REIGN: A Motorcycle Club Romance Novel by Meg Jackson Page A

him, about not performing up to his standards.

 
    “I…” I started to say, wanting to apologize before I made a total fool
of myself.

 
    “Please, stop talking,” he said, moving across the room towards me,
the look in his eyes silencing any thoughts that could have come tumbling from
my mouth. His hands came to my shoulders and he looked down on me, as though I
was the only thing he’d ever wanted. I shivered under his touch, under his
gaze. “Sit down.”

 
    I did so, without thinking, not taking my eyes from him. I was
eye-level with his crotch, and automatically reached out to undo his belt and
jeans, thinking that it was blowjob time. That’s how Jeremy always started
things…

 
    I was surprised to feel my hand swatted away, surprised to see Reign
drop down before me, crouching in front of me, so that we were eye to eye.

 
    “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his hands coming to my
shirt and rolling it upwards.

 
    “Please, no,” I said, suddenly shot through with another rush of shame
over my body. I didn’t move to stop him, but felt like crying as he exposed my
small but wide stomach, my large breasts, all the parts of me that had brought
me so much shame. His eyes darted towards mine, almost seeming angry, then
softening.

 
    “You don’t even realize,” he said, a hint of astonishment in his
voice. At the same time, his hands came to my hips once more, tickling up my
sides, making me close my eyes and moan in pure ecstasy. I leaned backwards
automatically, my body delighting in his touch even as my mind tried to make me
feel bad about my body.

 
    I barely felt as he unclasped my bra and threw it to the side, his
hands now coming to my breasts and fondling them gently, much more gentle than
Jeremy ever did. Unlike my husband, who just pawed at my breasts like they were
pillows that needed fluffing, Reign’s hands massaged them, a growing warmth in
my stomach as he gently pushed me back further onto the bed, rising even as my
back fell, leaning over me.

 
    Finally, I was lying on the mattress, eyes closed in bliss as his
thumbs grazed my nipples, now erect. I shuddered, then moaned as I felt one of
his lips come gently to my nipple, sucking it in slightly, his tongue rolling
over it while his hand favored my other breast, tweaking the nipple between his
thumb and forefinger.

 
    I could feel my slit flowing with juices, my body turned on in a way
that hadn’t happened in years, and I squirmed underneath him, a low-level
frenzy developing in my mind as he teased my nipples, moving his mouth from one
to the other, blowing over them in between, the chill feeling making me arch my
back.

 
    I almost cried out in desperation when I felt his head move from my
breasts and begin to trail down my stomach, which fluttered under his lips, my
nerves alive and aching for him. His hands settled on the top of my leggings
and he yanked downwards.

 
    No. No way. This is not happening, I thought when I realized he was making right for
my wet, aching sex. Jeremy never went down there. No one else had, either. A
part of me cringed, screamed for me to stop him, that it was wrong, dirty,
gross. Another part of me wanted to push his head faster, to feel his tongue
against my aching clit, now swollen and straining for stimulation. I pushed
myself up onto my elbows.

 
    “You don’t have to…” I started to say, wanting to give him an out, my
two personas fighting to the death over whether or not I wanted him to. His
eyes flashed up into mine and he reached out, pressing me back down on the bed,
just forcefully enough to tell me that he wasn’t going to invite any argument.

 
    Oh god, oh god, oh Jesus, I thought, my mind in an utter frenzy as he drew
closer and closer to my now-exposed slit, his fingertips tracing up and down my
thighs as he lingered on my tummy, his mouth promising delights that I could
never dream of even as his fingers drove me into a whirlwind of