“Do you want my dick in your ass yet, Harp?” he asks, pressing his lips up against my ear, sending a jolt through my entire body.
“I’m ready to beg for it.”
He presses his mouth into my neck and kisses me, getting mostly hair for his efforts, but he’s chuckling, so I know he doesn’t care. “I do love you, Harper. I’ve loved you for so long. But now I want more than love and sex. I want to know you.” He lifts his hips again, but this time, his c**k finds his mark and he thrusts himself inside my pu**y. He rocks back and forth, still teasing my ass**le with his thumb. He repositions himself so he’s straddling my upper thighs now and this changes everything. All the feelings I just experienced pale in comparison to the sensation of his dick sliding past my ass cheeks as he f**ks me from behind.
“Your f**king ass is beautiful. The way it hugs my c**k as I take you.”
Oh God. That’s the only thing I can think of. Oh God, oh God, oh God!
And then he flips me over again and before I know what’s happening, he’s pushing me down to the ground. I hit the cold tile floor and the sting on my knees registers for a brief moment, but then James pushes his c**k towards my mouth and I open for him. Everything else is forgotten as I look up into his eyes.
Now. Now I can see the truth in him.
“Fuck me,” I whisper.
He doesn’t wait for a second request. His c**k slides past my lips and I flick my tongue along the underside of his shaft. My eyes never leave his and even though he’s definitely the one in charge right now, even though he’s one of the most dangerous men in the world, and even though I’m the one on my knees—I have the power.
He gives everything to me when he throws his head back and explodes down my throat.
I have the power.
But that’s not what makes me happy. It’s the way I receive the power that makes all the difference.
I have power because he gives it to me.
Chapter Eleven - James
I’m out of bed in an instant, reaching for the gun that’s not there, as I try to wake up from a night of sex-induced deep slumber.
Where the f**k is my gun?
Harper is standing next to me, pulling on her top. Her shorts are hanging off her hips, half-zipped, a phone sticking out of each pocket. Before I can make sense of what I’m seeing, she whispers, “What was that noise?”
“The Smurf?” I answer as I find the gun on the floor and check the chamber and the mag. The FN Five-SeveN holds twenty rounds.
Twenty is more than enough.
A scream jolts us into action and we bolt for the door at the same time. I push Harp back. “Stay here,” I growl down at her. “I’m not kidding.”
I don’t wait for an answer, just open the door and press my back against the hallway as I maneuver towards the living room. Where the f**k did we leave the Smurf? Outside?
But no, the TV is on, cartoons are playing softly. There’s wrappers and stuff on the coffee table like she’s been helping herself to food.
I notice the open back door in the kitchen and hear the whine of a dirt bike engine at the same time.
“Fuck!” Harper’s next to me and we hop down the porch steps in tandem and run for the garage.
“Get in,” I bark at her. The keys are in a magnetic holder to the left of the tailpipe, so I grab those, get in, and start it up. “Where did they go? Did you see where they went?” I pull forward out of the garage.
“That way.” Harper points behind us, to the desert beyond the back yard. There’s a cloud of dust. “Did someone take her?”
I ignore her. This kid isn’t going anywhere without me until I say so.
I gun it. “Hold on!” I yell to Harp over the roar of the engine as we bounce along the scrub. I glance in the rear view and there’s a trail of decimated yucca plants.
“Oh my God,” Harper says as she grabs the handle above the window. We gain on them and the biker looks over his shoulder at us, then increases the throttle and pulls away on a flat stretch of hard-packed sand. The sun is just starting to rise and the glare blinds me for a moment, but it blinds him too, and he swerves west to avoid it.
Harper has her head out the window pointing at something up ahead. “There’s something up there. What’s he heading for?”
Mesquite trees are lined up in the distance, signaling there’s a dry river bed up ahead. They are thick, big enough to possibly stop the Hummer if I try to plow through them. “If he can make it to the river bed he can lose us. Harper,” I say, pointing to the gun tucked under my thigh, “grab the gun. When I pull up next to him, you shoot out the tires, OK?”
“What? No! I don’t shoot guns! I’ll hit Sasha!”
“How the f**k do you not shoot guns?” But the conversation drops off when I hit a good-sized ocotillo plant. Instincts kick in and we both shield our eyes from the onslaught of flying limbs that splatter against the windshield. “Fuck! The ocotillos are everywhere!” It’s like someone planted the tall twiggy bushes on purpose to keep off-roaders away. “Harper!” I grab her by the arm. “You drive, herd him towards that wall of ocotillos over there! I’ll shoot out the tires and even if he gets away, the thorns will—”
“James! I can’t drive!”
“What the f**k? How the hell?” But the biker is on to me and he swerves. I head the opposite direction, anticipating his evasive move, and direct him back where I want him.