Все главы The Biker's Bride Wants Revenge: Глава 21 - Глава 30

RHEAI explode—screaming, pussy gushing around his fingers, squirting hard in hot waves, body convulsing, clit pulsing against the cold ring. He doesn’t stop—fingers fucking me through it, drawing it out until I’m sobbing, coming again immediately, harder, juices soaking his hand, the desk, everything.“Good fucking girl,” he growls, voice rough for the first time.I’m wrecked—trembling, tears streaming, pussy still spasming.He pulls his fingers out slow, dragging them against my walls, letting me feel every inch of the empty ache he leaves behind.I’m desperate now—raw, throbbing need pulsing through my swollen pussy, clit begging for anything to tip me over.“Dame—please—your cock—I need your cock inside me—please fuck me—fill me up—”He stands tall, unzips his pants slow and deliberate, like he’s got all the time in the world. Pulls out that pierced monster—thick as my wrist, veiny ridges pulsing, the silver barbell through the fat head glinting with pre-cum.My mouth waters. My p

RHEAI give up struggling faster than I’d like to admit, and that’s how I end up on Damien’s lap, perched on a couch at the far end of the bedroom.He adjusts me like I weigh nothing—one strong arm banded around my waist, pulling me back against his chest until I feel every inch of him behind me. Hard muscle. Steady heartbeat. The faint heat of his skin through his shirt.The second I shift, trying to slide off, his palm lands on my ass—sharp, possessive smack that makes me freeze.“Behave,” he murmurs, voice low and rough against my ear.The sting spreads warm and slow. My breath catches. I swallow every filthy curse clawing up my throat and force my mind elsewhere.Think of Camryn. Think of using his influence to find her. Think of Victor and Elara’s faces when everything they’ve built goes up in flames.Hell—think of the look on Damien’s face when I’ve got my daughter, my revenge, and disappear from his life just as abruptly as I stormed into it.“Is this how you nurse your patients

RHEAI’m beyond stunned when Damien kisses me.One second I’m laughing—actually laughing—at something stupid he said, head turned away from him while I’m curled in his arms on the couch. The next, his hand slides up my throat, fingers firm under my jaw, tilting my head back to him.His eyes lock on mine—dark, feral, no trace of humor left.Then his mouth crashes down on mine.No soft start. No gentle press.He kisses me like he’s starving—like he’s been holding back for weeks and just snapped.His tongue pushes past my lips instantly, deep and demanding, claiming every inch of my mouth. I moan into him, the sound swallowed as he angles my head exactly how he wants it, controlling the kiss completely.He tastes like sin—whiskey and heat and pure possession.One hand fists in my hair, pulling just hard enough to sting, arching my neck so he can go deeper. The other grips my hip, fingers digging into my flesh, dragging me tighter against his hard body until I feel every inch of him press

RHEA“Arms up.”My breath catches.He doesn’t wait for me to obey. His fingers find the hem of the pyjama top and drag it up—slow, torturously slow—peeling the fabric away inch by inch. The hem catches on my breasts, dragging over my already sensitive nipples, making them tighten instantly under his stare.The shirt comes off. I’m bare from the waist up.His eyes devour me—hungry, reverent, possessive.He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of the pyjama pants, drags them down my thighs, past my knees, all the way to my ankles. I step out, naked now, skin prickling under the warm steam and his gaze.He doesn’t speak. Just looks. Like he’s memorizing every curve, every scar, every inch he’s already claimed.Then he strips himself—efficient, controlled. Jacket off. Shirt unbuttoned and discarded. Pants gone. Boxers last. He’s fully naked in front of me—tall, broad, inked, cock already half-hard just from undressing me.He steps into the tub first, sits, spreads his thighs, and holds out

RHEAHe catches the look on my face and laughs. “Besides,” he adds, “I find aftercare quite… satisfying on its own.”He rinses me gently, careful with my soreness, then lifts me out of the tub like I weigh nothing. Wraps me in a warm towel. Dries me with slow, reverent strokes—over my breasts, along my thighs, between my legs—before handing me a spare toothbrush and leaving me alone.I rush through brushing my teeth. When I step out of the bathroom, I find clothes laid out on the bed. Not my size exactly—an oversized shirt and sweatpants—but they’ll do. When I lift the shirt, that familiar dark, expensive scent clings to the fabric.I’m halfway dressed when Damien steps out of the walk-in closet. He takes me in, eyes lingering, and clearly finds nothing to complain about. He’s holding a pair of slippers.I arch a brow. “Do you just… have clothes and shoes my size lying around?”“I have a younger sister,” he says easily. “She crashes here whenever she’s furious at the old bastard.”I a