Ride Me Hard: A Biker Romance Serial (The Devil's Host Motorcycle Club Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

carries me up the rickety steps, and I don’t even flinch when he kicks the door in instead of asking me for the keys. It seems perfectly natural. Right even. Why would he use keys like a normal person?
    The faint wet-dog scent of my threadbare carpet greets us. Home sweet home. No candle, powder, or spray can ever really cover it. Usually I’d feel shame having someone smell the filth I live in, but not with Noah. That seems right too.
    We can wallow together.
    “Behind the curtain.” I point toward the beaded curtain that separates my sleeping area from the rest of the living space.
    He grunts and takes me to bed.
    At least my sheets are clean. That’s my last coherent thought before he climbs in after me and presses the length of his body against mine. Lining us up so we are mouth to mouth. His fingers slide into my hair, and I sigh at the massaging touch, moan at the pinch and pull when he tangles it up into his fist. He works his other hand between us, trailing it up my inner thigh, opening the run further, finding his way to the soaked center of my panties and shoving them aside. I’m so wet I can hear the slipping noises as he invades me with blunt fingers. Teasing, searching and plunging. I buck against him, arching off the bed at the pleasure building sharp and sweet where his thumb is circling my clit.
    My palms still sting where I scraped them, but I grab fistfuls of blanket anyway because I have to hold on to something. This is nothing like the lazy touch I use to bring myself to an easy finish. Or the fumbling pluck of so many other lovers, searching—and missing—as if my pleasure is difficult to find. I don’t have to shift my hips and guide him. He’s going to make me come hard and fast in seconds with nothing but his thumb and forefinger. Like he wrote my fucking manual. Easy as cake.
    And I’d hate him for wringing these feelings from my body so easily if they weren’t so damn delicious.
    He licks at my mouth again, and it’s so much more than kissing. It’s tasting—teasing. “Star?”
    “Yes, yes.” I pant against him. All I can say is yes. Yeses that mean finish me off, fuck me, do what you want. Yes. My whole world is spinning in the palm of his hand right now, beyond wet and past ready.
    “If we do this. If I fuck you. If I take you with me…”
    “If…?”
    He scrapes his stubble over my cheek, abrading me. Marking me. The edge of orgasm shimmers just beyond my reach, pinpricks of light through dark water. If. If. If. I am drowning and breathing and—
    “You’re mine.”
    He pulls me taut like a bowstring, and I snap, pleasure radiating out in waves. “Oh God. I think I’m coming.”
    “If you’re thinking, you’re not coming.” He thumbs my clit harder, cruel strokes that have me jerking against him. “You wouldn’t be my old lady; this isn’t about love. This is about survival. Understand?”
    I want to tell him to shut up, that I don’t care, that he shouldn’t be telling me this while my pussy is rippling around his fingers. But it would all be lies and he’d know it. And then I’m breaking hard over the edge of bliss. No thinking. No understanding. Only being. “Yessss.”
    He pulls free of my body, and suddenly his fingers are in my mouth, slick with my juices and pungent with my own flavor—familiar and strange. “Lick them clean, baby.”
    My cheeks burn and my clit throbs as I suck every last drop of myself from his fingers, hollowing my cheeks and swirling my tongue.
    Like a good girl.
    “You wouldn’t be Star anymore. You’d be Noah’s woman.”
    His fingers stay in my mouth when he wraps himself around me on the small bed.
    We lay like that for a long time—fully clothed, fully aroused…cuddling? Is that what this is? As ridiculous as it seems, the answer is yes…almost.
    Whatever it is, it isn’t enough. If I’m going to be his, why isn’t he taking me? I wriggle my ass against the hard length of his erection in a lewd invitation.
    He slips