lightly, then gently, then lightly again, a torturous  rhythm that only made him press harder with his fingers, to torture her  the same way.

Tricia realized, suddenly, that they weren't making love. They weren't  even fucking. They were fighting. There was struggle in their kiss.  There was ownership in their hands. She tugged at his cock while she  pulled away, her free hand yanking at his wrist until he was forced to  release his hold on her sex. She growled, moving past him, still holding  him tight.

She climbed onto the bed, on all fours, stretching out like a cat with  her elbows on the mattress and her ass in the air. With her dress rucked  up around her hips and her panties around her knees, she stared back at  him, daring him to deny her, daring him to take her, daring him to  please her.

"Why are we doing … " he started to say, even though his own jeans had  hitched low enough that the evidence of his desire was undeniably.

"Don't," Tricia whispered, rolling her hips slightly so that he could see her glistening slit. "Just … just come here."

He growled low in his throat, his body taking over. Grabbing her hips,  he forced a gasp from her lips when he yanked back on her body. But he  wasn't going to just give her what she was demanding. He let one hand  skirt upward, taunting her through the fabric of her dress, to her  breast, clutching it from below and kneading hard until she moaned and  arched her back, pressing against him. Her nipple was hard even through  her bra and dress, the hint of her arousal just a nub against Damon's  thumb.

She heard the jingle of metal, the sound of denim against flesh, as  Damon released himself fully, the head of his cock pressing against her  slit. She bit her lip, her flesh anticipating the pleasure of his  fullness, her pussy clenching prematurely, wanting him deep. He felt her  and couldn't suppress his own groan, the heat of her radiating,  beckoning him in.

He took a deep breath, knowing that this wasn't right, that this wasn't  how he wanted her. But then she pressed backwards, impaling herself on  him, and he was lost in her wetness, her tender sex sucking him in  –   where he belonged. He reached around her supple waist, found her clit  between the folds of her sex, and stroked it.

Tricia felt him submerged inside her, felt his fingers playing her like  an instrument, and clutched the sheets in her hands, bit down to keep  from screaming her ecstasy. He started to take her, slow and steady,  drawing her body against his and pushing it away to match his strokes.  The way he filled her, pressing the head of his cock into wells of  maddening pleasure in her womb, was too much, his finger on her clit  just toying with her limits.

"Fuck," he growled from behind her, trying to hold back from fucking her  too fast too soon  –  she was still tight, and it might hurt. But he felt  her struggling to set her own pace. Faster, harder. "Slow down … "

"No," she mumbled, her lips full of sheets. She raised her head, arching  her back further so that he slipped into her from a harsher angle. "No,  I want you to fuck me … just … just like this … Damon … fuck me ‘til I  come … make me come, Damon … "

He liked to be in charge, but her words were urgent, and they only made  him harder, needier. She looked back at him, her eyes fevered, her face  flushed. Reaching forward, he grabbed her hair, pulling her head back on  her neck until she cried out in pleasure.

"Is this what you want? Is this how you want me to fuck you?"

The words were hard, and they made Tricia's gut clench. A knot in her  stomach, a desperate and growing need in her muscles. She couldn't see  the edge, but she knew she was approaching it quickly. The harder he  fucked her, the more he played with her throbbing clit, the more he  tugged on her hair, owning her, the more she felt she couldn't stop  –   and didn't want to.

Her fingers grabbed and grabbed at the sheets, her toes curling up into  the soles of her feet. Her clit sent screaming pleasure to the knot in  her stomach, her pussy dripped around him, and she wanted only one thing  to finish it all. She opened her mouth, crying out wordlessly. She  wanted his cum in her. She wanted to feel him spasm and release inside  her pussy.         

     



 

"Fuck me, just like that," she managed to whimper. "Please, Damon, fuck me … fuck me … fuck me … p-please … "

Her words were enough; she knew they would be. His finger pressed hard  against her clit as he groaned, thrusting his hips against her so hard  that she was pushed forward slightly. He yanked at her hair in his  sudden release, and she felt the first burst of his cum inside her. All  at once, it dissolved inside her; the need detonated into satisfaction,  the knot detangled into ropes of ecstatic energy flowing through her  veins, her world whited out as she bucked and came against him.  Everything whittled down to a single, bright point, and she was dancing  on it, with him …

And then it was over. And she wasn't mad at him anymore. She was just  sad. For him, and for the boy he'd been, and a little bit for herself,  too. She accepted that he was stubborn in subtle ways. If this was a  normal courtship, that would have taken months to figure out. But there  was nothing normal about Damon. And there was nothing normal about her.  She had signed up for this, whether she was aware of it at the time or  not. She wasn't going to talk herself out of it; she wouldn't let him  talk her out of it, either.

"This doesn't change it," Damon said when he held her after, speaking  into the wisps of hair that covered his lips. "I'm sorry. I still have  to fight him."

"I know," Tricia said, her own voice muffled against his hard chest. "I know it doesn't change it."

He felt her stiffen in his arms, and when she looked up, her eyes were trapped somewhere between anger and regret.

"This wasn't for you," she said, her voice quivering slightly. "This was for me."

"Okay," he said, pulling her in tight again and kissing the top of her head. "Okay, baby. Okay."

"Can I come?" she asked a while later, when the sun outside had begun to cast long shadows through the wide windows.

He didn't answer, and he didn't need to. She closed her eyes and nestled in tighter.





30





A storm was descending on Miami. Everyone knew it. It wasn't a metaphor.  The storm was as real as anyone who could feel it in the air.



Damon watched the greying skies from the gym, where he was getting in  his last bit of practice before the real thing. The skies were biblical  in their roiling terror. More shades of grey than he ever thought  existed. He clicked his jaw a few times, felt the old ache of a bad  fight lingering there. It was one of his weak points. It was a bad weak  point to have. A bad jaw practically begged to be broken. But if Curly  found his way there, managed to land a hit on Damon's jaw, he'd just  fight through it. He'd done it before, fought through much more in  fights where he cared far less.

Tricia watched the storm from her car, parked around the corner from the  gym where she'd followed Damon. He'd taken a cab. She'd slipped out  after him. She didn't know why  –  there was nothing she could do. But she  wasn't going to go sightseeing, either. If this was the only way her  man  –  her man  –  could see his way to happiness, she wanted to be there  to see him get it. Or to soothe him when he didn't. She still wasn't  angry. She was still just sad.

She was close to the ocean, and she saw how the storm churned up the sea  into choppy, angry waves. The beach was abandoned. Even the sand looked  wrong. She rolled down her window for a moment, let the electricity  crackle over her cheeks. "For whatever we lose, like a you or a me, it's  always ourselves we find in the sea," she thought, some remembered  line, and wished she'd thought of it when Damon was at her side.