Page 56 of I Was Born Ruined (Death by Daybreak MC 1)
As if he can sense the weakness in my knees, Grainger wraps his right arm around my waist and holds me in place, using his left hand to sneak up along the fishnet tights on my thigh, teasing the strands with his finger. He snaps one against my pale flesh and chuckles. I swear that sound is of the devil himself.
“You want to do some more blow first?” he asks, but he doesn't stop his ascent up the inside of my leg. Each movement he makes knocks me back into that velvety darkness, those shadows. My eyes flutter closed, and my head buzzes with drugs. I feel good right now, so damn good, like I could take on the world.
The club’s sergeant-at-arms teases the tip of one finger along the length of my silken panties, stroking wetness into the fabric until my clit is as hard and pebbled as my nipples. I'm wanting so bad in that moment, and I like it because it's a greedy, wild need that I'm feeling, lust that obliterates my worries, my pain, my thoughts, shatters them to jagged pieces.
When he slips a finger beneath the fabric and teases my opening, it's slick, hot heat that greets him.
“What a treat,” he snaps, sliding into me and sending bursts of white-hot flame to burn behind my eyelids. It feels good, this foreign feeling of entry, this newness that makes my whole body tingle. It's the first time anyone's ever touched me like that. I've had boyfriends before, but they never got this far. I never wanted them to. Compared to the weak flickers of flame they teased me with, Grainger is like the sun, almost too hot to touch.
He penetrates me with that first finger and even though it's slightly uncomfortable for a moment, the pleasure soon takes over. My fingers curl together behind Grainger's neck, tugging him close to me. He's kissing and sucking on my neck, encouraging my hips to work against his hand. When he presents that second finger, stroking my clit with his thumb, I gasp, and the darkness inside of me lights up with stars. At first, I struggle against the brightness of that light, but then it gets so hot, so white, so fucking intense that it blinds me to the world.
Grainger lets out this breath that tells me everything I need to know. It’s thick with male triumph and barely suppressed need. Apparently, I’m going to have my first time in a dirty bathroom at the clubhouse.
Seems fitting, considering my lineage.
My eyes open, and I focus on the sun and moon tat by Grainge’s right ear, feeling this inexplicable warmth swirl up from my spine and into my limbs, turning my fingers and toes numb.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper, and he smirks at me.
“I have no intention of stopping,” Grainger growls, pushing deeper, curling his fingers in just such a way that I lose all control over my own body. I’m a slave to that pleasure, and I’m happy to acquiesce to it. My memories are obliterated, my melancholy starved. I’m escaping into pleasurable oblivion, enjoying every second of that fucking ride … and then strangely, unexpectedly, that feel-good emotion takes over me and I explode, showering Grainger’s hand with heat that confuses us both for a moment.
My head feels disturbingly clear, even as aftershocks of ardent agony ripple through me. My red-brown gaze meets his, darkened with lust.
“Did you just come?” he asks me, sounding both bemused and triumphant at the same time. Grainger's eyes bore into me, sharp as tacks. That's when I see both his brows go up. “Wait, what the hell?” he starts, just before we both hear the sharp rap of knuckles on the door.
It opens up before either of us gets a chance to answer, and I find myself staring at Sin with Grainger's hand up my skirt. He steps back from me, but he doesn't do a damn thing to hide the shiny wetness on his fingers. It's awful, one of the most awkward moments of my life.
“What the fuck?” Sin snarls, gritting his teeth and running his palm over his shaved head. His muscles are tense with violence. It’s in the air; I can taste it. And the strangest thing is? It tastes just like Grainger’s mouth. “Cade, you piece of shit.”
“The hell do you want?” Grainger asks, looking at the other man like he's a kid brother he's just barely putting up with. They're six years apart; Grainger and I … are fifteen years apart. Have fun with that math.
“Cat's here,” Sin says, his voice hard as iron. He glances over at me, and there's a narrowing of his eyes that almost looks like a challenge. Part of me wonders if he might fight Grainger over me. The idea is thrilling. I wet my lips and Sin looks away sharply. “You think he might freak if he caught you giving his daughter blow in the clubhouse bathroom?”
