Giving It All (The Hellfire Riders Book 4) Page 7

  That didn’t need a warning. With my heart in my throat, I tell him, “I hope you’re never done.”

  His smile drops away. His voice is a thick rasp when he says, “I won’t ever be. Now you keep holding those pussy lips open for me. You stop, I stop.”

  I nod, trembling. “Okay.”

  “And you keep those beautiful green eyes on me. I want you to see what I’m taking.”

  I’m not even sure the response I make is a word. Just a sound, escaping on a rush as he slowly draws me closer, urging my left leg up so I can brace my knee on the bed behind his right shoulder. I’m completely spread over him, shaking uncontrollably when his lips open against the slick skin of my inner thigh.

  Oh, God help me. Because what he takes then is his time. Kissing his way up to my cunt lips, his beard scratching my sensitive skin. Licking my slippery fingers, his tongue sliding between them, teasing my flesh but never my clit, never pushing inside me.

  Until I can’t take it anymore. “Saxon.”

  My voice is a hoarse plea. And I think he intends to keep torturing me, because he simply kisses my shaking fingers, his steely gaze on my face, watching me.

  Then watching my reaction as he takes a long lick up the length of my slit.

  I cry out, my knees almost folding as his tongue swirls lazily over my clitoris. And I thought it was torture before, but nothing is like the torture of Saxon taking his time now—the teasing graze of teeth against my labia, the slow thrusts of his tongue at my entrance, the soft, suckling kisses over my clit. All of it making me hotter, winding me tighter, but never hard enough to come.

  And it doesn’t end. He licks me until my chest heaves on sobbing breaths, ecstasy and tension waging a painful war inside me, my body shaking so hard I can’t support myself anymore. I curl forward over him, bracing my left hand on the mattress, barely coherent enough to keep my right hand between my legs and holding myself open.

  There’s nothing else here, nothing but Saxon as I’m spread over him, rocking my hips, riding his face. Nothing but his tongue and teeth and lips, and the hungry wet sound of my pussy against his mouth.

  And still years pass before he lets me come, and he takes what he wants then, too, licking and sucking, his open mouth locked onto my cunt, his ravenous groan reverberating through my convulsing flesh.

  Finally spent, I fall forward against him, his beard painting a wet streak across my belly. My legs have turned to trembling mush and I can only laugh breathlessly when he says in a steel voice,

  “Now, Jenny, you get up on that bed.”

  “I can’t move,” I tell him.

  A sharp smack against my ass jolts through me, stiffening my legs. “Will that get you moving?”

  It will. Grinning, I crawl forward onto the bed. I love it when he spanks me, though I can never take too many before the pain overloads the pleasure. But a single sharp slap? God. It gets all my nerves firing again.

  “On your back,” he orders harshly. “Legs spread.”

  Saxon drops my panties onto the bench. My heart racing, I fall back against the pillows and watch him come after me. His mouth is reddened, his bearded chin wet. Sweat glistens over his broad shoulders and chest. The bulbous head of his rigid cock peeks out above the waistband of his sweats, the taut skin ruddy and slick.

  “Legs spread,” he repeats.

  On a shuddering breath, I open my thighs—knees bent, my feet flat on the bed.

  “Wider.”

  Anticipation rocking through me, I spread my thighs as wide as I can. His burning gaze locked on my pussy, he lowers himself to the bed on his stomach, his powerful biceps bunching as he stretches his long length out—with his head between my legs.

  “Saxon?” His name passes my lips on an uncertain breath.

  He looks up at me with a smile playing on his hard mouth. “I told you it would be a while, princess. And although I had a good taste of you, my hands sure didn’t get in on any of the action.”

  Oh my god. I barely have a moment to brace myself before his head lowers, mouth taking possession of my too-sensitive flesh. My body bows, a ragged cry escaping me, and he doesn’t take his time but devours my pussy, as rough and fast now as he was gentle and slow before. Long fingers push inside me, thrusting deep as he sucks hard on my clit, his tongue lashing the slick bundle of nerves with ruthless precision. I scream his name, my hands fisting in his hair. Saxon groans and crowds closer, forcing my thighs up over his shoulders, tipping my hips up for a deeper taste.

  And I come and come and come, bucking beneath him, trying to push him away but he takes more and more and more. Until I fall back, his name a hoarse chant on my lips.

  Brutal satisfaction gleams in his eyes as he rises over me, his shoulders pushing my limp legs higher, until my knees are pressed against my chest and my heels resting in the hollows above his collarbones.

  He lifts my right hand to his lips and gently kisses my fingertips. “I’m going to take what’s mine now, princess.”

  A long, hot tremor rolls through me. “Good.”

  A smile touches his dark eyes, but his grip is hard and relentless as he bracelets my wrists with his strong fingers and pushes my arms over my head. “Can you move?”

  I try, but between his weight over me and his hand pinning my wrists, I can’t wriggle more than an inch. “No.”

  “Good.” His big body shifts against me, and my breath catches when I feel the blunt head of his cock sliding through the slick folds of my cunt. “You look down and watch me take you, Jenny.”

  I already am, mesmerized by the sight of his massive length lodged against my entrance, my pussy lips plumped with arousal and flushed a deep pink. He’s huge, and with his big cock poised above me like this, seeing how many of those inches will soon be buried inside me, it seems impossible. But I know it’s not. And I know exactly how good this is going to feel.

  “Please, Saxon,” I whisper in a voice raw from screaming. “Do it hard.”

  With a groan, he pushes into me—not hard, not yet, but he never is right away. Not while I catch my breath and struggle to adjust to his size, my pussy stretching around the thick invading shaft relentlessly driving deeper and deeper. On this first long thrust he’s always slow, no matter how wet I am, no matter how desperately eager, no matter how I whimper and beg for him to just go harder, harder.

  I shudder helplessly when he bottoms out, my pussy gripping his hard length. Then frustration burns every nerve when Saxon still doesn’t begin fucking me, but grinds his pelvis against mine, his big cock massaging my clenching inner walls.

  “I’m in there real deep, Jenny.” Each word emerges as a guttural bite, his face a rigid mask of control. “You’re so goddamn tight, but my cock’s filling you up and I’m taking every single inch of you. You like that?”

  “Yes!” It’s almost a sob. Oh my god. He’s so deep and I can’t move, can’t push against him, can’t reach my clit and ease this agonizing tension.

  His fingers tighten around my wrists and he begins drawing back, his thick cock dragging slowly across every nerve inside me. Almost completely withdrawing, he stops with just the broad head nestled between my swollen pussy lips, his shaft glistening.

  “Look at those sweet juices all over my dick. Your little cunt’s so hot and wet and greedy. It needs to be fucked, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes! Please.” Now it is a sob, a cry of desperate need. “Please.”

  His chiseled abdomen flexes and that’s all the warning I get before his thick cock suddenly spears into me, slamming deep. My ragged scream is pure pleasure, ecstasy searing the inner walls of my pussy and radiating outward on a wave of erotic heat, then he fucks into me again, again, again. Pinned beneath him, I can’t move, can’t do anything but watch the slick plunge of his shaft into me, each deep thrust drawing more wetness from my pussy and shining the length of his dick.

  Then Saxon rears back slightly, changing his angle, his cock digger deeper and rubbing hard against that spot inside me that s
eems to pull everything tight, tighter, until I’m screaming and writhing in constrained little circles under him.

  “Fuck, yeah.” Saxon’s voice is a rough, urgent growl in my ear. “Come all over me, princess. You want harder?”

  He doesn’t wait for an answer but gives it to me, hard and rough and I can’t even breathe, my entire body tense and awaiting each deep plunge. Then he fills me up with a savage thrust and the orgasm explodes through me, my inner muscles convulsing in sharp agony, in desperate relief, and I can’t move or cry out but just come and come and come.

  Saxon doesn’t.

  And that must have been one hell of a blow job, if that didn’t make him come again.

  I laugh breathlessly when he eases out of my pussy and rolls me onto my side, settling in behind me. Even as a stinging slap on my ass makes me tense and gasp, he lifts my leg and pushes deep inside me again.

  And he feels so damn good. I moan and arch my back, utterly spent but I can never, ever get enough of him. Each thrust is long and slow now, and I glory in his touch as his callused palm slides up my side. His fingers tease my nipples, his mouth hot against my temple. I reach back, fisting my hand in his hair, craning my neck and turning my upper body toward him until he can take my lips.

  His kiss is long and hot and sweet. Then hotter, as his pace quickens and each stroke pushes deeper, harder. His hand drifts down over my belly and his long fingers begin rubbing my clit, and I can’t come again, I can’t.

  I whimper into his mouth, then a sharp slap against my pussy stiffens my every muscle. I freeze for an instant, then all at once I have to move, have to grind back against his cock, to ease the pain or seek more, I don’t know.

  Saxon groans, fucking deeper into my clenching heat. “You like that, Jenny? You’re going wild on my cock.”

  I feel wild, my breath coming in feral pants, my fingers twisting in the covers, my hips rocking back against his.

  All at once his body stills behind me, but his slick fingers continue working my clit, rubbing, rubbing. “You want it again?”

  Oh, God. Yes. No.

  “Once,” I whisper, biting my lip before adding, “But harder.”

  “Fuck, Jenny,” he groans, but doesn’t slap my pussy again. Instead his cock plunges into me, and his harsh ragged breaths deepen to grunts with every hard thrust. He’s about to come, I realize, his body stiffening, and I can’t stop moving, trying to push him into me deeper and faster.

  Then the stinging pain comes, a slap directly over my clit that bursts across my nerve endings in shocking waves that spread and spread until I’m coming, crying out as my pussy clenches again and again. Behind me, Saxon grips my hip with bruising fingers and slams his cock home, his harsh groan ripping from his chest as his thick shaft pulses deep inside me.

  With another groan, he rolls back and pulls me over him, his chest heaving against my side. Aftershocks shudder through me.

  From somewhere far away, I hear his ragged, “You all right, Jenny?”

  “Oh my god.” I laugh against his shoulder. “Stop talking or I’ll probably come again.”

  “That’s not likely to put me off talking.” His fingers skim down my spine, and even exhausted, my body responds to his touch. “If you’ve got another one in you, we can deal with the fact that I’ve still never taken your ass.”

  Hardly my fault. “You’re the one who always says your giant cock will tear my ass apart.”

  “Maybe next time, then.”

  “You always say that, too.”

  His chuckle is low and deep. Pulling me closer, he presses a warm kiss to my temple, and I’m pretty sure I’m smiling as I fall asleep.

  8

  Saxon

  It’s still dark when I feel Jenny practically bounce out of the bed and skip into the bathroom to get ready. I lie half-awake, listening to her take the shower we never got around to last night, followed by the gentle clink of her bottles on the vanity, knowing she’s putting on all those lotions and moisturizers that make her smell and feel so damn good. She disappears into her closet and comes out a minute later in the sexy uniform she wears to the brewery, carrying her black boots and tiptoeing to the door.

  My sleep-roughened “Good morning, princess,” sends her on a detour in my direction.

  Smiling, she leans over the bed and kisses me, soft and slow and tasting of mint. With her lips hovering over mine, she says, “Coffee in a few minutes, if you’re getting up.”

  I’m definitely up. But although I’d love to pull her back into bed with me and bury my cock inside her, I know she’s up so early because of work. “I’ll be down,” I tell her.

  “Okay,” she says, and my chest tightens when she adds in a rush, “I need to tell you, Saxon—about you saving me from Reichmann, I want you to know I don’t feel guilty guilty. It’s more like—”

  “Me feeling guilty for not being able to save my mom when she got sick,” I interrupt gruffly. Because, yeah, I know.

  I also know I’m a fucking asshole. But she’s smiling at me like I’m not.

  “Exactly,” she says. “Or me with my dad’s cancer. Neither one of us likes feeling helpless, and there’s always that guilt because we couldn’t do more. And whatever I say I owe, it’s not something I can slap a number on. It’s just feeling that if I could go back and change what happened, I would in a heartbeat.”

  “I’d change you getting hurt,” I tell her gruffly. “But not the rest of it. And I don’t want you feeling like you should.”

  “Well, I know I can’t. So there’s that. And since it’s the reason I’m with you now, I wouldn’t want to change much, either.”

  Fuck. She’s so goddamn sweet. “What I’d change, Jenny, is going after you when you said you felt guilty. I don’t want you thinking you can’t say how you feel without me turning into a fucking asshole.”

  She grins. “You are an asshole. And I’m not afraid of you.” Before I can respond she drops a kiss to my mouth and starts backing away. “Anyway, I like how fighting with you always turns out.”

  Yeah. That was pretty damn good. I chuckle to myself as she scampers away, but my smile fades fast, remembering how I went after her last night. Hell. I sit up, scrubbing a hand over my face. She’s already got enough emotional shit to deal with and I pushed her so fucking hard.

  Too fucking hard, if the first thing she does this morning is try to explain what she meant—even though she didn’t say a damn thing wrong.

  But I’ve done it before. So many times. She tells me ‘thank you’ and I tell her I don’t want to hear it, because I’ve done nothing she needs to be grateful for. Not saving her from Reichmann. Not stopping the trouble with the Eighty-Eight earlier this year. I’d do anything for her, and none of the trouble that came at Jenny was her fault, so I don’t need thanks.

  Now I wonder if tossing those thank-yous back in her face is any different than getting after her for saying she feels guilty. What Reichmann did wasn’t her fault, but she feels guilt for what happened to me anyway. My mom’s cancer wasn’t my fault, but I sure as hell feel guilty for what I couldn’t do. Jenny was right about that.

  So I’ve got to stop this shit I’m doing. I’ve got to stop telling her not to feel something, just because I don’t like it. And I’ve got to stop throwing her words back at her, whether it’s guilt or a thank-you.

  I won’t be able to say ‘you’re welcome.’ That would stick in my throat like barbed wire. But I’ll find something to say that’s right—and hope I don’t make it any harder for her.

  My chest is heavy as I haul on my sweatpants and make my way to the kitchen. Jenny’s humming under her breath, pushing down the plunger on the French press. Her hair’s up in one of those fancy twists that makes her bare neck look so vulnerable and exposed. God, she’s just a little fucking thing.

  She glances up as I come in. “Thermos or mug?”

  “Thermos. I’ll be heading out. I’ve got to run through the checklist at the new gym before the building inspector
comes next week,” I tell her, watching her pour the coffee into two insulated cups, and feeling sick all of a sudden when I spot the dark circles around her wrists. Bruises from my fingers. Because I pinned her, and held her down, and fucked her.

  It’s not the first time she’s bruised a little. But, Jesus. She’s already so damn fragile.

  “Saxon?” She’s watching me warily. “Is everything okay?”

  I nod but can’t look away from those dark circles. My voice is raw as I say, “I was rough with you last night.”

  A shadow moves over her face and pain twists deeper inside me. Maybe I shouldn’t have reminded her.

  Her gaze don’t move from mine. “I liked you being rough.”

  And she came hard. But an orgasm doesn’t seem as if it’s enough to make up for those marks on her skin. My throat’s a burning ache as I tell her, “But it was too much. And I’m sorry.”

  Her eyebrows pull together in a frown. “Are you sorry for the bruises or for fucking me as hard as you did?”

  “All of it.”

  She stares at me for a long second, then quietly looks down and screws on her coffee lid. Oh, Christ. I know that carefully blank expression. She’s hurt—and pissed.

  “Princess—”

  “You know what, Saxon?” The explosion comes hard and fast. “Fuck you. And fuck your ‘Sorry.’”

  God damn it. “Jenny—”

  “I got on my knees without you telling me to,” she snaps at me. “I told you to slap my pussy. I wanted it. I asked for it. You want to protect me from dangerous assholes, from the Reichmanns of the world, and I’m glad of it. I’ve needed it. But I don’t need you to protect me from myself!”

  “I wasn’t—” Was I? Christ, I don’t know. And I don’t know how this just went so fucking sideways. “You’ve been hurting so much since your dad died. I never want to add to it.”

  “Yeah? Well, I am hurt. Right now. But not because of my dad.” She lays that on me like a roundhouse to the heart, and as I’m standing there, trying to absorb the pain of it, she grabs her coffee and heads for the door. “I’ll probably be working late again. So I’ll see you when I fucking see you.”