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“I want to.”
The sound that leaves him is barely human. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
I smile against his skin.
Then I take him into my mouth.
Bitter curses so loudly somebody in the garage below probably hears him.
His hand fists in my hair, not forcing, just holding on while I learn him the same way he learned me. His cock is heavy on my tongue. His stomach muscles tighten every time I take him deeper.
“Fuck, Sweet. Slow down.”
I pull back enough to look at him. “Thought you liked my mouth.”
“I fucking love your mouth.”
Love. Casual word. Dangerous word.
Neither of us touches it.
I take him back into my mouth instead. His head falls back, and watching Bitter Adams, the man everybody in town seems to know better than to challenge, lose his mind because I am on my knees in front of him does something wicked to me.
His fingers tremble once in my hair.
Then he pulls me away.
I glare up at him. “I wasn’t done.”
“I was about to be.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
He stares at me for one second, then hauls me back onto the mattress.
I squeal.
“You wanted rough?”
My pulse jumps.
I never said that out loud. Maybe my body did.
Bitter sees my face, and his expression sharpens. “Tell me.”
I look at the biker standing between my thighs, belt hanging loose, cut still on, beard dark, mouth wet from kissing me.
“Rougher.”
The word barely makes it out.
His eyes flare. “How rough?”
I hook a leg around his hip and drag him closer. “Bitter, if I have to fill out paperwork, you’re ruining it.”
A laugh punches out of him.
Then he grabs my hips and flips me onto my stomach.
