God.

“Anniversary fuck,” he growled.

Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam . . .

I gasped.

Bam . . . float.

God, watching him fuck me like that, his beautiful body moving, his big dick owning me, him slamming against my clit.

“Rush,” I forced out urgently.

The wave and glide, and then he reached in and tweaked my clit and he did it hard.

That did it.

I flew.

Flew.

He caught the backs of my knees when my legs started to drop automatically with my orgasm and he thumped into me, encouraging, “Give it, Rebel. Give it, baby.”

I exhaled.

He let one knee go and pinched my clit.

I gasped and resumed soaring.

“Yeah,” he groaned, fucking me hard. “Give it, baby.”

Then he went, joining me, doing it slamming into me.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he grunted with each thrust. Then I cried out in surprise when I was hauled up, lifted in his arms, and driven down on his cock with one last, “Fuck.”

My forehead drifted to his shoulder.

A couple more thrusts, fainter.

Then I whinnied when I lost his dick and I was again on my back on the bed between his knees, my legs cocked and spread wide.

“Rush,” I whispered.

His eyes moved up from between my legs to my face.

“This mine?” he asked.

Oh God.

This was big.

No.

I knew this was huge.

“Honey.”

He slid his hand down the inside of my thigh and covered my sex lightly.

“This mine, Rebel?”

There was only one answer to that.

“Yes.”

He slid his thumb over my clit, I jerked, then he buried it inside and I sighed.

“This mine?”

“Yes, Rush,” I whispered.

He slid his thumb out, his hand flat going up, over my belly, up, to where he had to feel my heart beating.

“How about this?”

I pressed my hand against my belly.

Oh God.

Yes, this was huge.

Colossal.

Everything.

“Rush.”

“Not too soon. Give it, Rebel.”

I stared right into his eyes, the moonlight from the windows filtering them silver.

He was so beautiful.

So, so beautiful.

“I can’t give something you already own.”

I barely got the words past my lips before I cried out again when I was up, Rush was down, my thigh was thrown, two hands on my hips tugged me down, and then he was eating me.

My head fell back and it was my body waving, rolling on his mouth.

I planted a hand on the window in front of me and rode his face.

Rode him and rode him and rode him . . . desperately.

“Yeah,” he growled against my clit, before eating out my orgasm.

Then he was out from under me, on his knees behind me, and I had both hands to the widow, his fingers tugging at my nipple, two from the other hand between my legs, fucking me.

“Rush,” I gasped.

“How often can you come?” he asked my neck.

My hips jerked as he stroked deep. “I . . . I don’t know.”

He slid his tongue along my ear.

“Let’s see.”

I mewed.

His fingers left me and his cock slid inside.

His hand went to the middle of my back, pressing in, arching me.

“Ride that, Rebel,” he growled.

I gave him what he wanted and got some of my own when I reached behind us and squeezed his balls just as he was coming, the rough, beautiful bark of his climax beating into my shoulder.

Coming down, rooted on his cock, he wrapped a hand around my throat, the pads of his fingers digging in gently.

“This, baby, is free,” he grated in my ear. “And no matter what goes down, that’s always what we got. That’s always gonna be you and me.”

“Always,” I whispered.

His grip eased before his hand moved so his fingers stroked my throat.

“Always.”

Rush

Seven thirty-three, Wednesday evening . . .

“This is not the way it’s done!” Elvira’s voice could be heard from the kitchen.

“Bring us a board!” Hound shouted back from the living room.

“Come and get your own board, Hound!” Lanie was also shouting.

“I can’t go into that kitchen again! I still got a headache from the last time I went in!” Hound bellowed.

Women could be heard laughing.

Rush heard Rebel’s come the loudest.

A cat jumped on Shy, who was sprawled on the floor, Playboy on his chest, and Playboy squealed and reached to claim fur.

The cat jumped away.

“Shouldn’t he be in bed?” High asked.

“Tab and I have learned he’ll pass out when he passes out,” Shy replied.

“And I’ll get to deal with that tomorrow,” Big Petey, Chaos’s Chaplain, and de facto biker nanny, sitting in one of Rebel’s uncomfortable chairs, grumbled.

“Don’t put him down with Travis until he’s out,” Joker said to Shy, referring to Carissa’s son, who was right then snoozing in Rebel’s bed. “Last three times, he woke T up.”

“He doesn’t go down, I’ll go home,” Shy replied. “Someone will drop Tabby.”

“Got her, Shy,” Tack put in.

“Snap, do you boys have enough beer?” Rosalie called.

“I think so, baby,” Snapper called back.

“I could use another beer,” Hop muttered then yelled, “Lanie! Beer!”

“Are you serious?” Lanie yelled back.

Hop grinned at Snapper.

“Playboy out yet, honey?” Tabby shouted.

“No! And if everyone keeps shouting, he won’t get that way!” Shy shouted back.

“This is not the way it’s done!” Elvira shrieked.

Keely wandered in with a platter filled with finger food.

She put it on the space-age coffee table.

On her way out, she bent to the back of the couch to touch her lips to Hound’s where he had his head bent back to get just that.

Done giving her man some love, she strutted out of the room.

The men fell on the food like vultures.

When it was mostly decimated, Hop got up from the kidney couch and muttered, “I’ll get us more beers.”

He left and Rush looked from where he was sitting, his ass on a poof, back against the wall, knees drawn up, High next to him in much the same position, except his legs were straight and crossed at the ankles.

He caught his father’s gaze across the room.

Tack held his eyes, lifted his beer toward his son then he drained it.

Rush smiled.

Hop came back in with three beers dangling from one hand, another board balanced on the other.

“I’ll go back for more beers if anyone needs ’em,” he said.

“That one was let go under duress!” Elvira shouted.

“Don’t listen to her,” Millie also shouted. “I made that one especially for you boys!”

Playboy jumped at the shouting.

Shy muttered, “Shit, he was almost out. Snap, hand me the bottle again.”

Snap handed the bottle over from where it was sitting by his boot, his ass on a poof on the floor, back to the bottom curve of the kidney couch. Shy took it, curled up, cradled his son and gave him his bottle.

Big Petey leaned into the new board offerings.

There was a truncated squeal from the kitchen.

Then silence.

The air hung heavy in the living room as the men sat unmoving and observed the silence.

Tyra sauntered into the room, eyes on Joke.

“You might want to bring your truck around, honey. Carissa’s water just broke.”

Joke was up from his lime green chair in a millisecond.

Then he bolted out of the room.

“We can have it here!” Essence yelled. “I helped birth a baby at the nineteen seventy-seven Rainbow Gathering and two in nineteen eighty-four. We just have to fill the bathtub!”

All the men got up and followed Joker, not one of them to fill the bath.

Tack didn’t move.

Rush didn’t either.

Tack sat on Rebel’s kidney couch.