"Please move," I whisper, digging my nails into his broad shoulders.
And he does. God, he does.
Is this a dream? Am I still captive somewhere, having conjured this elaborate fantasy of rescue and salvation? A real man—one worthy of my time and body—willing to protect me from everything bad in the world after just meeting me?
But this can't be a dream. His hands… So big they span my waist completely are touching every inch of my curvy body, and his thick cock is pulsing inside me. I feel every inch, every thrust, every grunt that rumbles from his chest and vibrates against mine.
I want to close my eyes, to focus solely on the sensations flooding through me, but I can't. I need to see this, to memorize it. Whatever happens tomorrow or the next day, I'll always have this moment with Reaper. No—Jackson. He asked me to call him Jackson when we're like this.
I love his name. Love how it feels on my tongue when I moan it.
"Jackson," I gasp as he hits a spot deep inside me that makes my vision blur. I want him to know I'm focused entirely on him, on what he's making me feel, because it feels fucking fantastic.
He's filling me completely. His cock is the perfect thickness, stretching me in ways that make embarrassing sounds happen each time he pulls back. A queef escapes, and my face burns with embarrassment.
"I'm sorry," I mumble, trying to move my hips.
"Don't be," he growls, his eyes dark with desire. "I love it. Love hearing how our bodies fit together perfectly. Nothing to be embarrassed about, Evelyn."
I run my hands down his muscular forearms and arms, feeling them flex with each powerful thrust. He doesn't stop, doesn't slow, doesn't even seem winded. How strong is this man? The Vultures MC are nothing compared to him. What has he endured to become this powerful, this unyielding? I want to know everything, to explore the depths of this man even if I lose myself in the process.
Is he good? Is he bad? I still don't know for certain, but I'm willing to give him a chance. Willing to trust him, which is something I haven't done in... God, I can't even remember the last time.
He suddenly pauses, his brow furrowing with concern. "You okay? You seem like you spaced out. We can stop if—"
A smile spreads across my face—a genuine smile that I didn't know I was still capable of. This burly, dangerous man noticed I was distracted and cared enough to check on me. When has anyone ever done that? He's a gentleman beneath all that violence. Dangerous, yes, but for reasons I'm beginning to understand.
"I'm sorry," I say, touching his bearded cheek. "I've just never been treated so kindly. Especially during sex."
He turns his face to kiss my palm. "From now on, you'll be treated with nothing but respect."
"I appreciate that," I tell him, arching slightly beneath him. "But during sex? You don't need to be so gentle. I won't break."
A wicked smirk crosses his face. "Glad to hear it, because I was planning to pick up the pace."
"Actually," I say, surprising myself with my boldness, "I'd like to ride you first. I want to feel in control... at least once."
He chuckles. "I'd never deny a lady her wishes."
I punch his shoulder lightly. "You're an idiot."
"So I've been told."
He rolls onto his back, bringing me with him in a seamless motion that leaves me straddling his hips, his cock still buried inside me. On top of him, I feel tiny. I barely cover half his body.
I trace my fingers over the intricate tattoos decorating his chest and arms—beautiful, thoughtful designs, not the crude jailhouse scrawls I would have expected.
I lift myself up, his cock sliding partially out of me, then grasp the base to guide him back as I sink down. He grunts, his hands finding my hips as I begin to bounce slowly, feeling like I'm being impaled in the most delicious way.
Once I adjust to the new angle, I increase my pace, rolling my hips in circles that make us both gasp. Sweat trickles down the curve of my breasts as I ride him harder, his massive hands on my ass helping guide my movements. My thighs start to burn with the effort, but I don't want to stop. I don't want this to end, even though I know everything does eventually.
As my movements begin to falter, he notices immediately. "Let me take over."
He pulls me down to his chest, my breasts flattened against him and wraps one arm around my waist. Then he begins to thrust upward, powerful strokes that make me feel like a rag doll manipulated by invisible strings.
"Jackson," I whimper, feeling the tension building, coiling tighter and tighter. "I'm close."
"Let go," he commands, his voice rough with exertion. "Come for me, Evelyn."
