Free Betting It All: A Hellfire Riders MC Romance (The Motorcycle Clubs Book 11) by Kati Wilde Page B

His hot mouth latches onto my breast, and when he sucks hard on my sensitive nipple I can’t stop the sound that erupts from me, a combination of a grunt and a whimper and sheer pleasure. I clench my jaw too late—and oh, my God, his face, cheeks hollowed and eyes closed, as if he’s savoring this first taste, savoring my involuntary response.
    Then his teeth scrape my nipple on a sharp tug and my legs almost give out, but it’s Jack who’s sinking to his knees, his mouth moving down my stomach, over to the curve of my waist. A shiver races through me when he licks my hipbone, then nips the taut stretch of skin above the waist of my jeans.
    His long fingers pull at my belt and unbutton my jeans. My body stills, everything inside me suddenly focusing on his hands as he drags the denim down my legs. His tongue slides over my hip again before he begins making his way down, his strong fingers digging into my ass to hold me in place. I’m not even naked. I’m wearing my panties, a pair of black cotton boyshorts, but I tremble as his lips near the junction of my thighs.
    His mouth reaches my pussy and he inhales. “You smell so good.” His voice is a hungry growl. “And you’re soaked.”
    My heart thundering, I swallow hard and make my mouth form a few words. “I was riding. The vibration always gets to me.”
    Bullshit. I need more stimulation than that.
    I need more, like his warm breath whispering over my skin. Like the gentle nudge on my clit when he flicks his tongue against the drenched cotton. Like his groan when he tastes me. His fingers tighten on my ass as if he’s going to haul me closer and eat my pussy right here.
    Instead he slides his arm down behind my knees and picks me up. Holy shit. Caught off balance, my lower legs still trapped by my jeans, I loop my bound arms around his neck—and he’s carrying me against his chest. Carrying me. As if I’m six feet of nothing, through the living room and into the kitchen, where he drops his saddlebags onto the small breakfast table. They land with a heavy thunk amid piles of mail and magazines.
    Still reeling— holy fuck he’s carrying me —I ask, “What the hell do you have in there?”
    “Dinner, since neither of us ate at the meeting. Or fuel for later, if you ate when you went riding.”
    “I didn’t.”
    “Good.” He continues on through the dining room, where I finally manage to kick my jeans down over my ankles. They land somewhere on the short flight of stairs leading to the bedrooms in the upper level. “There’s also more lube.”
    I can’t stop my grin when I see the amused curve of his lips. God, even if he screws my ass, I really am going to enjoy this.
    Enjoy winning, I mean. Not this . Not the carrying or the licking or anything else.
    And definitely not enjoying the way he lays me in the middle of my bed, gently, like he’s some chivalrous hero and I’m some virginal damsel. Tension suddenly rides over me again, holding my body in a taut grip. At least the romantic image is shattered when he takes hold of the long rope and lashes it to the headboard, drawing my hands up over my head.
    Gruffly he says, “There’s enough slack that you can still open the cuffs with your teeth.”
    I nod, my body stiff. Time for the fucking to begin. “I’m lucky I don’t have a padded headboard. You’d have to tie me somewhere that isn’t as comfortable and it’d be harder for me to fall asleep while you’re poking your dick into me.”
    “Not luck.” He pulls off his boots, setting them neatly beside the bed. “I reconnoitered.”
    My mouth drops open. I stare at him as he places his shoulder harness on the nightstand, searching his face for the smile that says he’s joking. He’s not. “You scoped out my place? You broke in and scoped out my place?”
    “Yes.”
    Jesus. “That’s so fucked up.”
    Still fully dressed, he eases down on my left side, stretching out the length of his hard body against mine. “Yes.”
    Yes. So