Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35499 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35499 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
I'm dimly aware of the room around us—the shuffling of feet, the clink of bottles, the heavy silence of men watching something sacred and profane all at once. But none of it matters. Nothing matters but the woman kneeling before me, claiming me as thoroughly as I'm claiming her.
"Eyes on me," I remind her when her gaze starts to drift. "Look at me while you suck me off."
She obeys instantly, her eyes locking back on mine. There's a flush spreading across her chest now, up her neck to her cheeks. She's getting turned on by this—by pleasuring me, by being watched, by the power she has even on her knees.
"That's my girl," I praise, voice tight with restraint. "Taking me so deep. Making me feel so good."
Her rhythm speeds up, her hand and mouth working in perfect tandem. She moans around me, the sound vibrating through my cock, and I know she's getting wet. Know she's aching for me to touch her too.
Soon. But not yet.
"You gonna make me come?" I ask, my voice barely more than a growl. "You want my come down your throat, baby? Want everyone to see what you do to me?"
She nods, eyes never leaving mine, and takes me deeper still.
My hand tightens in her hair, holding her steady as my hips start to move, small thrusts I can't control.
"Fuck, Savannah," I groan. "Nobody's ever made me feel like you do. Nobody."
And it's true. No one else has ever stripped me bare like this—not just my body, but something deeper. Something I thought was buried too far down to reach.
She's found it though. Found me. And now she's showing everyone that I'm hers as much as she's mine.
Her tongue swirls around the head of my cock on the upstroke, and I feel the tension building at the base of my spine. Not yet. Not fucking yet.
"Slow down," I command, tugging gently on her hair. "I'm not done with you."
She eases back, her pace becoming torturous, deliberate. Each stroke of her tongue, each hollowing of her cheeks, each press of her lips is measured now. Designed to keep me right on the edge without pushing me over.
"That's it," I encourage. "Nice and slow. Show me how much you want it."
Her eyes never leave mine, and in them, I see everything—desire, determination, a hint of defiance. But most of all, I see choice. She's choosing this.
Choosing me.
Choosing us.
And fuck if that isn't the hottest thing I've ever seen.
"Stop," I command, my voice rough with need.
She pulls off immediately, lips slick, eyes questioning.
"Take your pants off."
Savannah stands without hesitation, thumbs hooking into the waistband of my borrowed jeans. They slide down her thighs, pooling at her feet. She steps out of them, standing before me in nothing but her own skin.
The bruises on her thighs are purple shadows, and I swallow hard at the sight of them, anger and desire warring inside me.
I pat my lap, cock still hard and wet from her mouth. "Come here."
She climbs onto me, straddling my thighs, her hand wrapping around my length again. Her touch is confident, sure, like she's handled me a thousand times. And she has—but never like this, never with eyes on us.
I grab her breasts. They're perfect—full and heavy in my palms as I cup them, thumbs brushing over her nipples until they harden.
"You're so fucking beautiful," I murmur, leaning forward to take one nipple into my mouth.
"Oh god," she gasps, her head falling back, arching as I suck hard, then gentle, then hard again.
Her hand keeps working me, steady and relentless. I switch to her other breast, giving it the same attention, feeling her thighs tense around mine.
I glance up, taking in the room without breaking rhythm. The bar's gone quiet except for the occasional clink of glass and low murmurs. Every eye is on us—on Savannah's back as it arches, on my mouth at her breast, on her hand stroking my cock.
Some of the guys have their women now, pulling them onto laps, hands wandering under shirts. Diesel nods at me from across the room, approval in his eyes. Brick stands near the door, arms crossed, expression unreadable as always.
The door swings open, and more men file in—patched members and pledges alike, heeding the call to come vote in church tomorrow. Others who'd been out on runs. They stop short, taking in the scene, then move to the bar for drinks, eyes never leaving us.
Every patched member will be here soon. Every one of them will see Savannah choose me—choose us—over everything she's ever known.
It burns that it has to be this way, that she has to prove herself like this. But I'm relieved too, because I think we'll win the vote.
I think they'll let her stay.
I refocus on Savannah, on the woman I've loved since I was too young to understand what love even meant. There's never been a day since that first time at the silo when I didn't tell her I loved her at least once in my head.