Chapter 2: Waking Him With A Ride
Izzy floated to consciousness like surfacing from deep, warm water. The first sensation was the solid, familiar heat of him against her back, his arm a heavy weight draped over her waist. The second was the insistent press of his erection against the curve of her ass, already rigid even in sleep.
A slow, secret smile curved her lips. She lay still, letting the reality of the previous night—the burning stretch, the shocking fullness, the primal way he’d moved inside her—wash over her again. It was real. He was hers in a way he’d never been before.
Carefully, she shifted. His breathing remained deep and even. She slid her leg back over his, then turned within the circle of his arm until she was facing him, studying the hard lines of his face softened by sleep. Gently, she pushed at his shoulder until he rolled onto his back with a soft grunt. The sheet slipped down to his waist, revealing the powerful landscape of his chest.
She moved like a ghost, straddling his hips. Her body throbbed with a pleasant, deep ache between her legs, a reminder that felt like a trophy. She positioned herself above him, reaching down to guide him. The head of his cock, broad and blunt, pressed against her swollen, tender flesh. She was already wet, her body remembering his.
She sank down.
It was a slower, smoother entry than last night, but no less profound. Her body yielded, stretching to accommodate him, a soft, wet sound punctuating the quiet room as she took him inch by inch, her inner muscles fluttering in shocked welcome. She let out a shaky sigh, fully impaled, feeling him buried to the root inside her.
Dom’s breathing hitched. His eyelids fluttered, then opened. Sleep-clouded eyes focused on her face above him, then darkened with instant, fierce understanding. A low groan rumbled up from his chest, vibrating through where they were joined.
“Mornin’, baby girl,” he rasped, his voice gravelly with sleep and desire.
“I wanted to wake up with you inside me,” she breathed, leaning forward to brace her hands on his chest. She began to move, a slow, undulating roll of her hips that made him curse softly.
His hands came up to grip her, big palms spanning her waist, fingers digging into the muscle there. He didn’t thrust up; he let her set the pace, his eyes glued to where their bodies met, to the sight of his thickness disappearing into her.
“Fuck, look at you,” he muttered. “Taking all of me. Like you were made for it.”
His words lit a fuse in her blood. She rose up, almost letting him slip out, then sank back down with more force, a sharp gasp bursting from her lips. The angle was different, deeper, hitting spots that made sparks dance behind her eyes. She set a rhythm, rising and falling, her thighs burning with the effort, the slap of skin filling the sun-streaked room.
One of his hands slid from her waist, down over the curve of her ass, his thumb finding the slick, tight furl of her other hole. He pressed against it, not entering, just applying pressure. The shocking bolt of dual sensation—his cock spearing her pussy, his thumb pressing there—made her cry out, her rhythm faltering.
“Daddy…”
“I know,” he growled, his own control snapping. He bucked his hips up, driving into her from below, meeting her downward stroke with a brutal upward surge. “I know what my girl needs.”
The shift in dynamic was electric. He took over, his hands locking onto her hips, driving her down onto him as he pistoned up into her. It was rougher, more desperate than the night before. Animalistic. The bedframe knocked a steady beat against the wall.
Izzy could only hold on, her head thrown back, her breasts bouncing with each frantic impact. Pleasure coiled, tight and unbearable, deep in her core. “I’m gonna… oh God, Dom, I’m gonna come…”
“Do it,” he snarled, his face a mask of raw need. “Soak my fucking cock. Let me feel it.”
His command was the final key. Her orgasm shattered through her, a violent, pulsing wave that clenched around him in rhythmic spasms. She screamed, a sound of pure release, her body convulsing above him.
The violent squeeze of her around him was too much. With a roar that was part shout, part groan, he slammed her down one final time and held her there, his own release pumping into her in hot, endless jets. She could feel the pulse of it inside her, a claiming more intimate than any kiss.
She collapsed forward onto his sweat-slicked chest, her body boneless. They stayed like that, joined, breathing in ragged tandem, the smell of sex and spent passion thick in the morning air.
After a long time, he softened and slipped out of her. A trickle of their combined fluids leaked onto his thigh. He didn’t seem to notice or care. His hand came up, fingers tracing the line of her spine.
The silence stretched, comfortable but different. The world outside the room—the garage, the bills, the looks from people who might suspect—it was all waiting. It pressed against the windows.
“Your birthday dinner,” he said finally, his voice quiet. “At the crew’s place. Tonight.”
She nuzzled into his neck. “Yeah.”
“They’ll know,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
Izzy lifted her head, met his eyes. She saw the worry there, the protector’s instinct flaring. “Let them,” she said, her voice soft but iron-clad. “I don’t care.”
He searched her face, looking for a crack, a sliver of doubt. He found none. A slow, resigned acceptance settled in his gaze, mixed with a pride so fierce it stole her breath.
“Okay,” he said. Just that one word. But it meant everything. It meant he was in, all the way, no matter what came.
He swatted her ass lightly. “Go shower. You smell like me.”
She grinned, that mischievous glint back in her eyes. “I like smelling like you.” But she untangled herself, feeling the pleasant soreness in her muscles as she stood. She walked naked to the bathroom, feeling his eyes on her the entire way.
As the shower water heated, she looked at herself in the steamy mirror. The girl from yesterday was gone. Someone else looked back—a woman, marked, claimed, utterly sure. She touched a faint bruise starting on her hip where his fingers had gripped her. A souvenir.
In the bedroom, Dom lay staring at the ceiling, one arm behind his head. The quiet in the room was no longer just peace. It was the calm before the storm. He knew his crew, his family. They saw everything. Vince would leer. Letty would watch with those knowing, dark eyes. Mia might say nothing, but her silence would be the loudest.
He thought of Izzy’s face, the defiant joy in it as she rode him. The way her body had opened for him, trusted him, wanted him. A lifetime of rules, of boundaries, all gone in the space of one night and one morning.
He threw back the sheet and got up. The path was chosen. There was no walking it back. All he could do now was drive.