Read Online Stone Cold (An Iron Tornadoes MC Romance) by Olivia Rigal - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Olivia Rigal
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the army didn't do better with him than it did with David when it came to changing that habit of theirs.
There's a small open window overlooking the tables we just passed on our way in. I can hear the murmur of the conversation of the guys outside. There's another door in the room. It's ajar, and I pull it open—it's one of those bathrooms in which you can sit on the toilet while brushing your teeth and soaking your feet in the shower at the same time. But it's private.
"Wow, you scored a suite. You've done well for yourself; you've become MC royalty," I say.
Brian laughs. "This is my home now." He's in my space, but he doesn't touch me. "Tonight you're not spoiling my mood. I've got you where I want you, and I'm getting my rematch."
That's a funny way to put it. A rematch .
Our first time was sweet. Well, I enjoyed the intimacy, and I felt kind of wild just being naked in his arms, but then the act itself was a true debacle. A far cry from the fireworks and ecstasy I had heard about from more experienced friends. I felt so frustrated I could have screamed, but I didn't. I plastered a smile on my face and said it was just fine, because I didn't want to hurt his feelings. Yet he knew better, and instead of making the most of the moment with tender cuddling, he bolted.
So the truth is that I want that rematch, as well. I probably want it more than he does, because I have no doubt he's acquired tons of experience during the past years. Just the way he kisses me is enough to turn my blood into lava, so of course I want more.
I want to test the new and improved version of Brian; I want to see the man's body that was built on the boy's tender frame. In a perfect world, the boy's affection would have turned into a man's love… but I know this is not a perfect world, so I'll settle for what he's offering. Yeah, I'll take the rematch and ask my questions later.
As he closes in on me, I decide that I will forget that we're in the club house of his MC, and I will do what the biker's sweet butts do: I'll go along and enjoy the ride, no strings attached.
I let him remove my leather jacket, and then I push his down from his shoulder. He smiles at me as if this is a child's game, a clothing tit for tat. He pulls my T-shirt out of my pants and over my head. The bra I'm wearing is not the lacy black number I would have picked if I had known I was going to strip in front of him, but it's fine, presentable… but then again I don't think he's really noticed, since it's down on the floor already. My turn. I pull away his T-shirt and gasp. Not because of the tattoos—I was expecting them—but because of the scars on his chest and the fresh bruise on his shoulder. The tips of my fingers touch the most important scar. I count a dozen stitches way too close to his heart, and I bend over to kiss the damaged skin.
As I continue to explore the ribs and mountains of his torso, he somehow manages to get rid of the rest of our clothes until we're both standing naked in his room.
He turns me around and presses his hard body against my back.
"Look," he says, directing my gaze to our reflection in the mirror over the dresser. He cups my breasts with his hands and whispers in my ear, "It's a perfect fit. Everything about you is just the right size for me now."
Watching him touching me is overwhelming. My eyes are glued on his hands, and I forget everything. My mouth is open, but I’ve stopped breathing. But then he pinches my nipples, and my gasp makes the machine start again. I feel more alive than I've ever felt in my life. I try to turn around—I want to touch him.
"Not done watching you like this," he growls, keeping me in place.
One of his hands leaves my breast and vanishes out of the mirrored image. Unseen but not unfelt. He's reaching the apex of my legs, and I catch fire. I close my eyes to concentrate on the sensations, but as soon as I do, his hand stops. I let out a moan of protest.
"Can't have you closing your eyes
There's a small open window overlooking the tables we just passed on our way in. I can hear the murmur of the conversation of the guys outside. There's another door in the room. It's ajar, and I pull it open—it's one of those bathrooms in which you can sit on the toilet while brushing your teeth and soaking your feet in the shower at the same time. But it's private.
"Wow, you scored a suite. You've done well for yourself; you've become MC royalty," I say.
Brian laughs. "This is my home now." He's in my space, but he doesn't touch me. "Tonight you're not spoiling my mood. I've got you where I want you, and I'm getting my rematch."
That's a funny way to put it. A rematch .
Our first time was sweet. Well, I enjoyed the intimacy, and I felt kind of wild just being naked in his arms, but then the act itself was a true debacle. A far cry from the fireworks and ecstasy I had heard about from more experienced friends. I felt so frustrated I could have screamed, but I didn't. I plastered a smile on my face and said it was just fine, because I didn't want to hurt his feelings. Yet he knew better, and instead of making the most of the moment with tender cuddling, he bolted.
So the truth is that I want that rematch, as well. I probably want it more than he does, because I have no doubt he's acquired tons of experience during the past years. Just the way he kisses me is enough to turn my blood into lava, so of course I want more.
I want to test the new and improved version of Brian; I want to see the man's body that was built on the boy's tender frame. In a perfect world, the boy's affection would have turned into a man's love… but I know this is not a perfect world, so I'll settle for what he's offering. Yeah, I'll take the rematch and ask my questions later.
As he closes in on me, I decide that I will forget that we're in the club house of his MC, and I will do what the biker's sweet butts do: I'll go along and enjoy the ride, no strings attached.
I let him remove my leather jacket, and then I push his down from his shoulder. He smiles at me as if this is a child's game, a clothing tit for tat. He pulls my T-shirt out of my pants and over my head. The bra I'm wearing is not the lacy black number I would have picked if I had known I was going to strip in front of him, but it's fine, presentable… but then again I don't think he's really noticed, since it's down on the floor already. My turn. I pull away his T-shirt and gasp. Not because of the tattoos—I was expecting them—but because of the scars on his chest and the fresh bruise on his shoulder. The tips of my fingers touch the most important scar. I count a dozen stitches way too close to his heart, and I bend over to kiss the damaged skin.
As I continue to explore the ribs and mountains of his torso, he somehow manages to get rid of the rest of our clothes until we're both standing naked in his room.
He turns me around and presses his hard body against my back.
"Look," he says, directing my gaze to our reflection in the mirror over the dresser. He cups my breasts with his hands and whispers in my ear, "It's a perfect fit. Everything about you is just the right size for me now."
Watching him touching me is overwhelming. My eyes are glued on his hands, and I forget everything. My mouth is open, but I’ve stopped breathing. But then he pinches my nipples, and my gasp makes the machine start again. I feel more alive than I've ever felt in my life. I try to turn around—I want to touch him.
"Not done watching you like this," he growls, keeping me in place.
One of his hands leaves my breast and vanishes out of the mirrored image. Unseen but not unfelt. He's reaching the apex of my legs, and I catch fire. I close my eyes to concentrate on the sensations, but as soon as I do, his hand stops. I let out a moan of protest.
"Can't have you closing your eyes
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