Текст книги "Make You Burn"
Автор книги: Megan Crane
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
But she had no intention of running when he called, thank you. She might be a biker bitch down deep in her bones, but that didn’t make her his biker bitch.
Instead, Sophie smiled at the man beside Ajax, who gaped at her, then at Ajax, before turning his back to her. The idiot on her left, who’d spent at least ten minutes drooling over her dress earlier, gulped so loudly she could hear it above the music, and threw himself back into the crowd.
She looked back at Ajax, her eyes narrowed, and he only shrugged, that shit-eating grin all over his face and pure murder in his eyes.
And the truth about all of this, Sophie understood then, was that she’d never wanted anyone more. She couldn’t imagine how she ever would.
She took her time walking to him. Because surrendering to the inevitable wasn’t the same thing as full capitulation. It didn’t make her a junkie if she was choosing this—choosing him—instead of merely succumbing. Or so she told herself.
That look in Ajax’s eyes, darker the closer she got, filled with sex and mayhem and the promise of retribution, told her otherwise.
She slowed down. His gaze heated up. She made sure her hips swung and he really got the full effect of all her cutouts and her bare skin beneath. The one on her side that spanned her hip. The one just below one breast. She felt his hard gaze lick over her and his grin had turned deadly by the time she stopped in front of him, as close to standing between his outstretched legs as she could get without actually touching him.
Then it was as if someone turned off the music, the sound of the crowd, the French Quarter in full wail outside. There was only the jarring thud of her heart and Ajax. Ajax everywhere, so tall and strong and lethal that no one dared get too close to him. Ajax brighter than the moon and the stars and the lights on Bourbon Street, and all Sophie could seem to do was bask in the glare of it. Of him.
He reached over and slid his hand over the fall of her hair, and then held on. Tight, though she refused to react to the yank of it. He never dropped that blistering gaze from hers. He merely began to wrap her hair around his big, battered hand and scraped knuckles, twisting it over his palm, tugging as he went until he had her on a short leash made of her own long hair. All he’d have to do was pull a little bit to bring her sprawling up against him.
She waited, tensed and ready, but he didn’t do it.
And she ached, everywhere. She needed. She was wet and close to desperate, her nipples so hard they made her breasts feel swollen, and she couldn’t seem to pull in a full breath.
“Hey, baby,” Ajax said, danger and delirium and something dark like fate in his rough voice, though it spread over Sophie like sweet, hot syrup. “You making new friends?”
Chapter 10
Sophie didn’t respond.
She hung there before him, that tight body of hers on display, defiance in her green eyes, and those lush lips of hers pressed together in a firm line, and Ajax thought that keeping her mouth shut for once was maybe the smartest move she’d made all night.
He made the hand he’d wrapped up in the rope of her hair into a fist and he felt the tiny wince she tried to repress. He could see her pulse going nuts in her throat, like the pinch of it made her hotter. He was sure he could smell her, warm and Sophie and all that hunger that was his, damn her.
It was his. She was his.
He kept his back against the bar and hauled her closer, then tracked those fucking circles of no dress at all that made her as good as naked. He slid his hand over the indentation of her waist that was exposed to the entire goddamned bar, and felt her quiver against him. So he kept going, keeping his hand beneath what little stretchy purple fabric there was, smoothing his way over one cheek of that sweet ass and growling at her as he gripped it, right up against that mouth of hers he was holding so close to his own.
“What the fuck is the point of wearing a dress that isn’t a goddamned dress at all?”
Sophie smiled, damn her. Her mouth curved and her green eyes saw everything, all that shit inside of him he refused to name, and her lips were so close to his that he could almost feel that smile of hers like it was his own.
“This.” He could feel that, too. He could taste her when she spoke. “This is the point.”
He didn’t take her mouth. He gripped that ass like it might be the saving of him and he shifted his gaze, slightly, to fix it on a dumbass businessman bitch gaping at them from behind her.
“You like to watch, douchebag?”
The businessman jolted, took a good look at Ajax, and ran off, the way all bitches did.
“I thought you liked public sex,” Sophie taunted him, like he didn’t have her ass in one hand and her immobilized by the hair with the other. “What did you call it? A public service? What’s the matter—the big, bad biker not feeling like a good citizen tonight?”
This woman was going to kill him.
Ajax couldn’t fucking wait.
He yanked her smart mouth to his and he ate at it, thrusting his tongue deep, taking her over like he was fucking her already, deep and long and hard. So hard. And this was Sophie, his Sophie, so she didn’t just stand there and take it. She melted against him. She slid her hands up to dig into his chest, one thumb against one of his nipples for that little bite, and she gave as good as she got.
The kiss was dirty. Raunchy. Wet and carnal and fucked up in the middle of all these people, but she was right. Ajax didn’t give a fuck. Let them watch. Maybe those pansy little bitches who had tried to get their hands on his woman on the dance floor would learn something.
Like how to make a woman this hot moan into his mouth. How to make her writhe against him, sticking her ass back to fill his hand, making him think about the fastest way to get his cock as deep inside her as possible—
But instead he moved his hand lower, curving around her ass to that hot, wet cunt below. No panties. Nothing but wet, greedy pussy and his woman’s tongue deep in his mouth, her hard little nipples rubbing against his chest.
He needed to fuck her.
Now.
Ajax tore his mouth from hers and they both panted there, hot and dark. He didn’t give a shit about the crowd. He didn’t care if more fuckers were watching him, if they could see he’d found her slippery folds. He didn’t care about anything but the way she arched into him and moaned low when he thrust two fingers deep into her, all of that soft, creamy fire so fucking perfect his chest hurt.
He made a noise he’d never heard come out of him before and then he pulled his fingers out, then put them back through that ridiculous hole in her dress.
“If this is a game of chicken,” Sophie said, dark and breathy, right there against his mouth, because she never broke. Not this woman. “You lose.”
“You think?”
He dragged his hand away from the warmth of her body, out of that slinky little fuck me dress, and then he plunged the two fingers that had been deep in her cunt into that smart fucking mouth of hers. She didn’t hesitate. Sophie held his gaze with hers, challenge and that crazy need and a darkness that sang to him besides, and she sucked. She licked. She took her own cream from his fingers and he felt his cock try to claw its way out of his jeans, and she was the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen.
He took her mouth again. Savage. Desperate.
He tasted her sweet pussy, hot against her tongue. He tasted the drinks she’d had, the spike of rum and that kick that was all her. All of that and Sophie, his fucking match in every goddamned way.
His.
He unwrapped his hand from her hair and then he pushed her back again, shoving away from the bar. He saw nothing but obstacles, but Ajax had never met an obstacle he couldn’t get around. Tonight was no different—and he wanted Sophie a hell of a lot more than he’d wanted some of the other things he’d managed to get in his day. He grabbed her hand and pulled her next to him, then in front of him. He gripped her by the nape of her neck and he propelled her forward through the annoying, heaving crowd that parted before them once they got a look at his face.
He must have looked evil, he thought, when a couple licking each other’s faces in front of him did a double take and then jumped aside.
Whatever worked.
“Stop fighting me,” he growled at Sophie as she tried to lead the way. “You want my cock inside you or you want to have a fight about who’s in charge?”
She looked over her shoulder at him, her mouth a little crook of defiance, and God help him, she was going to bring him to his knees. How could he know that and not give a shit? What was happening to him?
“I don’t think I really have to make that decision, Sean. I think I can do both, and I think I still win.”
“It’s a question of how soon, babe.” His hand tightened around the back of her neck, and because this was Sophie, she laughed at him and leaned into it. And he fucking loved it. “You want to talk about your feelings? You want to lecture me on how I should treat you? I’m still gonna fuck you, you’re right about that. But I might not let you come, just for pissing me off.”
She laughed again, harder, and it made her green eyes sparkle and what the fuck was the matter with him that he felt that like a blow job from some other bitch?
“Liar,” she said, like she knew something he didn’t, and Ajax had zero desire to explore that pounding thing in him that agreed. That definitely agreed. “You live to make me come.”
She wasn’t wrong about that, which was another thing he had no plans to analyze. But he noticed she shut the fuck up and turned back around, and then she let him steer her where he wanted her to go. Sure enough, he was flipping a few twenties at a bouncer and pushing her out into an alley in about two minutes flat.
He let go of her as the steel door clanged shut behind them and she staggered forward a foot or two on those fucking hooker shoes of hers before she caught herself. She straightened, a lot like she had that night in her living room, but this time, she turned back to face him.
He almost didn’t recognize her then, her eyes were so dark. So serious.
“Did you follow me tonight?”
Ajax laughed. “Half of Bourbon Street followed you with their tongues hanging out, slamming into each other like a fucking boner festival. Figured that was your goal.”
“You must have followed me.” She eyed him. The alley was at least fifteen degrees cooler than that mess of a bar, but he didn’t think that was why she had goosebumps everywhere. “Why?”
“Why do you think?” He shook his head. “You wear that joke of a dress for someone else?”
“Anyone else.” Sophie waved her hands in the air in a little arc that could have contained the whole of the French Quarter. “Everyone else.”
“You have shitty luck then, babe. Because one more man touched you in there? I was gonna take him apart. You’re lucky you stopped dancing when you did.”
“And again.” Her voice was quiet, but not cool. Not with that look in her eyes, burning him up from across the few feet of darkness that separated them, burrowing deep beneath his skin like a bruise. “Why?”
Ajax didn’t want to answer her. He didn’t want to acknowledge that roaring thing inside him that was rattling in its cage, fighting to get out. He didn’t want to admit that he’d almost flipped the table when she’d walked out of the Priory in that fucking stripper outfit. That he’d come this close to punching his brother Cash in his face because he happened to be standing there, not even wearing his cut, as further insult. That he’d shouldered his way out into the chaos of Bourbon Street and had followed her.
Oh yeah. He’d actually followed her.
Again.
Like her ass was a homing beacon and he was fucking powerless to resist it, and there wasn’t one goddamned thing he liked about that. Not one.
He’d followed her across the Quarter once already, when she’d been nothing to him but a sweet butt in gold hot pants. Tonight he’d followed her as she’d dodged drunks and ducked out of unwanted embraces, never looking back to see the trail of devastation she left in her wake. That being Ajax, who’d come along behind her and dispensed a little biker justice to every motherfucker who’d dared touch her or even look at her too long, by his estimation. A drunk pushed face-first into a wall here, a tourist tripped and shoved to the street there.
Sophie was his. No matter how naked she seemed to want to be on the streets of New Orleans—and he couldn’t argue with that, given that body of hers was a work of fucking art. But she was his all the same.
And no matter if she was the only one standing in this alley right now who didn’t get that.
Ajax wasn’t going to say it. He didn’t know how to say something so contrary to everything he was and anyway, he’d been pretty fucking eloquent with his fists and his temper for the past few hours. He was done talking.
His cock was a far better negotiator. Time to let him out.
“Shut up,” he told her, his voice so low it was almost a part of the city itself, late-night sin and the far-off kick of jazz in the air. “And show me that pussy you’ve been teasing the whole fucking French Quarter with all night.”
Her throat worked and he expected more smartass remarks—but maybe she’d learned something here. Or maybe the look on his face was as fucking ferocious as it felt.
Either way, Sophie licked her lips, and he felt that in his cock like a slap. He forced himself to stand still. To watch as she spread her legs wider apart and stood there a moment, the stretchy fabric of her ridiculous fucking dress tight over her thighs. And then she reached down and pulled the dress up, rolling it back to expose those smooth, sweet thighs. Then higher, so it was hard to breathe. Then higher still, until the dress was bunched around her waist and her pussy was fully exposed to the night air.
And to him.
The animal inside him almost broke the chain and lunged at her, but Ajax held it back. Somehow. He held himself very, very still, though he could see the way her gaze dropped to move over his hard cock pressing against his jeans. And God knew he wanted to fuck that smart mouth of hers, but he knew that if he did, that would be the end of this.
He wanted more than to bust a nut. And Ajax didn’t feel like psychoanalyzing himself on that one, either.
“Make yourself come, Sophie.”
It came out hard. Guttural. An order.
She jerked. “What? Why?”
Ajax wasn’t playing.
“Fuck yourself. Here. Now.”
She licked her lips again, and she really was going to kill him. She was halfway there, and that was before she tilted up her chin and ran her hands down her thighs, then moved her fingers around to her own sweet cunt. He could hear her breath pick up. He saw her chest move like it was an effort.
And then her hands began to move in that deep V between her thighs, rocking one palm over her clit like a gentle wave and holding the other there. Just holding it.
“You only need one hand to play with your clit, babe,” he gritted out. “Those other fingers belong in your pussy.”
She made a soft, broken little sound that almost made him come in his fucking jeans, like a goddamned kid, and her eyes were dark with a specific sort of distress when they met his. He loved it.
“Do it, Sophie.”
Her face flushed red. She made that noise again and she swayed slightly on her skinny little heels. But then she blew out a breath and moved that covering hand, reaching down beneath to thrust up into her own pussy.
She panted, and stood there, lewd and fucking gorgeous, her hands full of her own sweetness. And he let her.
For a second or two.
“Don’t just stand there,” he told her, his voice a dark, taunting thing, a rasp against the night, as if they were the only two people in the whole of the French Quarter. “I told you to fuck yourself, not cop a feel like this is high school. You know what to do.”
She breathed in between her teeth and she dropped her head, like she needed to concentrate. Her hair fell around her in a thick, dark curtain, but Ajax focused on the fingers that began to move, plunging in and out of that tight, hot cunt he could taste in his own mouth. Her other hand worked her clit.
He watched. And she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, standing there half naked in the moonlight, giving herself over to him because he’d told her to. Because she’d always met him full on, again and again, in every possible way, since he’d walked through the Priory doors.
Her movements got harder, jerkier. Her breath caught.
Ajax took a step and was on her, taking her face between his hands and tilting her face to his.
“Don’t stop,” he ordered her, right there against her parted lips. “Come now, baby. Right now.”
And she did. Sophie convulsed against him. Her mouth got stuck wide open and her face went red and she shook, and he watched, and she came right there against him, her hands deep in her cunt and her face completely open to him.
It was everything. It shook through him, hard, like a different kind of coming.
“You feel that?” he gritted out at her as the shaking died down. “Your own fingers and a little clit action. That’s what you get without me, Sophie. That’s all you get.”
She tried to pull away from him but he held her fast, and backed her up so she was against the bricks behind her. He shifted, holding her jaw right where he wanted it with one hand and not giving a shit that her eyes were bright with fury. Fury and that wild, dark need.
That shaking thing in him rolled over. Grew bigger.
He ripped at his fly and he pulled out his cock. He dealt with the condom and then he shoved her hands out of the way as he brought himself in close, rubbing his hard, swollen cockhead against her soaking wet folds, covering himself in her cream.
“Get off me, you asshole,” she hissed at him, but she arched into him while she said it, pressing her clit against the head of his cock, and he laughed.
“Is that what you want?” he taunted her. “You want to come on your own fingers here and then again in the bathroom of some hotel room on Canal Street after some drunk douchebag fucks you into a bored coma? That your idea of a good time?”
“It’s none of your business if it is.”
“It’s all my business, baby.”
He rolled his hips against her and moved again, taking her hands in one of his and stretching them up over her head, then pinning them to the bricks. She tested his hold and he laughed again, then moved his cock to her entrance. He pushed in, only the head, just that little grip of her tight, wet cunt around him and no more—then stopped.
She groaned, a sharp, frustrated sound. It was like music to Ajax.
“You think I don’t know you’ve never had it so good?” he taunted her. “You think I don’t know how hungry this little pussy is for me?”
She struggled against him then, but he doubted she knew if it was to get away from him or to get him deeper inside of her, and either way, Ajax didn’t give a fuck. She was hot. She was his.
There was nothing else but that.
Nothing.
Her head tipped back and her gaze met his.
“Please,” she said, like it cost her. “Please.”
“You’re mine, Sophie,” he told her, like a vow. It rang in him. It shook. And he didn’t give a shit about that, either. He meant it. “Don’t fucking forget it again.”
And then he hitched her up, grabbing her ass and lifting her so she could throw those silky legs around him, and fucked his way straight home.
–
He filled her up with that huge, hard cock, a single deep thrust that slammed her back against the wall and made her breath desert her in a whoosh.
And Sophie loved it. She almost came again, as easily as that, and he was right, damn him. It was better. He was better.
But he only laughed, then shifted her, so both of his hands were on her ass and she wasn’t scraping against the wall. He didn’t tell her to hold on, because he didn’t have to. This was Ajax. He stood there like it was nothing, fucking her by moving her up and down on his cock, his hands gripping her ass like it was a set of handles as he lifted her up and slammed her back down.
It was hard. It was nearly brutal.
It was the most glorious thing Sophie had ever felt.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held on anyway, wondering how long he could do this. How long he could use her body like this—the way she’d used her own hands on herself—like she was nothing more than a fuck toy to him.
That thought made her shudder deep inside with a dark and greedy delight, and Ajax shifted again. He carried her a step or two to the side.
“Reach up,” he muttered at her, like speaking was almost too much for him, and she didn’t understand. “Above you. The pipe.”
It stuck out from the wall and it was cold to the touch, but Sophie obeyed him anyway, and wrapped her hands around it.
And this time, when Ajax started thrusting into her again in that rough, wild, perfect rhythm that made her think she could feel that massive cock of his in every part of her, he slipped one of those lethal, cunning fingers down into the crevice between her ass cheeks and began to rub at her puckered opening.
He didn’t ask. He just did it.
Sophie froze, but he didn’t stop fucking her, and he didn’t move that finger away.
And the power of the way he fucked into her was too much, too seductive and too damned good, and she found herself falling into it again, the delirious roll of her hips meeting him and that wicked finger at her back entrance.
He didn’t wait. He stroked at that opening and then, with absolutely no fanfare, slid inside.
And something dark and needy, pure greed and a bright, hot fire, simply took Sophie over as that hard, unforgiving finger slid deep into her ass.
Then he began to fuck her with that, too.
And she was lost. She simply…disappeared. She was nothing but this. Hot and slick. Dark and wild. This.
Him.
He didn’t stop. He held her and he fucked her, his cock deep in her pussy and his finger deep in her ass, and she heard nothing but that dirty laugh of his as she shook and she met his thrusts and she writhed and she made those wild keening sounds into the night that some part of her couldn’t believe came from her own throat.
But she knew they did. This was what he gave her. This dirty glory.
And then she was coming again, a delirious rush, her whole body seizing and bucking. Her hands slipped off the pipe and Ajax caught her against him, his hips still pumping. She came and she came, and he pulled his finger from deep inside her and she was still shuddering. Then he tilted her back into the wall, took the back of her head in his palm to hold her away from the bricks, and kept right on fucking her.
Until she broke apart all over again, and he followed, slamming out his pleasure deep inside of her with a low, hot groan.
And for a long time, they both did nothing but cling together and breathe.
Shaky. So shaky. Like the next breath wasn’t guaranteed.
Eventually, Ajax set her on her feet again, and reached over to tug her dress down. He tossed the condom in one of the trash cans and tucked his cock away, and Sophie found she was afraid to look at him. Afraid of what she’d see. Or wouldn’t.
It was as bad as the other night. Worse, because he wasn’t walking away, and whatever moved on her face then, he was likely to see it. But if he did, he didn’t say anything.
Instead, Ajax reached around and slapped her ass, not gently, and she jumped.
“Let’s go.” His voice was low. She couldn’t read anything in it.
“Where are we going?” she snapped at him, because snapping felt good. Productive. Or protective, anyway, and she figured with the way he could strip everything away from her, the way he could make her do absolutely anything he wanted, she needed all the protection she could get. “And if you slap my ass again, you might lose that hand. Just FYI.”
“Two things, babe.” His voice was a growl. He reached over her to grab her still-smarting ass cheek and haul her against him, and her fatal flaw was that she felt the same white-hot fire gallop through her as if she hadn’t just come. Repeatedly.
She was insatiable where this man was concerned. A junkie after all, and the awful truth was that she didn’t care if that made her like her mother. She wanted more. She’d only just had him and she still wanted more.
You want everything, a very dangerous voice deep inside of her whispered.
“One,” Ajax said, “I’ll decide what to do with this ass. It’s mine. Sooner you get your head around that, the better.”
And she could have pressed him then. She could have demanded he tell her what he meant by that, because it sounded awfully possessive and she hadn’t agreed to wear anybody’s property patch, thank you, and especially not his—but she didn’t. Something in that stark, feral way he looked at her kept her from it. Like they were dangerously close to a sharp edge here.
You mean well over it, that same voice suggested, mocking her. And halfway toward the ground.
Sophie might not have had the slightest idea what she was doing with this man or what it all meant, but she did know this: if you were already falling, there was no point debating the how or the why. There was only controlling the landing.
So she gazed up at Ajax calmly. Then she raised her middle finger right up into his face.
And she knew it was the right move when that frozen, dark thing that held him in its grip passed. He laughed, dirty and unbothered and entirely Ajax. Then he sucked that finger into his clever, filthy mouth, and didn’t stop until she let out a hissing sort of breath at the sensation he could provoke that easily.
That deliberately.
He pulled his mouth off her finger and took his time curling it back into her fist, his fingers a dangerous kind of need on hers. And he didn’t let go.
“And two, we’re going home,” he told her, in that low, stirring voice that moved through her and kept her from pointing out it wasn’t his home. It was hers. That light in his blue eyes kept her from it. And his mouth curved, sexy and dark, like she’d surrendered something far more important than this little moment in a French Quarter alleyway. “I’m just warming up.”
