Then again. Then one more time, just to hear that keening noise she made and the way she reached out and wrapped her hands around his forearm like she didn’t know what she wanted more, to make him stop or to make him go faster. And she was so tight around him. The wet, clinging heat of her was insane.

“You’re killing me,” he growled in her ear and he wasn’t kidding. He thought he was dying and he didn’t much care if he did, but he had to get inside her. He had to.

He pulled his fingers out of her and she moaned at the loss, and then he was moving toward the couch, tilting her forward so she grabbed hold of the back of it. He licked the taste of her from his fingers and it shot straight to his head, sweet, hot cream. He thought he might have growled. Then he was pulling her jeans and her panties from her hips and tugging them down her legs, then kicking them the fuck out of his way at last.

She twisted around, and her mouth was open and her eyes were wild, and he’d never seen anything fiercer or more beautiful in his life. She tore at his shirt and he tugged at her tank top and then they each worked on their own, and it still seemed to take too damned long.

Ajax fished a condom out of his back pocket and then he shoved his jeans down to his hips and rolled it on, shoving her hands away when she tried to help him or touch him or whatever the hell she was doing. There was no time left. There was nothing but this hunger and he thought his balls might explode, and he didn’t have time for anything but getting inside her.

Even if he had the sneaking suspicion that it might not be enough.

He lifted her up again, her ass half on the couch and her hips angled toward him. He kicked her legs open and spread her thighs wide to make room for himself. Then he gripped his cock in one hand and nudged its blunt head against her plump little pussy, tracking it through her wet folds and hitting her clit on the downstroke. And it was already better than that bullshit against the wall downstairs with their clothes still on. She was wet and she was wide open and she had the sweetest cunt he’d ever tasted, and none of this was going to be enough for him. He understood it. In that taut, aching moment, he accepted it.

“Please,” she whispered.

“Look at me.”

She was braced on her hands, her legs draped over his hips, and he was still nudged up against her pussy, rubbing her but not fucking her. Not yet.

“You’re torturing me,” she said, in a kind of blunt, needy rage, and Ajax grinned.

He liked that brightness in her eyes, giving them that hectic, madwoman glitter. He liked the spots of color high on her cheeks. He liked the way her tits bounced with every shuddering breath she took, and he particularly liked those pink, hard nipples that he was going to get on his tongue. He liked her sweet, soft heat and the hard grip of her thighs that he’d felt all over his hips and his ass on that bike, and he had plans for all that hair of hers besides.

“I have one rule,” he told her, and he moved a little, nudging up on her proud little clit and watching her break out in a sweat. “Even you can follow it. Don’t you fucking call me Sean when I’m inside you.”

She heaved in a breath and then laughed, though it sounded rough, like she was close to simply dying of this, too.

“Or what?” she threw back at him, and she moved her hips against him, seductive and hot, and he bit out a curse. “You’re not going to stop. I’m going to come in about one second and we both know it. What’s the threat?”

Ajax let out a laugh and thrust into her at the same time, hard and deep.

Sophie arched back so far and so hard he had to haul her to him with an arm around her hips. She went stiff. He lifted her high against him and slammed her down hard on his cock and she came.

She exploded. She shook all around him and he let her ride it out, taking them both to the rug on the floor and she was still coming and coming, her whole body rocking and clutching, and it was the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen or felt in his life.

And then she was finally beneath him and he was deep inside her molten hot pussy, so deep it felt like he was staking his claim.

Eventually she opened her eyes, and then she grinned at him, slow and deadly, and he nipped at her lower lip.

“I like motorcycles,” she said, because she was the perfect woman. “Men are incidental.”

“Sophie,” he growled at her. “Pay attention.”

He braced himself above her and she ran her hands up his chest. He was so hard, so hot, so very deep inside of her, and then she moved against him and they both sighed.

“You were threatening me,” she prompted him, all that smart-mouthed heat she’d hidden all night right there on those lips of hers that he couldn’t taste enough. “But what do I care? I’m done.”

He tested her depth, and ground his hips against hers, reaching down to pull her thigh up where he wanted it. He didn’t think she realized it when she arched into him, meeting him, wet and sweet and tight and deep, but he did.

“You’re gonna scream, baby,” he told her, darkly certain, and he pulled out, then thrust in again, watching the pleasure make her eyes go dark even as that greedy pussy of hers clenched tight around him. “You’re gonna reintroduce me to the neighbors. They might even call the cops.”

“And if I say—”

He indulged himself at last. He bent down and sucked one of those tight, pink nipples into his mouth and she thrashed a little bit, arching into his mouth and trying to fuck herself against his cock, but he was bigger than her.

And they were going to do this his way.

“Call me Sean and you’ll scream it once,” he said, a dark promise. “Do you understand me? Just once. Call me by my fucking name and we can do this all night. Your call.”

And then he was done talking.

He dropped down closer and he propped her perfect ass in his hands and then at last, at last, he began to fuck her in earnest.

Like he meant it as a whole lot more than just a fuck.

Chapter 7

Ajax was raw and rough. Sheer male power in its most elemental form, and Sophie couldn’t seem to get enough of him.

He didn’t treat her like a lady. Or as if she was made of glass. He’d shoved her in the door. He’d thrown her on the floor.

He took, he didn’t ask.

Then he took more.

And she’d already come once. Twice, if she counted earlier today. And the way things were building inside of her all over again, he hadn’t been shooting his mouth off. He really could do this all night.

He hadn’t even taken his jeans off. He’d just shoved them out of his way. They were sprawled out on the area rug her father used to make fun of, right there on the living room floor where anyone who came to the door could look in and see them, and Ajax—Ajax—was fucking her.

God, was he fucking her, and he was very, very big, so big she thought that if she hadn’t spent the entire day with him in varying states of wild arousal, he might have had to work a little bit harder to fit.

There was no word dirty enough to describe it.

And it thrilled her. Sophie shoved her toes against the floor and arched up against him, making every stroke count. She dug her fingers into his hard, sculpted shoulders and she tipped her head back so she could watch that hooded, intense look on his beautiful face. And she could feel him everywhere.

Every long, deep, hot stroke.

He stared into her face as he fucked into her, again and again, grinding against her clit and then grinning down at her when she moaned.

He propped himself up on one arm and slid the other one beneath her, lifting her up so he could bury his face between her breasts, but he didn’t stay put. He licked her, everywhere, below her breasts and between them.