Falling For The Biker: The Vice President's Girl Chapter 35

Wren

My heart is in my throat, blood rushing through my body. I can't think, I can't speak. My skin feels on fire, every nerve ending fired up.

I adjust myself on the pillows, and watch Ezra stalk towards me. His sweats ride low on his hips, peeking at the deep 'V' that leads to the part of him that I've only touched.

His bottom lip is tucked between his teeth, eyes never leaving mine. His heated stare burns a trail up my body, leaving licks of flame in their wake.

The air cackles with tension and desire so thick I can taste it on my tongue.

"Are you sure, Birdie?" Ezra places his hand on the bed, his weight sinking it slightly.

I shudder. "Yes, please."

A low chuckle leaves his lips, and settles in my tummy like liquid warmth.

"So polite." He crawls up the bed, and my legs raise and spread on their own.

Gently, he settles between my legs, and my eyes flutter shut as he invades my whole being.

His scent, his weight, his closeness...everything feels consuming, magnetic, and suffocating in the best way possible.

A large, warm palm cups my jaw.

"I need your eyes," he breathes. "I need you to see who's about to make you feel good, the man that's about to kiss you, touch you...take you."

My throat bobs on a thick swallow, and his eyes track the movement. A smug smirk curves his lips.

"You're talking so much, Ezra," I say, pushing his hair out of his face and sinking my fingers into the curls.

"Fuck," He groans, eyes darkening until they're almost black. "I want to see your ass, my fingerprints would be there. God, it must be red..."

My cheeks heat, but I force myself to whisper. "They still hurt."

It's supposed to sound flirty, inviting, instead it sounds whiny.

He huffs a short laugh, squeezing his eyes shut briefly. "You have no idea what you're doing to me."

Butterflies erupt in my stomach, nerves swelling from inside me.

"Show me." I wet my lips, voice husky.

His hips rock slightly forward, and my breath stutters, lips parting in awe. The hardness of his length rubs against me, a teasing promise.

Calloused palms slide down the curve of my hips, and under my bum. He raises one of my knees further up, and he rocks forward again, this time harder than the last.

"Oh god," I moan at the almost raw contact from

our thin clothes, finger nails dragging across his back and arms.

"Birdie...f-fuck." He tenses. "I'm going to touch you," he warns, grazing his fingers across my stomach and the waist band of my shorts.

His hand slips inside, and my stomach dips as I hold my breath.

A finger taps my entrance, and I gasp, eyes rolling to the back of my head, and hips jerking upwards to meet his thrust.

His eyes flash. "You're fucking soaked, jesus, Wren." He takes his hand out, and gives his cock a short squeeze.

I nearly come at the sight, rolling my lips into my mouth. He swipes his tongue against his lips, pink, soft, inviting.

I wonder if they're as soft as they look, or firm like every part of him.

Hooking my arms around his neck, I go to tug him to find out, when the shrill sound of my ringtone cuts through the air.

We both freeze, and he jerks his head toward the phone on the bedside table.

"It's Ray," he informs me.

With a huff, I wrap my legs around his waist and flip. It takes some effort but I have him beneath me in a bit, his hands on my waist.

"Let's not answer it," I say, tucking my hair behind my ears.

His lips lift ever so slightly. "You know you can't do that. He'll either switch to calling me or he'll keep call—"

Just as the phone stops ringing, it picks up again. Ezra gives me an 'I told you so' look.

Ignoring it, I slip my hands under his tank and he exhales harshly.

"Birdie..."

"Shush." Leaning, I kiss his jaw, trailing kisses down his neck.

His grip tightens on my waist, heart pounding beneath my palms. My teeth nip his neck, and a low sound rumbles from his chest.

A soft smack lands on my ass. "You're not in charge here—"

The phone rings again, and I know Ray won't stop calling. My jaw tightens, annoyance seeping into my veins.

"Answer it, Wren." Ezra sighs, placing me on the bed and standing. He runs a hand through his hair, his length still hard, with a small wet spot on his sweats.

I frown. "Are you leaving?"

"This is the second time Ray's interrupting us, the first happened at the bar."

My heart drops, throat tightening. "W-what are you tr-trying to say?"

"I'm not superstitious," he says. "But can't you see it's a sign? We can't risk it, and I'm sorry that I have to do this to you again."

I scoff, blinking back the burn in my eyes. I press my lips together, jaw tight, and I nod.

"I see," I say, running my tongue on my upper teeth. "Get out."

"Wren..."

I hold up a hand. "No, I get it. Just...just leave, Ezra. I'm not doing this again."

I wonder how many times I'll keep saying that for it to eventually stick. At this point, it isn't even his fault anymore.

I'm the one to blame.

I'm the one foolish enough to hope for even a moment that anything could happen between us. I'm the one still holding on to a silly childhood crush.

Piercing gray eyes swim with apology, while my phone still blares like an obnoxious banshee.

"Goodnight, Wren."

When I don't respond, he walks out, leaving his glass of whiskey.

Snatching up my phone, I jam my finger on the green button.

"What is it, Ray? Look at the time," I snap.

"Oh." A soft familiar voice filters in, and I squeeze my eyes shut in regret as she speaks. "I'm sorry, Wren. My phone's charging and I used Ray's phone to call, I didn't pay attention to the time."

I run a hand down my face. "I'm sorry for snapping at you, Quincy. Thought it was Ray hounding me just like his useless best friend."

"It's fine." She chuckles softly. "Maybe we can talk tomorrow?"

Maybe it's the loneliness I feel, or the humiliating feeling of being toyed with, but I drag a blanket over my body.

It surrounds me like a warm hug, and I curl up in a ball underneath, a tear rolling down my cheek, then I respond.

"No, Quincy," I rasp. "Now's a good time, how're you and the baby?"