Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76082 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76082 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
By the time I pull back up, we're both a fucking mess. I don't fucking care. It's just cum. Holding out my hand, I offer to help her up. "Come on. There’s a shower in the back."
Washing her is almost as much fun as messing around with her, sliding my soapy hands over her luscious curves, letting her tits slip through my fingers and playing with her ass. And the curiosity she washes my cock with and the amazement as she feels it grow between her fingers makes me ready for round two. I just don't know if I could manage that again without giving in and actually fucking her.
"Fuck, baby." I very reluctantly pull her hand off my cock. "I need to check on what’s going on out front, because if you keep doing that we’re gonna be fucking. I’ve only got so much self-control.”
That look in her eyes? She’s hungry and so fucking ready. And it’s not just me she looks at like this. She fucking wants it. Wants us.
And soon.
19
NATALIE
Back at the Screaming Eagles compound and comfortably in my own clothes again, I feel less exposed, less available. And right now, I think I need that to try to keep a clear head.
Oh my God!
Like I can keep a clear head after what I did with Quickshot. Even after showering, I swear I can still feel his weight on me, his fingers on my body, the heat of his cum spattered all over my chest. For a few moments there, I thought he was about to take it all the way.
And I wanted him to. At least if I listened to my body and not my brain. What are these guys doing to me? I should be worried about my job, and getting back to my real life, not getting laid.
But I'm still tingly after that orgasm.
I need to get out where there're other people. Sitting in Animal’s room alone is just sending my brain into endless spirals that all end in one thing, and I’ve already cleaned up everything I dare touch. My fingers drum a nervous beat on his little table.
Leaving the room behind like I'm fleeing a crime scene, I head out to the common area looking for any of the guys. Heck, at this point I’d even take Chef snapping at me so long as I don't have to sit alone with my thoughts.
As always, there's hard rock playing over the speakers. I don't know if it ever stops. I was worried that it'd be empty, but there are a bunch of guys there. I don’t really know any of them, but I recognize a lot by sight at this point and get a few nods when they see me come in. Others I’ve never seen before, and I'm apparently not interesting for long, because they all return to their conversations, or watching the game on the big screen in the back. It's nice to feel almost anonymous for a little bit, rather than surrounded by sexy bikers set on getting me out of my clothes and down on my back.
Or whatever other positions they might have in mind.
"More fucking water?" grunts Chef. He's leaning against the bar, looking up from a beat up paperback. "Or are you ready for grown up drinks now?"
"There’s nothing wrong with water, but I think I need something stronger today." I climb up on one of the barstools and rest my elbows on the bar.
A moment later he's back with a glass of pale brown liquid over ice.
I can't help but laugh a little. "Is that whiskey? Are those my only options? Water or whiskey?"
He scowls. “Not fucking girly enough for you?”
I shrug.
Chef reaches under the bar and pulls out a tiny paper umbrella and pops it open before dropping it into my drink. “There. Now it’s fucking festive.”
I laugh out loud. “I’m surprised you even have those.”
“This is a fully stocked bar.” He pauses. “And the kids like them.”
“KIDS?”
“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t serve them whiskey.”
Jewel comes out from the kitchen. She grins. “You met Emily, remember? That baby she’s carrying? That’s their third, and Alessa is due about the same time with her second. Don’t let this grump fool you. He makes a mean mocktail.”
Chef glares. “Too much talking, not enough drinking.”
I shake my head before taking a cautious sip. The whiskey burns over my tongue and right down my throat. Chef grunts a chuckle at my grimace. "Smooth," I say with a cough.
A biker I remember from the first night here, looking a little less dangerous with the afternoon sun coming through the windows high up on the wall, slides onto the stool next to me. Preacher, I think Animal called him.
"The usual," he says to Chef, then looks down at me, his black eyes narrowing curiously. "Where's your handlers? They get tired of you already? Somehow I doubt that, but if you’ve fucked ‘em dry and want a real man, let me know.” He swivels towards me, smirks cockily and leans in. "Or maybe you’ve gotten a taste for more than one. Baby, me and my crew know exactly how to stroke your pearly gate.”