Page 23 of Beyond Reckless (Lost Kings MC 8)

  So excited, curious about what he plans to do, I don’t even bother being coy about it.

  “Good girl,” he whispers.

  Keeping his arm around my waist, he curves his hand around my breast, gently flicking his thumb over my nipple.

  In his other hand, he holds the vibrator in front of my face. “You make yourself come with this?”

  “Not recently.”

  “But it works. Does the job?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He flicks it on and off adjusting the speed and vibration patterns right in front of my face, which drives my anticipation higher.

  “Marcel.” I shift against him.

  “Be patient.”

  When he seems to have figured it out, he doesn’t dive straight for the goods. No, he plans to play. To take his time, running the soft, silicone head over and around my breasts.

  “Ah!” My back arches when he touches it to my nipples.

  As he runs the vibrator over my belly, I scoot down, plant my feet on the mattress and tilt my hips.

  “I didn’t even have to ask. You want this bad, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” The word comes out more of a whimper.

  His free hand cups and gently squeezes each breast while he rolls the vibrator over my mound hidden by my underwear. He stops right above my clit, pressing the vibrating head against me.

  “Uh. Ah.”

  “Good?”

  “Yes, God. I love that you…you didn’t just go straight for grinding it into my clit.”

  “Oh, no. My girl’s way too sensitive for that. Need to work you up first.” He kisses my cheek. “Make you beg for it.”

  He slides it down my slit, nothing between the vibrator and my skin but the thin cotton of my underwear.

  “Ah.” My hips tilt, seeking more and Marcel obliges by flicking the vibrator up another notch.

  Wordless moans spill from my mouth as he keeps steadily sliding it over my center. “Let me know when you’re close, Charlotte.”

  “Why?”

  He takes the vibrator away, making me groan. “Because I said so.”

  My grumbling protest only makes him laugh.

  Once, twice, he taps the vibrator over my clit before sliding his hand down and shoving my panties to the side. “Take them off for me.”

  It’s comical how quick I wriggle them down my legs. So fast, I leave them looped around one ankle and don’t even care.

  “Nice.” His hand slides down, spreading my lips. “Look how pretty and wet you are.”

  I can’t answer because he touches the vibrator to me again making my body jump.

  “Easy,” he says, banding his arm around me even tighter.

  He flicks the vibrator down to the lowest setting and touches it to my center, slowly dragging it up.

  “Oh, sweet fuck!” I yelp. I’m not sure how it’s possible, but this is a million times better than using the vibrator myself has ever been.

  Another notch in intensity and I’m reduced to moaning and thrashing. I reach back, grabbing his granite-hard arms and hold on tight.

  “How’s that?” he asks in a low voice.

  “Good.” It takes two syllables to pant the word out.

  With his free hand, he caresses my skin, teasing both nipples, brushing his fingers down my side, pressing his palm against my lower stomach.

  “Oh, fuck.”

  “Are you close?”

  “I think so.” At my frantic response, he takes the vibrator away and I sob. “Why?”

  He presses his lips to my cheek. “Because I said so.”

  Fuck, if he keeps that up, I might come from just the power of him. His solid body surrounding me. His strong voice. Anticipating whether he plans to let me come this morning. And, oh God, he turns the vibrator on and starts the whole torturous process over again.

  My fingers curl into his shoulders hanging on for dear life. At one point I tip my head back to study his face. Every bit of his concentration is focused on what he’s doing to me.

  I have to warn him I’m close to the edge again.

  This time he turns my head and gives me a long kiss.

  “Are you ready to come now?”

  “Yes. Please. Please. Please.”

  I’m so high. Tight with need, I’m afraid I’ll explode the minute he touches the wand to my skin.

  But it takes time to push me back to the edge and when he finally gets me there, I scream.

  He reaches down, exposing my clit.

  “No, no, no. Oh my God.” He brings the toy closer, then eases it down, then moves it back, settling it right over my clit until my back bows off the bed and I see fucking stars.

  “Shit, shit, shit.” I push at his hand. Too much.

  He uses his free hand to pin my hands between my breasts. “Take it.”

  “Oh, God. I can’t. Fuck.”

  More stars behind my eyelids. More white-hot pleasure shooting through my body.

  I’m not sure how long he keeps me in that heightened state of bliss, but I’m breathing heavy and have tears of ecstasy running down my cheeks when he finally flicks the button off.

  My body’s turned to jelly.

  He strokes my cheek with the back of his hand.

  I exhale, a small satisfied sound.

  He wraps his arms around me, bringing me back to Earth with the power of his warmth and kisses.

  What started out as a scene from an amateur porno turns romantic fast. I don’t know if he even realizes it or that’s what he intended. I’m tired of second guessing everything though.

  Desire slams into me like a freight train. I should be spent, but I wriggle around and twist my fingers in his hair to pull him closer. Our lips touch and my mouth opens. He gently strokes his tongue over mine. I kiss him harder, then kiss down to his jaw, his neck. I slide my body down his, dragging my mouth over his chest, stopping to flick my tongue over his nipples, which makes him groan.

  Neither of us speaks. We communicate through touch. His hand gently running through my hair. My tongue tasting his skin. My fingers ripping the sheet off him. My mouth sliding over his cock.

  He lets out a long moan and tangles his fingers in my hair.

  “Charlotte,” he whispers.

  I answer by taking more of him in my mouth. I make several drags of my lips and tongue up and down his cock. Each time I slide my tongue over the head of his cock he hisses with pleasure and flexes his hips, chasing my mouth.

  “Your fucking mouth. So good.” He groans and his head falls back against the wall, but he keeps his eyes half-open, watching me.

  I suck harder and his eyes roll back. “I’m…Fuck…Charlotte…I’m close.” His words come out choppy and uneven.

  I don’t plan to stop, but his hand tightens in my hair, slowly pulling my head up.

  “Charlotte, get on top of me.”

  “I don’t know if my pussy can take any more.”

  “Let’s find out.” He reaches over and grabs a condom, handing it to me.

  “You trust me?”

  “To roll a condom on my dick? Yeah.”

  I rip it open. “I don’t know any tricks, like how to roll it on with my mouth or something.”

  He cocks his head, making a half-frown-half-smile what-the-fuck face. “Give me that.”

  Keeping his eyes on me, he expertly slips the latex on, then grabs my hip and guides me over him.

  “Down you go.”

  We link our hands together and I work myself up and down over him. His gaze stays locked on me and I can’t look away. My orgasm hits hard and fast, then he’s pulling me down, kissing me, pumping up into me until he comes. Even then he doesn’t let me go.

  “Stay,” he murmurs, wrapping me tight in his arms.

  I’m so motherfucking fucked.

  “I could use more morning wake ups like that,” Charlotte murmurs, snuggling tighter against me.

  “Don’t know if you could handle it. You’re already falling asleep on me.”

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nbsp; “You worked me pretty hard,” she says, closing her eyes.

  I’m content just holding her and watching her sleep.

  At least I think it’s contentment. Never really felt it before, so it’s hard to say.

  My phone buzzes and I reach to grab it before the noise wakes Charlotte.

  It’s a text from Murphy.

  You ever come home?

  Are you my keeper?

  Yes.

  I chuckle at that, not annoyed.

  Church at noon.

  I’ll be there.

  “Mmm. What’s wrong?” Charlotte mumbles.

  “Nothing. Sorry.” I set the phone on the night stand and glance down at her, brushing her hair off her cheek. “Go back to sleep.”

  The phone buzzes again and I grab it. “Fucking Murphy.”

  Charlotte chuckles. “He must miss you.”

  My irritation simmers down when I check the message. “It’s actually from my sister.” I turn my phone, so Charlotte can peep the picture of Alexa Heidi sent.

  “Oh, how sweet,” Charlotte says, sitting up to peer at the screen.

  “I have a ton. When she was living in Alaska, I told her she better remember to send one every day.”

  Charlotte blinks. “You’re such a good uncle.”

  Uncomfortable with the compliment, I flick through my phone until I find more pictures to show her. She takes the phone from my hand and stares at me for a second. “Are you sure you trust me?”

  “Why? You gonna call China on my dime?”

  Her eyes widen as if that hadn’t occurred to her. “You trust me not to go through your phone? Read your texts?”

  “Have at it. All you’re gonna find are a bunch of mother-hen texts from Murphy, orders to get my ass to the clubhouse from Wrath, and pictures from my sister.”

  “No strippers texting you to come help them out of their thongs?”

  “Fuck, no.” I laugh. “They bug Z for that shit.” Understanding what’s underneath her questions, I rub the back of my hand over her cheek. “I got nothing to hide from you. You’re the only woman I want to help out of her thong.”

  Some of her anxiety seems to fade and she chuckles. “I don’t wear thongs,” she mutters as she flips through a couple dozen pics of Alexa.

  “As long as I get you naked, I don’t care.” Remembering how we were interrupted last weekend, I ask, “You got a brunch date this morning?”

  “Actually, yes. Carter’s supposed to come too, but we probably scared him away last night.”

  My laughter makes her narrow her eyes. “It’s not funny.” When I keep laughing, she concedes. “Okay, it’s a little funny.”

  I pad out to the kitchen and return with the picture Carter drew. “Maybe he wasn’t that traumatized.”

  “Oh, my.” Her voice catches as she stares at it. “That’s so sweet,” she whispers. Finally, her glossy eyes meet mine. “He’s never drawn one of my boyfriends before.”

  The reference to Charlotte with anyone else hits me in the gut, and I think she misinterprets my reaction.

  “Not that you’re my boyfriend,” she says quickly. “There’s certainly nothing boy about you.”

  I sit on the edge of the bed and brush her hair off her cheek. “Manfriend seems a little weird.”

  She chuckles, then turns serious. “You can come if you want. To brunch, I mean.” Her tentative voice makes me hate that I have to turn her invitation down.

  “Can’t. I have a club thing at noon.”

  “Oh. Sorry. I thought all club activities were at night.”

  “Depends. This is business. Not fun.”

  She arches an eyebrow. “What business do you do?”

  “Well, you already know we own Crystal Ball.”

  “No. I mean you. What do you do? For work I mean. Not club-related.”

  “Everything I do is club-related in one way or another.”

  “Oh.” She glances down, fiddling with the sheet.

  “I’m not trying to be evasive.”

  “And yet…”

  I sit up and run my fingers through my hair, wondering what I can give her that’s both true and not a disaster if her uncle hears it. I trust Charlotte. I do, but still.

  “You want to know what I’m good at?”

  “Making me come?”

  “Yeah. Definitely that.” I slide my hand under the sheet and up her leg, squeezing her thigh. “I’m good at making money.”

  Her eyebrow arches even higher.

  “Investing. Taking money and growing it.”

  “Is that how you ended up as Treasurer for the club?”

  It’s more complicated than that. “Sort of.”

  “How did you ever get involved in that?”

  I shake my head and laugh because it’s an improbable story. “I was one of those ‘at risk’ youths the school system identified and stuck in some pilot program in junior high.”

  “Really? Most districts have done away with those now.”

  An amused snort comes out of me. “I’m aware. I forked over enough for Heidi’s after-school activities to realize they’d done away with pretty much everything but the basics.”

  “So what was the program?”

  “Junior Businessmen or something stupid like that.”

  “Sounds appropriately sexist.”

  Our eyes meet and I shrug. “Never thought about it at the time, but you’re right. What makes it worse, is a woman ran the program.”

  “Please don’t tell me you nailed the instructor?” she asks with a hint of a smirk.

  “No. Not for lack of trying.”

  “At least you’re honest.” She places her hand on my mine. “Sorry, go on. I promise not to interrupt again.”

  She’s so sincere and sweet, I lean in and press a quick kiss to her lips.

  “We did a lot of stuff. Built things with our hands, then went to local businesses and convinced people to buy them.”

  “I can see you being good at that.” There’s no hint of teasing in her words or expression.

  “I was. I’d been around the club for a few years by then and Rock’s nothing if not a good businessman.”

  “Rock. Your president, right?”

  “Yeah, except he wasn’t president back then.”

  “How did you juggle an afterschool program if you were already in with the club?”

  “Oh, I still had plenty of bitchwork from the club to keep me occupied. But Rock’s rule was I had to stay out of trouble and graduate from high school if I ever wanted to patch in.”

  “Really? That’s…unusual.”

  “Honestly, it’s pretty calculating. Except for a stint in juvvie my record is clean. So is Murphy’s.”

  “That’ll help me with the adoption,” she mutters as if she’s making a mental note of it. That small throwaway comment makes something in my chest warm. Saturday morning, in bed with me, and she’s still thinking about ways to help her clients—who happen to be my family.

  “I did so well, I was invited into the advanced program. That program was for the kids of businessmen and politicians, and a few token delinquents.”

  “How fun for you.”

  “Oh, it was.” My mouth kicks into a grin. “This course focused on the stock market and investing. We picked stocks and bought shares with fake money and the following week, whoever did the best got some shitty prize.”

  “And, by your smug face, I assume you did well.”

  “I won every week. I did so well the teacher started using my predictions for her own investments.”

  “Wow. So why aren’t you on Wall Street?”

  “Don’t want to be.”

  “Are you trying to tell me you’re some undercover billionaire?”

  “Not yet. I definitely got cocky and made some reckless decisions early on. I don’t come from a family with generations of wealth so I had to learn to restrain myself. Use caution.”

  “Didn’t that take the fun out of it?”

  “I wa

sn’t using play money anymore and Daddy wasn’t coming to bail me out if I lost my trust fund.”

  “So you’re gifted and risk-averse.”

  “You can say that.”

  “I’m surprised you’re not on some Forbe’s list of most eligible bachelors under thirty.”

  My mouth twists down. “Definitely don’t want exposure like that.”

  “You’re certainly good looking enough to have a television show.”

  “Nah, I’d probably have to wear a suit.”

  “Someone could market you as the Inked Investor or something stupid like that.”

  “Not interested.”

  “What do you want?”

  You.

  “I have what I want. My club’s doing well. I only work if and when I want to. My sister’s taken care of. That’s all that’s ever mattered to me.”

  “So you have all this financial talent and use it to support your motorcycle club?”

  The question isn’t asked in a mean way. I sense she genuinely wants to understand.

  “Everyone works as hard for the club as I do. We each have different talents, but similar goals.”

  “Avoiding nine-to-fives and unlimited pussy?”

  Even if she meant the words to be insulting, I laugh. And laugh. Because it’s pretty close to the truth. “Something like that.”

  Honestly, I’m impressed she hasn’t subtly tried to hint at how many bills she has or how she could really use a new car. It doesn’t seem that even occurred to Charlotte.

  Instead of showing my excitement, I settle down and try to think of a better way to explain my love for the club. “My blood family fucked me over from birth. My brothers have never let me down. I owe them everything.”

  “Sounds like they owe you too.”

  “If Murphy and I died tomorrow, I know without a doubt the club would take care of Heidi and Alexa.”

  “That’s worth more than notoriety,” she whispers.

  “It’s worth everything.”

  I’m a little stunned by the things Marcel’s admitted this morning. Sure, he could be full of shit. But if he were trying to impress me, he would’ve tried to dazzle me with some jaw-dropping figures.

  The fact that he’s been pretty superficial about revealing his talent tells me he’s not full of shit.

  Still puzzling out his devotion to his club, I follow him into the shower.