Falling For The Biker: The Vice President's Girl Chapter 93

Wren

We've barely made it into our suite when I leap into his arms. He catches me effortlessly.

"You want this as bad as I do, don't you, sweetheart?" His palms splay across my ass while my arms go around his neck as he walks us into the bedroom.

"You know I do," I murmur. "Thank you for bringing Judi. I missed her, and I'm sorry for telling her when you said I shouldn't."

He nuzzles the under of my chin. "All is forgiven. I'm just glad she hasn't spilled it."

"She won't. Trust me, she knows how complicated and risky it is."

"Yea, if someone were to find out and tell Ray before we do..." he trails off, eyes glazed over and jaw tight.

I frown. "You good?"

"I am happy to be here with you." He smiles wide.

A nagging feeling settles in my stomach. He's hiding something, and I have a feeling he's not going to tell me.

I'd pry but I don't want to spoil the mood, and so my own smile stretches my face as I glance back at the large bed. "We have a big bed."

"We do."

"There's a lot to do on it."

"Damn right," he laughs. "I'm going to take good care of you, and you're going to be sore in the best way."

My fingers sift through his hair, and his head tilts up. "I wouldn't want it any other way."

"Your arm?"

"It's perfect."

With that, I slam our lips together, welcoming his eager groan as it vibrates through my chest and down my stomach.

Yes, my arm still hurts but it's nothing to cry about anymore.

Instead, I focus on loving my man. Our lips move together in sync, tasting, teasing.

He walks the remaining distance to the bed, and gently deposits me on it. I drag him down with me, and when my eyes fly open, I gasp.

"There's a mirror," I nearly shriek.

He looks up at the ceiling then grins at me. "I don't know about you, but I'm going to enjoy the view."

A flush stains my cheeks and neck. "You knew about this, didn't you?"

"Not until after I booked, I promise."

"Ugh, baby."

He kisses me again, slow and sensual. It relaxes all my muscles, and I melt into it.

"There's nothing to be shy or embarrassed about," he murmurs. "You won't even know it's there."

"I doubt that."

"I'll make you feel so good, you won't remember the mirror."

My cheeks heat. "Don't say things like that."

Ezra rolls his lips between his teeth, and he kneels between my thighs.

In one swift swoop, he throws his jacket and shirt off his body.

My stomach dips, and I can't look away from his sculpted chest, tattoos crawling up the expanse and a silver chain dangling from his neck.

Sometimes I forget just how gorgeous this man is. And he's all mine.

"Focus on me, darling." He takes my ear lobe between his teeth. "Feel my hands on your skin-" he skims my stomach, pushing my shirt up my chest, "-my mouth on you—" he tugs down my bra and latches onto my nipple.

I cry out, back arched, offering myself up to him like a platter.

And just like that, all my worries melt away. I only see him, only feel him all. He's right, the mirror is the last thing I think about.

A hand pops the button of my jeans, and tugs it down my legs with my underwear.

He taps my thighs. "Up."

I raise my knees and he settles beside me. His large palm cups my jaw, and he hooks one of my legs beneath his.

"You're wearing too many clothes," I complain.

His eyes stare into mine. "I need a few orgasms from you, first. If I take my jeans off, be rest assured I'd be sinking into you before you can say 'take me'."

I snort. "The way you speak sometimes..."

"You love it." He kisses my jaw. "And I love you."

"I do...so much."

He raises his eyes to the ceiling, and before I can see they way my naked body is splayed across the bed, Ezra swipes at my center.

"Ohhh..." I buck, eyes rolling to the back of my head.

"Yea," he rasps against my lips, and kisses me.

My eyes flutter shut, and I lose myself in him.

In the way he kisses me—like a man starved get savoring every taste—in the way he touches me, alternating between fast and slow, deep and shallow strokes.

I'm a writhing mess, body taut like a bow, ready to snap. Wanton moans spill from my lips, uncaring.

Every stroke, every kiss, every touch...god, even the fabric of his jeans as it chaffs my skin brings me closer and closer to the edge.

"Christ, you take my breath away," he swears, curling his fingers inside me.

My hips snap back and forth.

"That's right, baby. Ride my fingers," he groans. "You're doing so good. Fuck, you're perfect."

Sliding my hands up his chest, he shivers, breaking momentum for a bit.

"Baby," he warns when I graze the outline of his jeans.

"I want to see you," I pant, "I want to taste you."

His fingers slip out of me when I push up on my knees, and he sucks them into his mouth.

I lick my lips, core pulsing and nipples hardening at the obscene sight.

"I...I have an idea," I swallow thickly.

He swipes at his lips. "Talk to me."

"We can both get what we want."

"I'm listening, sweetheart." His knuckles rub against the skin of my waist, sliding behind to squeeze my bum.

Redness colours my chest and neck, heart beating wildly. "I'll...I'll s-sit—"

He raises a brow. "You'll sit on my face?"

The way my skin heats up is enough answer.

"Hell yes." He tugs me down by neck and kisses me hard and fast, his neck straining to meet my lips.

I taste the tang of my arousal on his lips, his tongue pushing in and out of my mouth at pace that's almost hard to keep up with.

"Take me out," he croaks when we come up for air.

My shaky hands undo his belt and with his help, I drag his clothes down his legs.

His hard length settles heavily on his stomach, the engorged head purple and glistening with precum.

He moves to the center of the bed, arranges the pillows and pats his face.

"Make my face your throne, my queen."

And I do.