BILLIONAIRE BIKERS: 3 MC Romance Books by Kristina Blake

bike. My legs part to accommodate him as he presses himself closer. The proximity ensures that he dominates my every sense, and I feel blind to everything except base pleasure.
    Because now Flint is doing wonderful things with his mouth. He laps at me once, compelling me to open further to him; as soon as I give him an inch, he takes an opportunistic mile. He thrusts his tongue inside me and plunders my mouth, taking ownership of the tart space that has been the focal point of so many quips against him. He sweeps away any protest or remarks I might have made now, leaving me only capable of making small, keening animal sounds of approval. I can tell he likes this new, wanton side of me, because each little gasp and moan I give seems to drive his sexualized energy closer to frenzy.
    I'm finding it difficult to focus, much less drag my attention away from his mouth, but the fact remains that he is doing other things as well—things like pushing his pelvis up against my own, and giving occasional slow, lazy thrusts, almost without realizing what he is doing. I feel that the bulge of his erection has returned with a vengeance, but he won't hold it against me long enough to allow me a moment's relief from my own physical craving for sustained contact. I feel myself growing wetter by the second, until even the friction of my cotton panties against the inside of my jeans gives me the familiar feeling of a lover's attention. For the sake of my own sanity, we have to continue this somewhere else, somewhere more private, where I can be allowed to show Flint Carter exactly what his victory has earned him.
    He extracts his mouth wetly from my own and pulls away, breathing harder. His breaths come more harshly still when I let my hand glide down the front of his groin, my fingers teasing along the shiny outline of the front button of his pants.
                  "The hotel," I manage to murmur. "Let's go straight there. Please, Flint."
                  It's more than just arousal driving my pleading. In the aftermath of our near lovemaking against his bike, I feel hyper aware of the night around me. Where once the chill evening felt invigorating and too huge to contain, it suddenly feels as if it is weighing down oppressively around us. My awareness has transferred from the man I can't help desiring, maybe even fostering feelings for, to the scrap of napkin I know resides in his back pocket. Where will it take him tonight, when the hour has already grown so late? And where will he take me, if I let him?
                  I didn't think it was possible, but his grip on me tightens even harder. I'm startled to find when I look up at him that his expression isn't one of cold resolution, but one of intense conflict—of pain. Did he think he never had a choice? Whatever dark path he is determined to pursue, he's found an unexpected divergence in the road. He's found me. And while I can't offer him much more than a runaway's fleeting affection, my feelings for him are certainly gaining on me quickly.
                  "Can't," he says finally. "I have one more person to see tonight. Then we can go."
                  This time when he hands me the helmet, he doesn't pull it back. I take it from him, and realize my hands are shaking. What is this? Is it just due to the adrenaline rush I got from our hot and heavy make-out session? Or am I afraid of what awaits us down the road?
                  Every stunningly masculine feature of Flint's dark face appears to have pulled back together to form a mask of malicious determination. I pile onto the back of his motorcycle and grip his midsection, hoping to convey to him through touch what my hopeless pleas could not. He's going to let me continue riding with him, but there is a price I'm going to have to pay.
                  I just wish I knew what that price was.

CHAPTER 8
     
    FLINT
    I am being torn