Read Ladies Prefer Champagne Alpha Male Romance Mega Bundle Online
Authors: Champagne Jackson
Ladies Prefer Champagne Alpha Male Romance Mega Bundle (11 page)
“Slow down,” I whispered, my voice still thick with pleasure and exhausted from our love-making. “I don’t know if I can… you know. Do it so fast.”
“I understand,” he said with his ever-present grin, the very grin that made me want to slap him. He rolled over on top of me and I couldn’t help but return his grin—oh, fuck, how I loved the feeling of his strong, powerful body on top of me, pushing down into me, holding me down, even…
He began to lick and nip my inner thighs. I writhed in delight, pressing my hips forward and my eyes widened, whimpering all the time. I loved the teasing, the anticipation of what he might do with his mouth, even more than what he actually ended up doing with it.
Now, that’s not to denigrate his abilities in any way—any girl will tell you, I think, that the anticipation makes you tremble even more than the pleasure itself. The anticipation is pleasure. All anticipation is pleasure.
And my body, my hips, my thighs, his tongue and teeth—it was all anticipation here and now.
“Please…” I whined again, pathetically, aroused, my ever-present and unending plea. Why did I always say please? Why didn’t I just demand what I wanted?
“Lick me.” There. There it was.
I felt his tongue, ever so slightly, dance along the crease between my pussy and my thigh, working its way along the sensitive flesh of the joint. But no, that wasn’t what I wanted…
“Not there…” I said, hungry and husky and needy.
“Do you think you deserve it somewhere else?” he asked, chuckling. Bastard.
“Fuck you. Of course I do… I just rode your cock and let you cum in my ass. If I want you to eat me all night long, you will.”
He burst out laughing and he didn’t stop for quite some time.
“You’ve got this biker thing down,” he said, finally quieting and going to the task before him: namely, me. He ran his tongue from the bottom of my pussy slowly, so agonizingly slowly, up to my clit, running along my slit and teasing me, making me endure the agony of pleasure.
I found myself squeezing my eyes shut, again just trying to stay conscious. God, but I was SENSITIVE after our previous love making… I didn’t know if I would be able to endure his delicious, ultimately pleasurable assault on my slit.
But somehow I did. Gripping his hair, digging my fingers into his scalp and driving my nails into his flesh, damn his wounds, damning whatever discomfort he might feel—that all helped me to endure.
He started ever so skillfully by slurping around the hood of my clit, teasing it and making it swollen—as if it could even get more swollen, as if it could ever throb harder than it was now! God, but I wanted him more and more with each passing moment.
And then, before I knew what was happening, his tongue was assaulting my clit head on, slithering over my hard little nub of pleasure—hard, of course, because my blood was so hot for him and had so soaked my entire body that my clit couldn’t help but pulse in time with my ever-quickening heart beat.
The first second his tongue slid over my little clitty was enough for me to scream all over again, my voice rising up to the heavens. I moaned pathetically and hungrily, my body trembling and twitching as he devoured me, wrapping his lips around my dark brown-red little nub and suckling hard, his tongue lashing at my flesh. God, but I wanted more of this… Ever so much more.
“Please… Please… Oh, oh, oh, oh god!” I squealed, gripping his hair hard, all but ripping his locks out of his scalp as he finished me off. I could feel my orgasm, yet another one, this one less powerful but somehow deeper than the others, rising like a wave just beyond the horizon, a tsunami threatening to overtake me, to drown me in pleasure.
“Faster…F aster… Just a little bit more, baby, please…” I moaned, thrashing from side to side. My butt, still leaking his hot, thick cum, clenched and I could feel his seed clinging to my tight hole, aching and burning from the pounding it had just endured. My muscles were all so sore. I felt like I had just survived a fight, like I had just gone three or four rounds with the heavyweight champion of the world—and now, I had to pick myself up and do it all over again…
And then, I felt it. My orgasm rose up and over me somehow unexpectedly, even though I had felt it coming. Somehow, I had forgotten about it, become lost in the pleasure and then there it was. I saw stars. I shook and screamed, pressing his face in between my hips as I felt my body become enraptured by the flames of our passion.
Finally, after several moments—for all I know, it could’ve been hours but honestly, I couldn’t tell you exactly—I came down from my orgasm, and found myself stroking his hair gently as my breathing, ever so slowly, returned to normal.
“That… That was amazing…” I murmured softly. He heaved himself up to lie next to me, and once again, I became cognizant of the pain he must be in. I made a move to help him but he batted my hands away.
“No, I’m fine,” he grunted, glaring at me suddenly. I felt hurt.
“You should let me help you. It was because of me…” I began but he shushed me with a quick, rough kiss.
“Don’t think about it that way. I won’t always have you with me anyway. I can’t rely on you. I can’t rely on anyone.”
Now, it was my turn to glare at him. How quickly my feelings could change from love and passion to hurt and anger! After everything we had been through… He was really going to insist that he couldn’t rely on me?
“What the hell do you mean?” I growled, glowering angrily at him, my eyes all but flaming. “After… After everything that’s happened!”
His face softened.
“It’s just… It’s a hard life. It’s a hard life I’ve chosen.”
“And it’s a life I’ve chosen too.”
Our gazes met and he nodded slowly, as if to show his acceptance: his acceptance and affirmation as my place as his equal—not just in the gang but in his life.
He caught my lips in a kiss again and once more, we found ourselves rolling in the passionate waves of the bed. Somewhere along the way, my legs were spread and wrapped around his hips, with his hardness, ever ready to do its job, finding its way inside my tight, sore depths. How he could have this much stamina, I had no idea… but after all, this was the kind of man I had wanted, wasn’t it?
“Please… Please… Give it to me once more… Make me yours… All over again…” I moaned, writhing beneath him as he pumped me, sliding his long, thick tool almost all the way out of me before pounding it back into me, fucking me just like a toy, using my body, both for his pleasure and his love. It was so sensual and it drove me wild, the way he slid himself in and out of me…
“Please!” I groaned. “Faster! Faster!”
And with a grunt, a heavy, animalistic grunt, like that of a jackal attacking its prey—and suddenly, I remembered what he had originally reminded me of, when I first met him—what felt like years ago, maybe even a lifetime ago—he picked up his speed, pumping his cock harder and harder and faster and faster into my tight, aching pussy. God, but I loved it… Loved every second of it.
“Fuck!” he groaned, announcing his orgasm by throwing his head back. I sighed with delight as held him tight, letting his seed fill me. I thought with dreamy pleasure about the possibility of his seed taking root in my womb, of it growing, and of us being a family…
But that was all in the future. We were exhausted. He groaned and slid his sloppy, wet cock out of my spent pussy. I whimpered, the ache in my hole reminding me of all of our passionate, searing loving…
Finally, we curled up together, his strong arms wrapped around me. We fell asleep to the roar of motorcycles outside, heralding our new life together.
There was something different about Kristoph McNeil. I knew it from the second he walked into the bar. Was it his swagger? The way he looked down on everything like it was shit and the only way it’d ever be worth something was if he walked on it? What about his chiseled build, easily visible through his wife-beater? Or was it his dark eyes, darting around and taking everything in but still confident: not as though he were worried about anything but as though he just wanted to see everything, memorize it, even use it later? Maybe it was the way he could let a cigarette sit lazily on his lower lip, never allowing it fall off?
Or maybe it was because he came right up to the bar, sat down, looked me straight in the eye and said:
“Listen here, cutie. I know what you’re thinking. Douche-bag hitting on you. But I tell you what: I’m different.”
“So that’s a PBR tall boy, am I right?” I asked, rolling my eyes. He shot me a cute grin and gave me a thumbs up. I fetched him one from the fridge and he pushed four wrinkled dollar bills towards me. A PBR was $3.50. Great tip, kid.
He looked a little older than me, maybe twenty-five. To put things in perspective, I’m nineteen. I know, I know, I know—I shouldn’t be working behind a bar but I do, so deal with it. I’ve been working here since I was fourteen and no one’s ever had a problem with it. Definitely not the guys who rain tips down on me like they were candy—that’s for sure.
You probably want to know my name—it’s Kandace, but the guys all call me Kandi. They think they’re funny. The bar we’ve been talking about that? It’s Sly’s, over on Southport. It’s next to a boxing gym—probably the most famous one in the city, so that influences the crowd we get. Lots of fighters who take shit fights on Friday nights to pay the bills and come in, bruised and beaten but flush with five whole dollars to spend on a drink. Then there are old timers and fight fans, who have got more money to spend because they’ve gotten out of the business and they’re doing something legitimate now, like selling real estate, or drugs. They like to buy the young fighters drinks but probably not as many as the fighters would like. Mostly, they’re the types who want to be seen around fighters. They don’t want to fight themselves, they just want to be around the guys who fight.
And then, every once in a blue moon, we get in a guy who made it big. Usually, those guys will buy everyone in the joint a drink and we’re all happy, especially me because I know I’ll be getting a great big tip out of it, and probably a spank on my booty shorts, but I’m okay about that.
I’m definitely a bit of a bigger girl, but again, the crowd at Sly’s likes that. I’ve got big boobs, a big butt, and plenty of tattoos glowing on my dark mocha skin and my dark curly nappy hair. I’ve got a pretty cute button nose, if you were wondering.
“So, kid, what’s your story?” I asked the PBR-swilling new guy.
“Name’s McNeil. Kristoph McNeil. I’m from New Mexico and I want you to run away with me.”
I rolled my eyes. Fat fucking chance. His come-ons were pretty lame.
“Sure thing, Kristoph. Why should I run away with you?”
“Because I’m the best fighter you’ve ever seen but here’s the thing: I’ll only take a fight on the full moon. But I can win any fight I take, so long as it’s a full moon.”
I rolled my eyes. A total nut job.
“Sure. Sure you can.”
“I’m serious! Make a deal with you: I’ve got a fight down Whiz’s—“ That was another bar that hosted semi-professional bouts every Friday. “—this weekend. I came halfway across the country for it, and guess what? It’ll be a full-moon. If I win, you run away with me. Deal?”
“I’ve got to see you fight first, Kristoph,” I said, rolling my eyes again. I had to admit, I was kind of enjoying his dorky charm. He was definitely older than me but he seemed almost like a little kid.
“I’ll be at the gym next door first thing tomorrow morning. Come see me box and then you’ll understand. You got it?”
“Sure. Sure, I will.”
I had to take care of some other customers, so I left Kristoph to finish his beer by himself. The night wore on and as I was closing up, I noticed Kristoph hanging around. He caught my eye and waved at me.
“Nine AM, tomorrow, babe, right?”
“You don’t even know my name.”
“Your name is ‘Babe,’ if I say it is.”
“Her name’s Kandi,” grunted one of the regulars, Joe, a brawler type of boxer who had about a foot on Kristoph. “And you’d best respect her.”
“Thanks, Joe. He’s just a dork.”
But Kristoph was already on his way over to Joe.
“Hey, friendo,” he growled. “I got a policy. I don’t let any man tell me what to do, even if I generally agree with it, in principle.”
“And what are you going to do about it?”
“Misbehave.”
Joe’s thick skull contorted as he raised an eyebrow. And then it contorted more because Kristoph’s right hand collided with his jaw: a text-book perfect uppercut that Joe could never have seen coming because he was so much taller than Kristoph. It was heart-stopping to watch: Joe crumpled and Kristoph turned to me, triumphantly.
“Nine AM, Kandi, doll,” he said with a wink.