Kat
Loading the dishwasher, relishing the peace and quiet, I reflect on the past two days since Ryker’s been home. It’s been, dare I say… enlightening. In one aspect it’s been fantastic, since he and the girls have basically been inseparable from the moment they walk through the door after school until bedtime. He helps them with their homework if needed. They curl on the couch together watching whatever shows the girls want to see. Roxie takes one side of him as Scarlett takes the other. It pulls at my friggin heartstrings to see them cozied up in their PJs with their dad. Not wanting to intrude, I keep my distance so they can enjoy him. Instead, I stay busy cooking dinner and making hot cocoa like any mother would. Sure, we eat supper together. But I can’t help but feel kinda slighted for not being invited into their three-person bubble. I know, I know, I’m being irrational. Jealousy isn’t becoming of a mother. Not when I haven’t acted as though I want to take part in their bonding time. Half of me wants to be included, while the other gets a deep sense of pleasure observing her family connect from a short distance.
Each night, Ryker and I tuck them in. Then I escape to the confines of the bedroom with Walker and my Kindle, while he watches grown-up shows in the living room, giving me space. Space that has grown exponentially since the blonde first showed up. That’s the negative part I was hinting to—a revolving door of women since he got home. If it’s not a club brother dropping by to check in. It’s scantily clad club chicks who treat me like a maid and steal all of Ryker’s alone time. We’ve literally had zero time to ourselves since the first lady showed up.
Yesterday, four women and two brothers came by, and that was before the girls got home. Dad, Kade, and Bear came after, so they could see everyone, and eat dinner with us. The strange thing is, it’s as if the women planned it this way. Because they’re never here at the same time. However, they all bring food, wear skin tight clothes over their impressive bodies, and drool all over my roommate as if he’s the best thing since sliced bread. Listen, don’t get me wrong, I realize he’s a catch in certain circles. And I know that if you took a poll, 90% of women would want to bone him. Ryker’s hotness transcends age, race, and culture. There’s no denying that. What has gotten to me is how welcoming he’s been with everyone. Each person gets his undivided attention. Including the chicks who make a point to touch him in ways that aren’t suitable for guys who claim they want to be in a relationship. I’m trying hard not to get angry, or be any more jealous than normal, by chalking it up to his near-death experience giving him a different perspective on life. It’s true that it alters a person. It did me. In the last week, I’ve realized that the past can’t be changed and the future is always uncertain. So you have to embrace what you have, and live each day like it’ll be your last. I think most people appreciate that philosophy, yet only a small portion choose to let it sink in.
Which brings me to today. An hour ago another female left. Thankfully, this one had the decency to be polite to me and didn’t paw Ryker like a cat scratching post. She too brought food. Honestly, after the first lady’s offerings, I stopped looking at what they cooked. Our refrigerator is officially overrun with colorful dishes. The food inside of them is going to eventually go to waste unless someone takes it to the clubhouse. Because I refuse to eat please-pick-me-as-your-next-wife food. Can you blame me? Would you eat I-wanna-have-your-babies casserole from some woman throwing herself at the guy you’ve been in love with for years? I’m not, on principle alone. Plus, the outlandish thought of them possibly finger banging themselves prior to cooking his meal, then mixing their essence in to add a fishy aftertaste, is enough to make me gag. That’s why the only person in this house who’s ingested any of the food is Ryker himself. I won’t even let the girls indulge for the same reasons. We’re on club chick strike.
Rinsing the last cereal bowl in the sink and placing it in the top rack of the dishwasher, I add a detergent pod and close the door. Pushing the start button, I smile, feeling accomplished now that the dishes are out of the way. Grabbing my Kindle off the counter, I decide it’s time to get some reading in before Ryker climbs out of the shower and little man wakes up. When the last woman was here, I fed, burped, and changed Walker. Food seems to affect him like it does other babies—makes him sleepy. Before I had a chance to change the cute onesie my dad brought him, he was out. Someday soon, I need to go shopping for some more clothes for him or order them online. Because all the outfits we’ve got are compliments of my dad. As is the bassinet, the baby bottles, monitor, blankets, and other odds and ends. He’s been a lifesaver.
Snatching the comfy blanket off the back of my chair, I shake it out in front of me, ready to dive headfirst into my latest binge series by Sara Ney, hilariously titled How to Date a Douchebag. They were a rec I got from a readers group I follow on Goodreads. And I have to say the first two books of the series have lived up to their hype. Part of me hoped I’d get some tips on how to deal with the current douchebag I live with. So far, I haven’t learned as much as I hoped, but the entertainment value is still gut-busting. Who knew wrestlers could be that yummy? Trust me on this, Google college wrestlers and I’m certain your jaw will hit the floor. You can see everything, if you catch my pervy drift.
Resting my e-reader on the chair arm, I brace my hand on the other for support as I cradle my belly for the pregnant lady descent. Falling into the chair is a no-no this far into my pregnancy, I don’t want to pee myself. It’s happened before. Not the full enchilada. A tiny tinkle, but it’s still embarrassing as hell when you’re a young-ish woman who shouldn’t have incontinence issues.
My butt hits the soft cushion with a creak.
There’s a rap, rap, rap at the back door.
Are you kidding me right now?
Sonofabitch.
Groaning my displeasure, I readjust my glasses on my nose, and heft my round body out of the chair. Taking my sweet ass time, I waddle to the rear door, annoyed by the impatient jerk on the other side as they continue to knock for a third time.
Irritated beyond rationale, I unlock the deadbolt with an aggressive snick and yank it open. “What?” I bark, faced with yet another trashy dressed woman. That’s it. I’ve had it up to here with these chicks coming into my house when I’m trying to live a normal flippin’ life. I don’t care if they’re worried about Ryker. They could call first, or something. Anything besides dropping by unannounced, thereby disrupting our lives. Not only is it rude. It’s disrespectful.
Taking a wobbly step back on her hooker heels to get some distance from me, at least the curvy brunette has the decency to look nervous. Poised on one of her upturned palms, as expected, is food. Except… Goddammit, it’s a pecan pie—my weakness.
Snatching the pie out of her hand, not caring one bit how rude I’m acting, I growl, “Ryker’s indisposed. Come back later. Thanks for the pie.”
Before the lady has a chance to speak I slam the door in her face, pivot on my heel, stomp into the kitchen, open the garbage can and throw the damn pie away. It kills me to see all that scrumptiousness go to waste, but I’m not eating vagina pie. And if I can’t eat the vagina pecan pie, nobody can.
Fueled by days of repressed anger, fists clenched at my sides, I exit the kitchen to head to the bedroom where Ryker is. He needs to know another one of his fan club was here.
Not wanting to wake Walker, I quietly approach the closed bathroom door. Just as I’m about to reach for the knob, it opens, revealing a half-naked beefcake. With a towel wrapped haphazardly around his waist, knee perched on the scooter, Ryker pauses at the sight of me, expression transforming from relaxed to concerned in an instant.
“What’s wrong, babe?” He wheels a step closer, reaching out to touch my face.
Dodging his advance, I scoot backward and shake a fist at him. “Another one of your… your… women were here to bring you food. This one brought a… a… motherfucking pecan pie!” I rage, forgetting about the sleeping baby.
Ryker holds up both hands in surrender as droplets of water trickle down the valleys of his muscled form. “Whoa, babe. Calm down. Did she say somethin’ mean to you?”
“No!”
The dickhead has the audacity to tip his head to the side and smirk as if I’m the cutest thing he’s ever seen, not someone who’s about to club him to death. Why I’m so angry, I dunno. All I know is that I am. Each muscle in my body’s strung tighter than a guitar string, ready to snap. Air’s pistoning from my lungs at an alarming rate. My leg twitches with pent-up aggression.
Taking a substantial step away from Ryker, I gain enough distance that I can’t leap and punch him in the face. Because that’s what I wanna do right this second. Clenching and unclenching the fists at my sides, I inhale a deep breath to calm myself, and nothing freaking happens. This isn’t like me. Christ, what if I do hurt him?
“Calm down, babe, and tell me what’s got you all riled up,” he soothes with a deep whiskey drawl, sounding sexier than normal.
“Shut up. Don’t use that voice.”
“What voice?” He does it again.
“Your panty wetting voice!”
He smirks like the deviant he is. “Am I making you wet?”
Sarcastic bastard.
“Shut the hell up. All I wanted to do is come in here and tell you—”
“That a club whore brought over a pie… excuse me, a pecan pie. What I don’t understand is why you’re so angry about it. That’s your favorite kind. If you want it, it’s yours,” he offers.
“I threw it in the trash.”
“Why’d you do that?”
“’Cause I’m not eating vagina pie.”
Ryker snorts. Blue eyes glittering in amusement. “What’s vagina pie, sweetheart?”
“It’s like vagina casserole, only it’s a pie.”
The smile he cracks is blinding and even more annoying. He’s loving this more than he should. I’m not trying to be cute. “You’ve lost me there, Tiger.”
Harrumphing, I tap my barefoot on the bear rug, not getting the desired noise. It’ll have to do. “It’s food that your lady friends bring over.”
“Right. I got that part. What I don’t understand is why you call it vagina pie.”
“Because.”
“That’s a non-answer. Give it to me straight, I can take it.”
Mother fluffin’ Christ, how can he be so calm? That too is infuriating.
“I know you can. You’re a badass biker with a big dick, who almost died, and for whatever god-awful reason is somewhat attracted to me,” I blurt, cheeks burning. Embarrassed by my outburst, I briefly look away. I cannot believe I said that.
“There’s no somewhat about it, Kat. You’re the only woman I’m attracted to. Period.”
“Doesn’t seem that way to me.”
Ryker quirks a sly grin. “Are you jealous?” This pleases him to no end.
“No. I’m not.” Liar, liar pants on fire.
“You’re full of it. I know better. Now tell me.”
Growling in my throat, I scowl at the impossible man who has my name tattooed right there on his thigh, and stitches all over the place. Shit. I’m a jerk. He should probably sit down before we continue whatever this is we’re doing.
Disregarding his demand, I point to the bed. “You need to sit down.”
Scratching the back of his smooth, bald head, he frowns. “Why?”
“Because you have a cast on your leg and you’ve gotta be in some sort of pain.”
Ryker nods once as if he agrees, then scooters to the bed, and carefully climbs on. Off falls the cotton towel, and I’m greeted with an ass cheek, and a peek of half-hard cock swinging as he gets in position. Maintaining an ounce of modesty, Ryker re-lays the towel over his private area, his bare bottom kissing the mattress, shoulders resting against the headboard.
Satisfied that he’s comfortable, I ignore the growing dampness of my panties and carry on. “You okay? Did you take your medicine?”
“Kat, you’ve asked me twice today if I’m takin’ my meds, and what did I tell you?”
I roll my eyes. “That you’ve got it handled.”
“Right. ‘Cause I’m a big boy.” Ryker pats his stomach. “Been takin’ care of myself for a long time. I don’t need you to mother me.”
“I’m not mothering you,” I dispute, hooking a hand on my hip.
“Yes. Ya are, babe. It’s sweet, really. But you’ve got enough on your plate.”
I wanna stomp and yell that you’re my family, and I take care of family. Only, I don’t. There’s no use. He’s right, I suppose.
“Okay. I’ll try to stop.” It’ll be hard. Taking care of people is sort of my thing. If he doesn’t take his meds as he should, I’ll start feeling guilty.
“Thank you. Now get back to this vagina pie thing and why you’re jealous.” He waves me forth with the jerk of his hand, a tiny smile playing on his full lips.
“I’m not jealous.”
“You are. It’s not a bad thing, babe. It means you care.”
“I’ve always cared.”
“I know. Even when I didn’t deserve it. You’re a good woman.”
My pride swells.
Head held high, I reply a haughty, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now… Vagina. Pie. Spill.”
Shrugging one shoulder, I feign nonchalance. “The vagina part is gross to admit. And stupid when you think about it. But I’m not eating anything those women have brought. Mainly because, well…” I’m jealous as all get out that they were getting all your attention when we were so close to having a normal adult conversation the other day, and starting something new, against my better judgment. That they’ve been pawing at you, when I can’t manage to get a hug. Even though we’ve been sleeping next to each other, I rattle off inside my head knowing I can never say it aloud. “I picture all these women who throw themselves at you fingering their lady parts, then putting the fluid inside the dishes before they bring them by,” I cringe.
Covering his mouth with his big mitt, Ryker’s entire body starts to quake with repressed laughter. His beautiful eyes crinkle around the edges as he conceals a broad smile. Then, as if he can’t withhold it any longer he belts a short guffaw followed by another. Soon, he’s freely laughing his sexy ass off. Shoulders bouncing, his face reddens, and eyes dampen at the edges as he loses it, not caring one iota that he’s, in a roundabout way, making fun of me. Not that it matters. Not when I get to watch a treat like this. He’s so handsome when he gets lost in the moment. The way his pecs and abs flex as amusement consumes him. The wrinkles on his forehead that form. I smile softly, soaking up the unfettered view regardless if it’s at my expense.
Praying the noise hasn’t jarred Walker awake, I peer inside his bassinet for confirmation. Yep, he’s as snug as a bug in a rug. Or, more specifically, he’s as snug as a baby swaddled in a blue and white gingham blanket as he sleeps on his back, arms fanned above his head. Dark wisps of his hair are sticking up every which way. I sigh longingly. He’s so sweet.
Minutes later Ryker calms himself enough to formulate a coherent response. “I… Wow… Tiger, that’s an interesting theory.” Using his thumb, he swipes the tears from the corner of his eyes and rubs the collective wetness on the sheets.
Another shrug is pulled from me as I massage the side of my belly where the active baby kicks. “Eh.”
“You know they’re harmless, don’t you?” he prompts.
“Them, or the food?”
“Both.”
“Wrong,” I blurt, shaking my head in mild disgust, lips thinned. “I don’t believe that. They came here lookin’ all sexified to try to get you to notice them. If they weren’t, they would’ve worn yoga pants and a hoodie like every other normal woman. Then, they rubbed up on you. That’s not harmless flirtation. That’s a woman tryin’ to get the attention of a guy they, at the very least, want to screw. Your wife’s dead. They think you need someone to console you in your time of need, and they want to be that person. It wouldn’t surprise me if they’re not making side bets to see who can score first.”
“You think so?” He slings attitude.
Suppressing an eye roll, I try to make him see reason. “What kind of world are you living in? You can’t be that dense. You know when women are throwing themselves at you.”
Leaning forward, Ryker scratches around the top edge of his cast, that the girls decorated with bright girly colors and glitter nail polish his first night home. “Duh, Tiger. I’m not stupid. I figured they were just bein’ nice. Club whores aren’t all bad. Most of the regulars do care about the club.”
“N-ice?” I mock.
“Yeah, nice. They weren’t pawin’ at my dick. And most of the time when they touched me they were wantin’ to see the stitches in my shoulder and arm.”
“You’re the wounded animal, Ryker, and they wanna pounce.”
“They can try all they want. It doesn’t mean shit to me.”
“How’s that possible? You’re not the least bit flattered or turned on? Come on, you’re a guy.” I’ve never met a man in my life who wouldn’t be thrilled to have women basically throwing themselves at his feet. Why does it matter if he was flattered? I dunno. It just does. I’ve put my heart on the line for him before and ended up regretting it later. The thought of being put through that kind of anguish again is crippling. For years, I wished he would return and beg for forgiveness. It didn’t happen that way. Life never does. But to watch sexy women fling themselves at him, and he doesn’t even have the balls to acknowledge their intentions, it aches in places I didn’t know existed. I’m never going to look like those chicks. Especially not after three kids. Sexy to me is a pencil skirt, blouse, and cute boots. This body is never going to resemble hotness to the Nth degree. I have curves on top of curves and an ass that just won’t quit. And I’m okay with that, but is Ryker, long-term? When in reality he can have any lady he wants.
“Who has a woman,” Ryker snarls, yanking me from my sullen thoughts, his upper lip curling back exposing a strip of white teeth.
“Not really. We haven’t… you know…” I sulk, shoulders slumping, suddenly feeling down and out—drained.
“No. I don’t know. Tell me.” Ryker’s tone simmers down, to match mine. As if he knows how I’m feeling without having to pry.
Head tipped to stare at my feet, hands clasped behind my back, I comb my toes through the bear fur. “We…we didn’t make anything official.”
“Maybe not. But in my heart and head, it’s been official since I saw you during Thanksgiving. I haven’t touched anyone since then, besides you. And some club whore stoppin’ by to shove her tits in my face isn’t gonna change that.”
“So you do agree they’re tryin’ to shove their tits in your face, after you just said you thought they were only droppin’ by to be nice,” I mutter, glancing up, knowing I’ve got him by the balls.
Ryker stabs two fingers in my direction, temper inflating. “You’re the one who said they wanna pounce, not me. Not once did any of them offer to suck me or ride my dick.”
Resuming my pose, I swish my right foot over the rug, suppressing the urge to look at my ex. He’s too attractive to stare at for too long if I don’t want my panties to burst into flames. “Nope. They coddled you instead. The rest is implied. I can’t believe you’re not able to see that,” I whisper.
“Maybe, because I’m not lookin’. Babe, as nice as some of their tits and asses were, they’re just that—tits and asses. I’m a guy. We notice things like that. Doesn’t mean it turns us on. It’s like it’s ingrained in our DNA or some shit. However, I have no desire to touch, fuck, or cuddle with any one of those broads. Them touching my arm, or askin’ how I’m doin’ is harmless.”
“You’re an idiot if you believe that.” All it would take is the snap of his fingers, and they’d be putty in his hands. That’s the effect he has on most women. And sometimes, even me.
“No, I’m really not. They weren’t flirtin’ with me like you think.”
“Riiight.”
“I’m fuckin’ serious. You wouldn’t stick around long enough to know.”
I swallow the emotional lump in my throat. “Because I’m not gonna sit and watch them flirt with you.” After everything we’ve been through, and the chats we had this week, it kills me to watch. There’s only so much I can take. I’m not a glutton for punishment. Nor am I going to wallow in self-pity. When life gives you lemons, you flip off the world, make a pitcher of margaritas, and burn your bra. Hopefully, sooner rather than later, this maudlin crap will pass, and I’ll be ready to do just that.
“Jesus, babe, I cannot believe we’re arguin’ about this. First, it’s the club you hate. Now a few club whores can’t bring food for us to eat without you gettin’ jealous. Women are gonna throw themselves at me, Kat. It’s gonna happen. You’re gonna have to trust me enough to know that I would never, ever, let anything go on with any of ‘em. I love you. Not them. I’m not askin’ for them to flirt, nor am I flirtin’ back.”
A tiny rosebud of hope blooms in my chest.
“But you won’t tell them to stop, either. Like you did with the doctor.” This is true, he can’t deny it.
“The doctor was disrespecting you.”
“And these women aren’t by coming into our—your home and touchin’ you?”
“No. They’re not,” he placates. “If they were rude, I would’ve kicked them out without thinkin’ twice. But most of them were here to genuinely ask if I was okay. And when I started tellin’ them about you and the girls, they weren’t assholes about it. They were nice. Even asked questions.”
My head snaps up, lips parted in surprise. “You talked about us?”
Ryker’s chest puffs up, a smirk hooking the corner of his mouth. “Fuck yeah, I did. My kids know who I am now. And we’re workin’ on bein’ together. Why wouldn’t I tell them?”
My fingertips tingle at his admission.
“So they know—”
“That you’re my old lady? Yeah.” He nods the affirmative a few times. “They all know. The whole fuckin’ club knows I’m with Ghost’s daughter. The guys who dropped by yesterday were givin’ me shit about it. Sayin’ I’d better not fuck up, or my pops and Ghost would be gunnin’ for me. Like I didn’t already know that.” Ryker rolls his eyes on the last part, smiling playfully at me, two fingers tapping out beats on his thigh.
Shifting from foot to foot, as a toasty yet exuberant feeling bubbles in my gut, I moisten my bottom lip with the sweep of my tongue. “I… I still can’t believe you talked to them about us.”
“Babe, I’m gonna talk about us to anyone who’s willin’ to listen. I’m proud as fuck to have you and my girls back in my life. A few club whores droppin’ food off and touchin’ my arm ain’t gonna change that. Either they respect that I got a woman, or they get the hell outta our house. Simple as that. What I don’t like is you gettin’ all jealous over stupid shit. There’s nothin’ to be jealous over. You own my dick, Tiger. Along with my heart and every other fuckin’ piece of me. I’m hopelessly devoted to only you… And, sweetheart, it wouldn’t surprise me if some of those chicks drop by a few more times with food. Next time, though, it wouldn’t hurt if you actually spoke to them instead of blowin’ ‘em off. I get that old ladies, and club whores don’t always mix. But that doesn’t have to be the case. Trust me, they can get plenty of biker dick from other club brothers. They don’t need to try and ride mine.”
You own my dick. Along with my heart and every other fuckin’ piece of me. I’m hopelessly devoted to only you. Oh… um… holy hot man gravy… wow… that’s… I’m feeling a bit pink and mushy. I nearly melt into a puddle of sparkly goo as my insides go bird flappy insane. So many sensations. So much… fluttery warmth. The maddening contradictions quicken my heart rate, and insight a riot between my rubbery legs. Squeezing my thighs together to suppress the growing war in my loins, a toe-curling shot of pleasure shoots up my spine, and down my fingertips where it stops to signal my brain. The urge to touch, to feel, to get off, is suddenly so overwhelming I have to reach out and catch myself on the mantel. A torrent of wetness soaks through the fabric of my comfy cottons and leggings. Any second now and I’ll combust. How this man can invoke such strong feelings from me is… intense.
Closing my eyes, I exhale a harsh breath to gather my wits. Talking about his dick shouldn’t do this to me. My clit shouldn’t be firing on all cylinders. But that… dick… and that… Mmm… fine ass.
I bite my bottom lip at the mere thought.
“Babe. Are you alright?” Ryker asks, raw concern lacing his words.
Nodding on repeat, I squeak an, “Umm-hmm.”
There’s a rustling of bedsheets and creaking of the mattress as Ryker readjusts. I’m too damn consumed right now to look. Inhaling and exhaling in a methodic pattern begins to lessen the ache between my thighs. My vice grip on the mantel loosens between each breath. There, not so bad. I can control this. Hormones don’t own me, I own the hormones. Suckas!
“Sweetheart, look at me,” Ryker coaxes in the gentlest tone.
Holding up my pointer finger, I signal for him to give me a moment. I’m almost regulated. See, I can do it. Mind over matter and all that horse doo doo.
Ryker clears his throat. “No. Babe. I need you to look now. Please.”
Fine. Since he asked nicely.
Rolling my shoulders, I blink a couple times to clear my vision, then lift my gaze.
Wha…
What…
What!?
“Wh—what are you doing?”
He’s lying flat on his back naked! N-a-k-e-d. Oh-my-aching-nipples-god. The towel’s gone. The blankets are bunched at the end of the bed, and his cock is… magnificent. Hard. So very hard. The tip’s glistening with a pearl of pre-cum. My mouth waters at the sight. Why’s he doing this to me? This isn’t fucking fair. If it wouldn’t make me look like a five-year-old having a temper tantrum, I’d stomp my foot right now, and whine about how unfair life is. Because I know for a fact he can’t have sex. I’ve read the doctors instructions. He has to wait six weeks for the wound on his thigh to heal well enough. Plus, there was a bunch of other reasons I skimmed over before tossing the paperwork on the counter with an exaggerated huff. Life truly isn’t fair. Not when you have a man with abs that fine, pecs sculpted by the God’s, and nipple rings that beckon for you to play. I fucking hate him and his sexy body. Damn him. I curse those V hips, that cute belly button, strong jaw, perfect lips, and those eyes. You might as well put me out of my misery now because this is pure torture.
Grinning like the devil himself, Ryker taps his lips with two fingers. “Come on up here, beautiful.”
“What? Why…why… would I do that?” I croak.
“So I can eat your pussy.”
Yikes.
Eat my… That sounds…wond—
Nope… Can’t do it.
A shiver passes through me as I shake my head. “That’s not possible,” I half-ass contend. Which sounds more like I’m trying to convince myself, not him.
First and foremost he almost died less than two weeks ago, and if that wasn’t an issue, dying again from suffocation by way of your baby’s mama is justification número dos. All of this, should not sit on all that. Death by pussy is not a good way to go. And I don’t give a hoot who says otherwise.
Undeterred, Ryker taps those fine lips a second time, eyes sparking with mischief. “I wanna lick your pussy. It’s possible. The doc said I can’t fuck. And I gotta agree with him. I’m sore all the damn time. But that ain’t gonna stop me from gettin’ you off.”
“I don’t wanna hurt… or… suffocate you.” I cringe.
Ryker snorts. “You’ve got nothin’ to worry about. Look at it this way, you’re doin’ me a favor. I’m hungry for some pussy, and you’re helpin’ a crippled man out.”
My eyes couldn’t roll any harder. “You’re not crippled, smart ass.”
“I am if that’s what gets your sexy ass up here to give me a taste. I’ve wanted to go down on you since I got home, but couldn’t think of a logistical way ‘til now. All you gotta do is straddle my face, hold the headboard for support, and let me feast for a while. Trust me, you’ll love it.”
“I… I can’t d d…do that,” I sputter, rechecking my grip on the mantle to make sure it’ll hold should my trembling legs give out. This isn’t right. All this dirty talk has my libido running rampant. I’m trying hard not to let it seep into my brain, but I’m bound to fail. He’s too tempting for words.
“Kat, I’m gonna count to five. If your pussy lips aren’t kissin’ mine, I’m climbin’ outta this bed, crawlin’ across the fuckin’ floor, and tonguin’ your slit regardless if it’s gonna hurt me or not. I wanna eat. Feed me.”
My stomach flip flops as a flood of wetness collects between the juncture of my thighs.
Sighing long and hard, my resistance fades. I glower at the stubborn jerk. “You can’t keep threatening me this way.”
“I will if it works.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“Then I’m gettin’ outta the bed to get what I want—you.”
The stern expression Ryker wears tells me everything I need to know. He’s not joking. And as much as I don’t want to give in to the bastard, I also kinda do. The deciding factor is his safety. If it takes me breaking out of my comfort zone to ‘feed him’ then I guess I’ll do it. Poor me. Has to get her pussy licked. Darn. Such a hassle. I just pray he doesn’t suffocate to death. That would be a crying shame.
Shaking out my legs to test their strength, I make sure they’re stable enough to release the fireplace mantel, before dipping my fingers into the top of my leggings. Refusing to overthink, I tug them down along with my panties in one fumbling, unsexy maneuver. Ryker sucks in a sharp breath as I expose my pale, freshly shaved legs. It might’ve taken me thirty minutes to get these smooth, along with my girl bits, but they’re done-ish. Kicking out of the garments, I stretch to my full height, which isn’t much. Instinctively, I cover my girl parts with folded hands and rock back on my heels. This is weird. I dunno if I can go through with it.
Ryker urges me forward with the crook of his finger. “Off with the shirt and bra.” He swipes his bottom lip with his tongue, leaving a sheen that I wanna taste.
This isn’t going to work.
I can’t take off the rest of my clothes.
It’s one thing to be naked when you’re not three weeks from your due date. This close and I’m the size of the Goodyear blimp. The stretch marks covering my stomach are deep purple. My breasts are swollen and leaky. Not exactly a turn on.
When I don’t move, the naughty glint in Ryker’s eyes softens around the edges, nibbling away at my hard outer shell that keeps me from throwing all caution to the wind. “Don’t be shy, sweetheart. You know I think you’re gorgeous. Seein’ you pregnant gets me so hard I could pound a dozen nails through a steel beam.”
Flattery shouldn’t get you everywhere, but it does. I take a tiny step closer.
He keeps going. “That’s it. I can’t wait to taste you.”
Another step.
“Tongue that sweet slit until you burst all over my face, screamin’ my name.”
Oh, Jesus. I blow out a shaky breath. If he keeps talking nasty like that, I’m gonna come before I ever get his tongue on me.
Another step.
Two more and I’ll be there.
Ryker tastes those lips again, his smoldering eyes burning a hole through me. “That’s it,” he husks, wrapping a fist around his erection, and giving it one hot, languid pull from root to tip. Arching his back, his eyelids slide closed, and he moans as if touching himself is the most pleasurable thing he’s ever felt. It’s so fucking hot to watch that I find myself slipping a finger through my soaked cleft to rub my clit. Clenching my molars together, I bite back a moan.
Ryker tugs again. Another even needier moan draws from his soul. His good leg bends at the knee, heel driving into the mattress, toes flexing, as he fucks his fist in slow, unhurried tugs. Watching him fall apart bit by bit, I remove the rest of my clothes, unable to tear my eyes away. Discarding my bra and shirt, I return my finger to my achy bits and draw pleasure from his. This is the sexiest thing I’ve done in my life… or one of them.
“Kat,” Ryker cries out, completely wrecked from touching himself. “I need you. I fuckin’ need you so bad, babe.” He flicks his pink tongue against his bottom lip, beckoning me to sit.
Tossing my insecurities aside, I carefully crawl onto the bed and straddle Ryker’s face. He adjusts me a little using one strong arm as he keeps the other hand wrapped around his member. Following his previous instructions, I curve both hands over the lip of the headboard and settle close to his lips.
Nuzzling his nose to my clit, Ryker presses a tender kiss to my entrance. Then another, which is followed by the poke of his tongue as if he’s sampling the vintage. He does it again, slipping inside a fraction and swirling. Expelling a shuddery breath, I nearly break apart at the glorious touch.
Yesss.
Moaning against my wet flesh, he continues to play with himself. The vibrations send rapturous pleasure through my already aching sex. Gripping the wooden bedframe harder, I toss my head back and part my lips, relishing the unfettered ecstasy.
That’s it.
This is…
Sweet Moses.
My thighs tremble, heat churning in my gut.
If he keeps this up, I’m gonna come all over his face.
Ryker
I’m losin’ my goddamn mind. Kat’s scent and sweet taste has corrupted me. The more I eat her pussy, the more I want. Like a starved animal, I quit sampling the goods and dive in. Ravaging her entrance, spearing it with my tongue like I would my throbbing cock, I eat my woman until I’ve got her trembling so violently I’m worried she may hurt herself. A heady moan rips from her throat, spurring me on as she grinds against my face—possessed.
Fuck yeah. That’s right, baby, ride my fuckin’ face and make it yours. Cum all over it. Make my skin burn and tongue cramp. I want it. I want it all so fuckin’ much. I love you. I love you more than life itself. Ride it, beautiful. That’s it.
Not giving two damns about my dick, I focus all energy on the love of my life and devour her cunt. Kat cries out, mumbling a string of incoherent words as she palms the top of my bald head, connecting. Happiness beyond my wildest imagination throbs alongside my heart. I’m gonna ruin her. I have to make her lose her mind like she has mine. I can’t be the only one who feels this.
Fuck, she’s incredible.
Reaching around with both hands, I palm her full tits. Kat wails a broken song, back arching, when I pluck her stiff nipples. Warm liquid drips down my fingertips makin’ my cock lurch. Needin’ more, I roll those marbles on repeat and draw her clit into my mouth.
“Oh… Oh God.” She thrashes, and the headboard creaks from the force of her grip. The hand on my head curls inward, nails digging into flesh. The sharp bite of pain yanks a hoarse moan from my throat, kickin’ my hunger up a notch.
That’s it, my little Tiger. Let it go. Make me bleed.
Knowin’ I can’t encourage her with words, I focus my energy on makin’ her shatter. Suckin’ her clit, I flick my tongue sharply over the bud, then draw our names across the sweet flesh. By the time I reach the end of Kat’s surname, her world unravels. Slamming her hips down so I can no longer move, a torrent of fluid drenches half my face as she screams, “Ryyyykker!”
Unlatching from her clit, to give it a moments rest, I slide back inside the warm hole my dick wants to take up residence in. Lapping her juices, not wanting them to go to waste, her pussy clenches and unclenches around my invading tongue as it rides the orgasmic surf to shore.
Damn, she tastes delicious.
My cock jerks a nod, slapping my belly in agreement, painting my skin with pre-cum.
Hunching forward, exhaling a shuddery groan, Kat trembles through a series of aftershocks as she extracts her claws from my skull. “F-fuck. I’m so sorry,” she bemoans, throat scratchy.
I wanna tell her it’s alright, that I don’t mind. Except my mouth is too preoccupied and I don’t plan on stopping my ministrations anytime soon. One orgasm down, another five or ten to go.