Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition by Elizabeth Knox (top 5 ebook reader txt) 📕

give him a blow job underwater. She could go for five minutes. Six when she was in shape—and she was. When he got nervous, thinking she was in danger of drowning, she twisted his balls and hummed. The next thing she knew, he grabbed her biceps and pulled her off of him, stopping just short of coming.

He was still rock hard.

And she was still hungry for a taste of gargoyle meat.

Leaning forward, she palmed one pec and bit his other nipple, licking the hurt away.

“Magenta,” he hissed a warning above her head, releasing her arm and fisting her hair.

The feel of it made her breathless with anticipation of what would happen next. Normally, it was the other way around. She had that effect on men.

“You’re welcome,” she quipped. She hadn’t made him finish and he hadn’t actually thanked her, but his look spoke volumes. The man was smitten with her. Too bad he couldn’t afford her.

But tonight was off the clock. Her time, not his dime. If she wanted to fuck his brains out, Madam Belle couldn’t stop her. Not if she wanted to keep her around, and she did. Magenta was her top draw. A money-making machine.

Tonight, though, she just wanted to be Rory. To be with someone of her choosing.

To be with Quake.

“Stay . . . ?” she asked him. “I’d feel safer if you did. I know you’ll protect me . . . won’t you?”

A callused hand cradled her face. His dark eyes were enigmatic.

“Please?” she whispered, prepared to beg him if that’s what it took.

He searched her gaze, looking for answers to questions unknown, trying to figure out what was happening between them. She couldn’t deny that she felt it too. Something indefinable. Remarkable. Foreign and yet strangely familiar.

An attachment a whore couldn’t afford to feel.

Tomorrow, she promised herself. Tomorrow, she’d exorcise it. Rid herself of it. Erase the memory of his touch and forget that tonight ever happened. Madam Belle had just what she needed to do it. But that was tomorrow.

Tonight, she wanted Quake.

He didn’t answer immediately, keeping her guessing, making her want him all the more. This gargoyle had an unexpected playful side that she was only now discovering. She liked that he was playing hard to get, holding out, not giving in to the demands of his body when they both knew it’s what he wanted. What he needed.

“Alright,” he agreed.

Rory put her hands on his chest and squeezed his pecs. The man was totally ripped. “Come on, then.”

They toweled off by the pool, gathered their clothes, and walked naked to her room. It was almost as large as Belle’s with a sitting area, a walk-in closet, and an ensuite. Dropping her things on a chair, she invited him to do the same.

He followed her into the bathroom. With a tankless system, there was always hot water on demand and no worry about rushing to finish before the spray turned cold. “Go on,” she told him. “Get started. I’ll be in as soon as I get this makeup off.”

She scrubbed her face clean but left in the colored contacts she hid behind. Her eyes were blue, but Magenta’s were a deep purple. It was enough that she was letting him see the woman behind the mask.

Quake was nearly finished by the time she stepped into the shower. Rinsing his hair, he scraped it back and stepped to the side to let her have the rain showerhead. When Rory reached for her favorite bath gel, he snatched it, lightning-quick, and crooked an unapologetic grin. Squeezing some into his hands, he soaped her up, starting with her back, massaging her muscles as he went from her head down to her heels. Her body vibrated, humming with pleasure while he worked.

She put a hand on his broad shoulder to steady herself when he washed her feet, paying attention to each toe, working the balls, thumbing her arches, and massaging her heels. Jesus Christ. If he wasn’t a massage therapist, he should be. The man’s hands were magical. Big and strong with fingers fluent in body language. He knew just where to press to make her sing.

He paid homage to her body, touching her with a reverence that made her tear up at one point, forcing her to pretend she had allergies. Sniffing her nose and rubbing her eyes, she warned herself not to take this for more than what it was. Two people. One night. No more. No less.

He lavished attention on her breasts, kneading them with those talented hands, making her ache with need. Sensing it—or possibly smelling it, if his nose was as sharp as his eyes, he slid a hand down to cup her groin, sliding his fingers between her legs and lifting her with them, reminding her just how strong he was.

He walked with her riding on his hand until he’d backed her against the wall. Pinning her against it with his body, he hooked a forearm behind her knee and lifted it, opening her to his possession. She felt the head of his cock probe, seeking, finding her opening, and pushing inside. The size of his erection made her gasp to feel it squeezing in, stretching her out before pulling back and driving in deeper.

“Yes,” he groaned when he finally managed to get most of it in.

Rory held her breath, feeling the tightly leashed control, wondering what it would take to make him cut loose on her. Given his size, did she dare try? One thing was certain, she wasn’t going to have to fake an orgasm with this gargoyle. He could pull it from her anytime he wanted.

“Fuck me, Quake,” she begged him. “Fuck me.”

“Hold on tight, duchess,” he growled in her ear. “Get ready for a hard, fast ride.”

Rory cried out when he slammed into her, his pelvis crashing into hers. Pain and pleasure merged as she clung to the male taking her so wildly. Thrusting in and nearly pulling out, he pumped into her in a rhythm