“Okay, your place it is,” I said immediately, voice husky.
Brock shrugged off his jacket and handed it to me. I immediately put in on, inhaling his manly scent. He’d make a killing if he figured out how to bottle that shit.
“Now you’ll be cold,” I pointed out.
“Sparky, with your hot little body pressed against me it’ll be like riding through a fuckin’ firestorm,” he declared, handing me a helmet.
Well, alrightly then.
The ride out to Brock’s was awesome. I didn’t want to advertise it, but I had never ridden on a motorcycle before. You would think during my campaign to piss my parents off in my teenage years a boy with a motorcycle would have factored in somewhere. It was the ultimate fuck you to Upper East Side parents. But I never got the chance. I still had plenty of fuck you moments for my parents to remember fondly. Like the time I replaced all of the catering staff at one of my mother’s charity events with strippers. That was a fun night.
I didn’t want to advertise my bike virginity to Brock so I had just done what I always did in life: fake it till ya make it. I had jumped on the bike like I’d done it a hundred times before and swallowed any anxiety. The thrill of hurtling down the road under the stars while pressed up to arguably the hottest guy I’d seen up close was beyond words. And a very special kind of foreplay. One that had me almost breathless from the vibration of the bike between my thighs. I had slipped my hands under Brock’s tee and run my nails up his rock hard abs. I had no choice in the matter.
By the time we turned up to Brock’s place it was safe to say I was sufficiently turned on. I think Brock felt the same because once he had turned the bike off instead of hopping up, he reached around and lifted me to sit on his lap. While sitting on the bike. It didn’t topple over or anything. I was impressed. He unclipped my helmet and discarded it.
He seized my head and his mouth crashed onto mine, plundering it, mercilessly fucking my mouth with his tongue. I ground against his hard on with a moan, the friction nearly causing me to burst into flames right there. His hand went to my ass to press me harder against him while his other tweaked my nipple through my shirt. I kid you not…I almost screamed.
Not many times in my life did I ever regret an outfit choice, but right now I cursed myself for wearing leather shorts. All I wanted right now was a dress so Brock could slip my panties aside and fuck me on his bike. Brock must have come to the same conclusion about the lack of easy access because he stood us up and dismounted.
“Next time I’m fucking you on the bike,” he declared roughly.
He didn’t move his mouth from mine as he carried us inside, me grinding on him impatiently. It seemed like it took him hours to get to his bedroom.
He threw me on his bed roughly and leaned over to yank off my shorts.
I hurried with the clasp of my top, opening it to reveal my braless chest.
Brock let out a hiss. His eyes devoured me. “Jesus Christ, baby, you’re even better than I imagined. Your tits are fuckin’ perfect.” His eyes moved to my heels. “They’re staying on. I’ve visualized fucking you with those things on all night,” he declared.
He covered my naked body with his, still fully clothed. I struggled to pull off his cut as he kissed me again, moving down my neck. “You need to get naked, like now,” I ordered.
He glanced up from between my breasts, hands cupping them roughly. I moaned. “No, Sparky, first I’m going to taste both your nipples, then taste your cunt until you come. I want your orgasm on my tongue while I fuck you,” he growled.
My aforementioned ladybits did a whirl. “As you were,” I said quietly.
His eyes turned dark as his mouth closed around my nipple. He wasn’t gentle. Nor was he tender. But the pain was even better. I almost came from just his mouth on my nipple. My eyes rolled into the back of my head as he thrust a finger inside me. He growled. “Fuckin soppin’—that’s my girl.”
Again his fingers weren’t gentle as they plunged into me; they were brutal and fucking amazing. When his mouth settled between my legs I struggled not so scream. With all of the pent up frustration and the fact he was seriously good with his tongue it felt like I came in less than a minute.
I think I went temporarily blind, or at least blacked out because the next thing I knew Brock was naked and lifting me to turn my back to him. He latched my hands onto his wrought iron headboard. “Don’t move these hands, Sparky,” he ordered hoarsely.
I vaguely nodded and he kissed me fiercely, pushing himself into me, his body plastered to my back. He was big and it had been awhile, so it was intense at first, especially at this angle. I had expected him to thrust into me hard and fast but he pushed in slowly until he filled me to the hilt. He moved his body off mine and grasped my hips roughly.
“You ready for this, Sparky?” he asked.
“Fuck yes,” I replied.
He was hard, brutal, unyielding. It was magnificent. I held onto the headboard for dear life as he pounded into me. I could feel another orgasm building and he gripped my neck lightly, making me arch my back and give him more leverage to go deeper. The different angle set me over the edge and everything exploded. My orgasm didn’t cause him to pause, nor did he slow down. He kept pounding into my sensitive skin, the feeling bordering between pleasure and pain. His fingertips bit into my hips so hard I was sure they’d leave a mark. I wanted a mark. I wanted evidence of where his hands had been. Suddenly they tightened and his body went taut as he had his own climax.