Chapter 169. The Ride Back Home II
Maisie
A needy whimper slipped from my throat. He cursed in Russian, the words rough and filthy, tightening his grip in my hair until the sting melted into liquid heat.
I could barely breathe as he yanked my shirt up and over my head, dragging the straps of my bra down my arms.
The cool air hit my overheated skin, making my nipples tighten even more. He leaned in, dragging his tongue along the swell of my cleavage before sinking his teeth into the soft flesh just above my breast, leaving a perfect, bite mark. Then he tugged the cups of my bra down, baring me completely.
The car rocked as he pulled me closer and his mouth was on me instantly, hot and ravenous, sucking one aching nipple deep while his hand kneaded the other breast, rolling and pinching. He switched sides, lavishing the same cruel attention on each one until I was trembling, gasping, my hips grinding frantically on his fingers.
With an animalistic rattle, he spanked one side of my breast, watching it jiggle with dark satisfaction. "You have no idea how much I love these," he groaned against me before leaning in to nip at the sensitive peak hard enough to sting.
My eyes rolled back, a sharp cry tearing from my lips as white-hot pleasure exploded behind my eyelids. My insides clenched greedily around his fingers, throbbing, dripping, so close it hurt.
He kept lavishing attention on my breasts until I was a trembling, dripping mess, grinding helplessly against his fingers. But I didn’t want his fingers anymore. I wanted him.
The thick, heavy outline of his cock strained against his pants, and a rush of raw hunger surged through me. I wanted to taste him. It had lived rent free in my head ever since I’d come on the floors of the jet. I wanted to please him.
I completely forgot about my half down pants, and upon shuffling back, I nearly fell clumsily. Embarrassment heated my cheeks when he laughed softly, righting me as I sank back on my knees between his legs. I bet that was the least sexy thing he’d ever seen a woman do. Falling over herself to suck him off.
Impressive, really.
Jericho gripped my chin and tilted my gaze to meet his. "Need a little incentive to continue, or are you trying to set my cock on fire just by staring at it, little arsonist?" Both our gazes dropped to his swelling tip and my mouth dried as it twitched and bobbed, flushed hard almost angrily.
His fingers settled on the base of my throat, caressing gently. "Have a little mercy on me, May, will you?"
Licking my dry lips, I wrapped my hand around the base and dragged my tongue slowly up the underside, savoring the salty taste of him. His hips jerked, and he hissed my name like a prayer. "May..."
Encouraged, I took him deeper, lips stretching wide around his girth as I bobbed my head, hollowing my cheeks and swirling my tongue around the sensitive head on every upstroke.
"Fuck."
His hand fisted gently in my hair, holding on as if he needed the anchor.
I took him as deep as I could, gagging and relaxing my throat, but I’d long given up on ever trying to take any more of them than I should in my mouth. It was impossible to get him more than halfway down and I worked with what I could, my nails digging into his thighs and my eyes watering.
I loved the way he fought not to thrust up into my mouth, the way his control frayed with every swirl of my tongue. I hummed around him, the vibration pulling another string of Russian curses from his lips.
He was trembling, thighs rock-hard under my palms. "You keep getting better and better at this," he groaned, voice wrecked with yearning. "So fucking good, even when you’re still learning how to take me."
The praise melted me. I doubled my efforts, sucking harder, stroking what I couldn’t fit, lost in the addictive taste and feel of him. He was close. I could feel it in the way he throbbed against my tongue, but he suddenly tightened his grip in my hair and pulled me off with a wet pop, breathing hard.
And then he was kissing me again, sucking his taste off my tongue, grunting with that pleased animal sound as he explored every inch of my mouth, erasing every bit of Ryder that had ever been in there.
And I was kicking off my pants, straddling him and locking my legs around his torso, his hands bruising my hips as he lifted and shifted me until I was right where he wanted me.
"Still sore?" he groaned against my mouth.
I shook my head.
His arm banded around my torso, holding me in place, and he nudged against my soaked entrance. And I cried out at the burning stretch, so loud, the entire car hitched violently, and I heard Richie’s faint cough, before music poured in through the speakers.
"Little liar," Jericho hissed against my ear, because I was, indeed, still sore.
Fucking Mercer.
He pulled out of me and I mourned the loss of him and the emptiness.
"Jericho," I pleaded shamelessly, even as it stung and hurt.
Lust with these men apparently didn’t have an off button when it came on. And I was so hot, so terribly wanton, I would’ve gone down on my knees and pleaded if I had to.
"I know," he said, fingers branding my hipbone as he held me in place before I could impale myself on him. "But I don’t want to hurt you. So you’re going to have to do what I tell you to, and no more."
I nodded, panting.
He lifted me off him and placed me gently on the seat beside him.
My brows furrowed as I watched him slide down on the leather seat, adjusting until his huge shoulders were braced against the door, his head propped on a cushion he’d grabbed from the other side.
The position was almost comical, watching him squeeze his tall frame onto the chair and spill over from it. Until I looked at his face and stopped finding anything funny.
"Come here," he said. "And sit."
Confusion drew my brows together, until I realized he was talking about his face.
He wanted me to sit on his face.