Free The Bare Bones (The Bare Bones MC) by Layla Wolfe Page B

only had he discovered who and where his birth mother was, she had just died, and he already had a dead brother. Oh, and he may be a carrier of the Tay-Sachs gene. And his girlfriend had just left him. He was in dire need of some serious loving. I sat so close, the shelf of my boobs pressed against his upper arm. It was in the forties outside, and he wore a hoodie under his cut—the same cut that was now emblazoned with a “V. PRESIDENT” patch over his right pec.
    “I can’t begin to know what you’re going through,” I started off lamely. It was always a lie to pretend you could commiserate with some of the most massive clusterfucks people had to deal with in hospitals. I really couldn’t commiserate. I’d never had anyone close to me die before. “You can be tested, find out if you’re a carrier. It’s a simple blood test.”
    I stroked his stubbled jaw with my other hand. I had a full view of his magnificent profile—that stupendous aquiline nose, those full, cherubic lips, like a Roman statue come to life.
    I had never been able to hold out against him. And when he turned his face to mine, I just lost it. His beautiful rich root beer eyes were shimmering with unshed tears, too. My great big tough guy needed someone. My giant brawny, rugged love of my life needed comfort.
    “I need you, Maddy,” he said quietly.
    I kissed him.
    What was supposed to be a sweet, tender kiss immediately turned into a no-holds-barred mackfest. The second I parted my mouth over his juicy lower lip, Ford grabbed me and vaulted me into his lap. He slammed me down over his fat, erect penis, and I instantly began gyrating like a pole dancer. We went at it like maniacs, twelve endless years of pent-up lust just gripping us in a massive clinch.
    Within seconds my pussy had soaked through to my scrub pants, and I could smell myself. I knew the scent would probably set Ford off on some primordial, basic level—pheromones driving him over the edge.
    He twisted a handful of my carefully coiffed bun in one hand. The other big, wide hand held me up by my ribcage as he licked my lips, my tongue, the roof of my mouth. My pussy quivered with arousal, fluttering and clenching like it had a mind of its own, wanting cock.
    I had been fucked a lot in the past twelve years. I let Moe do it every night just for letting me stay with him while I finished nursing school. Then when I got my first nursing job I got my own condo, but I still had that emptiness that needed filling. It was still more of an existential loneliness that made me seek out other nurses, interns, doctors.
    Men in the medical field were some of the most twisted bastards on the planet. I fucked an oncologist for a few months once who would only screw if I had inserted a urethral sound into his penis. His favorite was a “trailer hitch” with a ball that went up his ass, the pointy silver part up his urethra. Whatever worked, but I was ready for something a bit more vanilla. Dr. Dubois and I currently only engaged in a bit of mild BDSM, a little spanking here and there.
    Sucking on Ford’s swollen lower lip, my sighs brought out the beast in him. He gave a couple of little hops and unfolded my legs so I straddled him completely. My sopping pussy was now plastered directly over his throbbing dick, and with both feet on the ground I could gyrate in any direction I wanted, bringing the most sensual growls from deep within his chest.
    He pressed down on my shoulder to leverage my pussy against his erection. My two layers of flimsy cotton were so soaked I could actually feel the corona’s ridge of his fat cock against my slick lips. I released his lower lip so I could moan.
    “Ford. I can’t.”
    “Yes you can.” He slanted his mouth against mine and nibbled, effectively shutting me up.
    “No, I mean…” I wrenched myself from his lap and staggered like a juiced football player on a bender.
    “Maddy, don’t.” It was a cross between a plea and an order.
    I don’t know how