“First, I want to taste myself on your lips,” he says before giving me the hottest, wettest kiss he’s ever given me. He devours my lips in his mouth, licking, sucking, and plundering them. When we break away, I gasp and then instantly turn my attention back to his cock.
I take him to the back of my throat and try to relax the muscles there, to take him further. I want all of him, but he seems wider, harder than he was in the car. I use my hand to roll his balls around, concentrating so much on what I’m doing that I don’t hear the roar in the background. I should have, but I’m too far gone into the place that making love with Sabre always sends me. His hands tighten in my hair, the pressure and sting of his rough hold is delicious.
Finally, I get his whole cock in my mouth and I know it’s not just my imagination; he is bigger. I’m too much of a novice to know if that’s possible, but I know how he feels in my mouth and I almost can’t fit him. I hum against his cock and I want to give him what he wants from me, but I can’t. I don’t get the chance because he takes over. He doesn’t ask, he demands. He uses his hold on me to push me up and down on his cock. Why does that excite me even more? I do my best to give him what he wants but he stops and pulls me away.
“Sabre, please, I need it,” I whine, sounding like a child being denied her favorite treat—because I am, damn it!
“Well, hello there querida, and here I was wondering why I caught my man with his pants down.”
I look up to see a rough biker looking over the railing at us. He’s got dark hair and darker eyes. He looks worn and sad, even if there is laughter in his eyes. He’s not pretty or poster-sexy like Sabre, but he’s dangerous and there’s something about him just the same. I decide all that in a matter of seconds because I’m too busy wanting to die of shame.
Sabre releases my hair and I slide away from him. I look up at him almost afraid of what I’ll see. He gives me a tight smile, tucking his cock back inside his pants even though it’s really too big to fit comfortably. I have the strangest urge to kiss it against the now zipped jeans since I can see the outline perfectly. I ignore the voice of caution and do it. I mean they’ve already seen what was happening. My face may be beet red, but I’m going to ignore it. Sabre’s hand comes down and pets the side of my head gently. It feels like a reward. Maybe that’s why Brittany, my cat, always wants me to pet her. Because right there, even with other people around, I think I might be the happiest woman around.
Sabre helps me to my feet, pulls me close to him, and tucks my head under his chin. I bury my head in his chest and hug him tight.
“What the hell do you guys want?” He says and I bury my head more, partly from embarrassment—okay, mostly from that. Still, I like the feel of being surrounded by him, I like the smell of him, I like everything about being in his arms.
“Aw, hermano! Do you not wish to introduce me to your new plaything?” The other man asks, and I want to disappear. I even think my heart hurts. I don’t want to be a plaything. I’ve been fooling myself, I guess. I thought I was more.
“She’s not a toy, Pres. Annie here is my ole’ lady.”
Everyone around us goes quiet. I pull back to look into Sabre’s eyes. I’m not sure what the distinction is, but it feels important. It feels momentous. I want to savor it. To soak it in. I can’t, though, because it hits me that over the past week, Sabre has explained how important his club is to him. He’s told me how they are his family. He just basically made us a couple, and soon, I’m going to jump and scream and dance like a little girl over that. I want to scream it from the roof, but what is making me want to completely die of mortification is that I just met his President while on my knees sucking my man’s cock.
I wanted to be Sabre’s wild Annie. I wasn’t exactly going for slut Annie. Crap.
Chapter 11
Sabre
Cock-blocked by my own fucking club. Hell, when did getting inside a woman’s * take an act of Congress?
I doubt Annie realizes the importance of what I just did, but the boys do. Now, if they’d just fucking leave. From the look on Skull’s face, that’s going to happen. If a man could go stark raving mad from lack of * and being teased to death, I am there. I am so fucking there. With a sigh, I let go of Annie and reach over and get my cut, putting it back on.
“What’s up?”
“Donahue brothers,” Skull answers wearing that and the haunted look again. I have an instant gut check moment. There’s not a brother among us that doesn’t grieve for the loss of Beth. There’s not a brother who doesn’t know the effect it’s had on our president. Skull is a different man.