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I can only moan in response, my senses overwhelmed. The metal adds a textured drag with every tiny shift of his hips that I’ve never felt before—it’s intense, almost too much, in the best way.
He feels huge like this. Every ridge and barbell presses against places I didn’t even know existed.
He holds still for a long moment, forehead pressed to mine, breathing ragged. “Only me,” he repeats, almost reverently, though his voice is rough. “This pussy is only for me. Say it.”
“Only you,” I gasp, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Just you, Corbin. Please, move—”
That’s all the permission he needs. He pulls back slowly, letting me feel every piercing again, then slams back in. Deep, powerful thrusts rock the bed beneath us. Each stroke hits that perfect spot, turning every thrust into something mind-melting. Sparks shoot up my spine. My nails dig into his back, leaving marks I know he’ll wear proudly.
“Shit—Corbin, the piercings…I can feel all of them,” I moan, wrapping my legs tightly around his waist.
“Yeah? You like how they add to how I fuck you?” He snaps his hips harder, grinding deep on every thrust. “Gonna ruin you for anyone else. No one else gets this. No one else gets to feel how soaked and greedy you are for my cock.”
His dirty talk combined with the relentless drag of metal against my walls has me spiraling again embarrassingly fast. The room fills with the wet slap of skin on skin, my moans, and his low guttural grunts. Sweat slicks our bodies as he fucks me harder, faster, one hand braced beside my head while the other grips my hip rough enough to bruise.
“Look at me,” he demands suddenly.
Our eyes lock. The intensity between us is overwhelming—raw need, jealousy, and possession. His pace becomes punishing, hips snapping against mine with perfect rhythm. He reaches between us, thumb circling my swollen clit again.
“Come on my cock, Spitfire. Let me feel you squeezing every fucking barbell while you fall apart.”
I shatter hard around him, vision whiting out as my second orgasm rips through me. My walls clamp down tight, pulsing and fluttering around his pierced length.
“Fuck—yes, just like that,” he growls, hips stuttering. He buries himself deep one last time, groaning my name roughly as he comes, pulsing inside me with hot spurts.
We stay tangled together afterward, breathing hard, skin slick with sweat. Corbin presses soft kisses to my shoulder, my neck, my swollen lips. His arms wrap around me tightly, holding me close like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.
“Only me,” he whispers again, voice softer now.
“Only you,” I promise, safe and utterly sated in his arms, as the rest of the world fades away for a little while longer.
Even if I know it can’t be this way forever.
CORBIN
The last few days have been a fucking grind. After that night in the hallway—when Tatum tried to run to Lennox and I nearly lost my shit—things had settled into a tense rhythm. Pledge duties have kept her more than busy, as I make damn sure the prospects are pulling their weight getting everything ready for the club’s annual Fourth of July party.
Stocking beer, hauling firewood for the bonfire, stringing lights, cleaning the clubhouse top to bottom…it keeps her close and gives me something to focus on besides the way she came apart on my cock, or the way Lennox had shut me down like I was some reckless prospect instead of a patched brother.
Lennox’s warning still rings in my head: Fraternization isn’t allowed with pledges.
Yeah, I know the rules. But rules never stopped me from wanting her, and after feeling her tight pussy squeezing every bar on my cock, they sure as hell weren’t going to stop me now. Tonight, it was finally time to let loose. The Fourth of July party was in full swing at the clubhouse.
The kind of beautiful chaos only the Iron Wraiths know how to throw. Red, white, and blue lights are strung across the yard, fireworks cracking overhead every few minutes, lighting up the night sky and the rows of bikes parked like an army. Music thumps from the speakers—classic rock mixed with whatever the prospects queued up. Brothers are laughing too loud, passing bottles of whiskey and beer, old ladies dancing near the bonfire while club bunnies weave through the crowd in tiny shorts and tops that leave nothing to the imagination.
I lean against the porch railing with a beer in hand, the bottle already sweating in the humid summer air. My thoughts go straight to Tatum instead of the usual ruckus in front of me. She’s under my skin, and I hate how much I like it. Taking a long swig from the beer, I scan the crowd. That’s when Brenda slithers up, all hips and perfume that smells like cheap vanilla. She’s been a club girl for a couple years, pretty in that worn-out party way, and has a habit of thinking one night means ownership.
“Hey, Corbin,” she purrs, pressing close enough that her tits brush my arm. Her hand lands on my chest, fingers tracing the edge of my cut. “You were looking lonely over here. Thought I could keep you company. Maybe later we could head back to your room, light our own fireworks…”
I grab her wrist gently but firmly, moving her hand off me. “Not tonight, Brenda.”
She pouts, leaning in harder. “Come on, baby. You know I take care of you better than anyone. Let me stake my claim before one of these other bitches tries.” Her fingers drift lower, aiming for my belt.
I step back, voice low and final. “I said no. Go find someone else. I’m not in the mood.” Her eyes flash with hurt and annoyance, but she’s not the type to give up that easy. She opens her mouth to argue just as movement catches my eye across the yard.
Tatum.
She’s clearly wasted—swaying a little in those tight jean shorts and a red tank top that shows off the faint outline of her nipple piercings. Looks like she changed the jewelry as the ball shapes have been replaced by hearts.
