Make You Burn

  “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.

  He pulled on her oversensitive nipples with his lips and his tongue, like he knew it almost hurt, that it hovered somewhere in that searing hot place that was almost too much to take. He rubbed her with that fucking beard of his until she sobbed. Then he used his teeth, and when she started to shake and rock against him, making noises she didn’t know she could make, he laughed.

  The sensation shot through her, straight from her tender nipples in a blazing trail of fire to her pussy and she shuddered against him, making him laugh some more as he set her back on the floor, still maintaining his same pace, just a little bit harder and just a little bit faster than she could handle.

  “I’m going to—”

  “Yeah, you are,” he muttered and he bit her nipple, the pain of it bursting bright and wild inside of her and careening into the pleasure somehow, all of it tangling together and turning white hot—

  And she lost herself all over again, and he was right, she screamed.

  Wordless and high, but it was still a scream.

  “Nice,” he said when she opened her eyes again, that smug grin on his face and that same bright hunger in his eyes. “Next time, try my name. It sounds better.”

  She rubbed at her face and her hands came away wet, and she had no idea if she’d cried or drooled or who even knew. She didn’t care.

  “You’re an awful, awful man.”

  “That’ll work, too.”

  He’d shifted while she was busy falling off the side of the world, pulling out of her and shoving his jeans the rest of the way off. Sophie sprawled there, trying to catch her breath, and he pushed her hair back from her face, that hard, needy thing still glittering there in his blue eyes.

  “Look at you,” he growled at her. “You’re a mess, little girl. Naked and crying on the living room floor. And I’m not done.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  His smile then was so wicked, so purely evil in all the best ways, that Sophie felt that flame inside of her spark anew and flicker higher.

  “Get on your hands and knees.”

  Sophie’s mouth fell open. She felt it. And more than that, she felt her body respond to him, that delicious shiver of heat that clenched hard in her pussy and then spread outward, making everything burn.

  Maybe she really was a junkie, after all. And he was the hit.

  And she just couldn’t seem to care about that, either.


  “What’s the matter?” His voice was a soft taunt. “Afraid you can’t keep up with me?”

  “You’re an old man,” she threw back at him. “How hard can it be?”

  He grinned at that, dark and wicked, and made a lazy circle in the air with his fingers, ordering her to turn over.

  Sophie felt like jelly. Her bones didn’t seem to work and her body didn’t want to obey her commands, and she thought he could tell. She heard him laugh as she rolled and then braced herself in position, her hands down in front of her and her knees somehow holding her up.

  “Fucking beautiful,” Ajax muttered, and then his hands were on her.

  Sophie closed her eyes and gave herself over to him. She felt him move behind her, felt his strong thighs behind hers. He ran his hands all over her back, tracing the angel wings she’d had tattooed there as her definitive act of defiance against her father when she’d been nineteen and Priest had still been treating her like she was a child.

  He hadn’t called her his angel for at least a year after that, he’d been so pissed, but she’d never regretted it.

  And she certainly didn’t regret it now, as Ajax licked his way across each wing as if they were made out of sugar, making her tense a bit beneath him and sway, like that might move him along when he was clearly playing.

  He followed the length of her spine with his mouth, the scratch of his beard and the heat of his tongue making her shift restlessly beneath him. He kept going when he reached her ass, setting his teeth against one cheek and grabbing a fistful of the other. She felt him growl against her, felt it vibrate through her whole body and particularly into her clit, and she shifted again.

  He replaced his mouth with his other hand.

  “Put your head on the floor,” he gritted out.

  Sophie didn’t think. She obeyed.

  Ajax spread her open, and he wasn’t gentle, and then he closed his mouth over her pussy and sucked. Hard.

  Sophie cried out, but he was only getting started. He ate her. He was ferocious and he was thorough. He opened his mouth and got sloppy, his beard the rough counterpoint to his wicked tongue against her clit and the things he could do with that mouth.

  He left her shuddering, her hands in fists on the floor next to her face, and then he licked his way up again, but this time, he stopped to tease the tight little bud between her ass cheeks.

  Sophie made a keening, impossible noise as everything in her pulled tight and then tighter and then tighter still. Until she collapsed a little bit beneath him, her knees simply unequal to the weight of that much dark pleasure, and felt him laugh again.

  He hauled her back up, shifting against her, running his big, hard fingers over the tight little opening where his mouth had just been.

  She gasped against the floor, blind with need and longing, at the edge of a dark wall, a wave, that she thought might drown her for good when it hit. But she couldn’t do anything but lie there and take it. As he made it go on and on and on.

  “You take it in the ass before, Sophie?” he asked, and there was a wild thing in his voice, harder and far more ferocious than the matching one inside of her, tearing her up. “I’m guessing no.”

  She couldn’t speak. She shook her head, restless and aching, and he pressed down, just hard enough to make her moan.

  “Christ, baby,” he muttered darkly. “I’m gonna eat you alive.”

  He shifted then. He pulled her back up so she was on her hands and knees again.

  “I can’t—” she whispered.

  “You can.”

  He was so certain. And so she did, bracing herself on her palms, on arms that felt like spaghetti.

  Ajax gathered her hair in one of his big hands and he shifted closer, and she could feel his cock then, still rock hard and entirely too big, nudging into her soaking wet folds from behind. He slid one hand down to anchor her hip, and then he thrust into her again without any ceremony, pulling back on her hair at the same time so her body instantly bowed.

  Her reward was that dirty laugh of his and the way he surged into her, so deep and good she made a guttural noise she’d never heard come out of her before. She tried to meet his thrusts, but she realized in an instant that he was holding her immobile, looming up behind her like some tattooed god of sex and doing exactly what he liked with her.

  She almost came again from that image alone.

  “Not yet,” he told her, and his voice was different then. Darker and rougher, almost destroyed, and she felt a thrill of something like power wind through her at the sound. Maybe she wasn’t the only junkie in the room.

  He groaned something she couldn’t understand and then he let go of her hair, his thrusts getting jerkier, falling out of that intense rhythm. He slid his hand around to her belly, lifting her and pulling her backward, easing her into a new position. She found herself astride him as he knelt behind her, his cock still planted deep inside of her.

  And it was that easy strength of his that made her shiver like that, she thought, fighting to catch her breath again. He wrapped those hard, sculpted arms, inked and beautiful, around her. He dropped his head to her shoulder and she could feel his mouth open against her neck.

  He started to move again, and when he did, he moved all of her. He thrust into her from below. He held her still above, one hand on her breast almost accidentally, except there was only sweet, hot purpose in the way he dragged his thumb over her nipple in counterpoint to those deep, wicked strokes that were tearing her apart.

  “My name, Sophie,” he growled at her. “Say my fucking name.”

  She could hear the slap of their flesh. She could hear how wet she was. She could hear—and she could feel so much it was almost like pain, only better.

  So much better.

  “Oh God,” she whispered, as that searing heat wound tighter and tighter inside of her, her whole body going taut and her pussy clenching down on him. “Oh God.”

  “That’s close enough,” he growled in her ear.

  He pinched her nipple and he pounded her straight into that dark wall, another climax, this one even bigger and more intense than before. He kept pounding into her, his arms tightening around her while his teeth were at her shoulder, and she kept coming.

  And he came with her, jerking hard into her, shouting out his release into the quiet room, so loud she thought they could hear him all the way down on Canal Street.

  But then she didn’t think again. About anything. For what could have been years.

  He held her there, limp against him. She could feel his heart pounding in his mighty chest. She could still feel his cock inside of her and she clenched against it, earning herself a grunt. He rested his head on her shoulder and she liked the fact that he was breathing heavily, too. That it wasn’t only her.

  Eventually, he shifted. He lifted her off his body and she instantly missed the intense heat he gave off. He set her gently on the rug and then surged to his feet with an unconscious, raw grace that made her mouth go dry.

  He raked his hands through his hair as he turned toward the guest bathroom off the living room, and Sophie blinked, because somehow, she’d forgotten who he was.

  It was right there, inked in three separate pieces in bold and unmistakable black all over his gorgeously sculpted back, stretching from just below his broad shoulders to right above his perfect, round ass. The great, grinning skull with the crack in its brow and its fathomless black eyes, staring back at her as he walked away. The top rocker curled above it, reading DEACONS OF BOURBON STREET in go fuck yourself capital letters. The bottom one said NEW ORLEANS, flanked by two fleurs-de-lis that should have seemed incongruously feminine in all that biker black etched into Ajax’s skin, but instead, looked like weapons.

  Ajax disappeared into the bathroom. Sophie struggled to sit up.

  He was right. She was a mess. She was more than a mess—she was naked on the living room floor. She’d spent an entire day in thrall to a man she’d never expected to see again, and she’d had more sex with him
in the course of a single day than she’d had in the past year. Or the past five.

  Or maybe it just felt like that, because sex with Ajax needed a different word to describe it. One that encompassed all that raw power and sheer, dizzying intensity and, God help her, that mouth of his.

  And none of that mattered. None of any of this mattered.

  Sophie had grown up around bikers. She knew that they fucked the way other people ate fast food, indiscriminately and with great initial enthusiasm, and then were empty again in five minutes and ready to move on to the next.

  She knew that. She’d always known that. She’d known exactly who Ajax was the minute he’d walked into her bar, so there was no point crying about it now.

  If Lombards cried, which they didn’t.

  Suck it up, sweetheart, she snapped at herself. You knew what you were doing.

  Well. That wasn’t entirely true. Sophie didn’t think anyone could prepare for Ajax. There was only surviving him.

  She knew enough to do it outside his line of sight. The thought of him coming back out of that bathroom and looking at her like just another piece of ass made her feel physically ill. She could handle that tomorrow, she assured herself. When she’d slept off this intense and bewildering day and could summon her usual attitude again. She could keep her poker face intact and suffer through this entire situation until after the funeral when life would go back to something like normal. Ajax would go back to Texas in the same great fury as he’d arrived here, and she would live out the rest of her life merrily biker free. She could handle all of that. She would.

  But not now. Not while she was soft and tender between her legs and thought he’d left a bite mark on her shoulder, which only a crazy person would smile about.

  Not while the very thought of him made her whole body feel loose and shuddery.

  She crawled up onto her feet. She grabbed the tangle of her jeans and her tank top and bra, which were twisted into a knot, and then she walked as quietly and as quickly as possible across the floor of the living room. She let herself into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. Gently. Very gently.