Kristen Ashley - Motorcycle Man

Okay, now we were back to the Tack I knew.

“I think I’ve already cemented my biker bitch status, Tack, this very conversation being evidence of that. Lessons are no longer necessary.”

“Right, then, how about you get busy suckin’ my dick ‘cause I want you to?”

That went through me like a hot knife through butter and my legs shifted.

“Always greedy,” he muttered.

“Like you don’t like it,” I muttered back.

“Hard to talk, you got a mouth full of my cock,” Tack remarked.

That went through me too.

“Quit turning me on when I’m feeling feisty,” I snapped.

“Red, best time to turn you on is when you’re feeling feisty.”

This was true.

“Babe,” he prompted when I made no move then, “Tyra,” he prompted again when I still made no move.

“Oh, all right. I’ll get busy.”

“Obliged,” he muttered, a smile in his voice but his hand didn’t leave my hair to let me get down to business. It pulled me close so my mouth was touching his. “Think about this, darlin’, before you go down on me and brace, baby, ‘cause I’m about to get sweet and you need to process it fast so you can move on to suckin’ me off, not fast.”

As requested, I braced but I also held my breath.

Tack didn’t delay in trumping the best sweet he’d ever given me. Something he did often. Something his words proved I’d never get used to.

“I thank you for helpin’ me make that baby inside you. I thank you for takin’ your place in my world and likin’ it. I thank you for bein’ a good stepmom to my kids and givin’ Tab what she needed and never had. And I thank you most of all for bein’ you, givin’ as good as you get in all the ways you can, makin’ sure my life is never boring and makin’ sure I go to bed content and wake up happy to face the coming day.”

My throat closed because my heart swelled so big it took up my entire chest but I didn’t get a chance to start crying because Tack kissed me. I did give a little sob into his mouth before I got over it and decided to concentrate on kissing him back.

After that, I got down to business.

Tack

Tyra was out, her body heavy against his when Tack gently rolled her to her back.

He rolled into her and, as he’d done countless times since that day, his hand moved over her skin.

The scars were gone but their memory remained. He knew each location where the knife plunged into her flesh and he ran his fingers across the skin he’d paid a fucking mint to make smooth again.

And, as always, he ended the journey of his hand at her throat.

Resting lightly there so as not to wake her, he let her pulse beat into his fingers and he did it until it washed the memories away.

But this night and the ones to follow for the next seven months, the path of his hand didn’t end there as it usually did.

It moved down to her belly.

And into the darkness, to his sleeping woman, he whispered, “You don’t know this, baby, but some men have dream women too.”

Since she was asleep, for once, Tyra Allen had no reply.

Palm flat against his woman’s warm, soft skin, Kane Allen settled into his wife in the bed in the room where they started and he fell asleep.

Seven months later, Rider Allen was born.

And the first thing Tack did was wrap two fingers around his throat.