Page 70 of StoryTeller's Tale

Well, of course he didn’t want anything to do with me. Not when he’s got the likes of them. Strangely, I’m both relieved, and annoyed.

No one else bothers me. I’m left alone to watch. Most of the men exit the meeting room and go straight to the bar. Jasmine’s rushed off her feet, trying to get drinks in all their hands, but she has a smile on her face, and a comment and laugh for almost every man.

Music starts to play from a jukebox, and the conversations grow louder to compensate. Balls start to clack on the pool table, and I watch some men settle down to a game of cards.

Shotgun clearly hasn’t wasted time. He’s now on another couch with one of the newly arrived women on his lap. She’s writhing on him as though giving him a lap dance. I can’t seem to draw my eyes away as he encourages her up, undoes his zip, pulls her panties to one side, then pulls her down, impaling her on his dick.

Blushing, I force myself to turn my head. To the other direction, it’s not much better. One of the other men has a woman on her knees, his cock disappearing between her lips. The way she’s hanging onto him doesn’t look like she’s being forced.

The air becomes thick with cigarette smoke, the smell of beer and the odour of sex.

I’m a redhead, and I’m certain my face is glowing red. Staring at my hands seems the safest option, so I’m startled when the couch dips and someone sits at my side.

Jumping and pulling away, I turn, only to find it’s Jake, and he’s wearing a look of concern.

“You okay?” Interrupting my answer are raised voices, and the sound of fists on flesh. Scooting over, I throw myself into the protection of Jake’s arms. “It’s only a couple of brothers assing around,” he assures me, then, seeing I’m shaking, stands and pulls me up by my hand. “Probably a good time to get out of here.”

I expect him to go toward the entrance, but instead, he leads me deeper into the club. We pass a few closed doors, one open which looks like an office, and then out the back. There’s a block of rooms here, similar to what you’d find in a motel. He extracts a key from his pocket and opens the first one up.

It’s a functional room, bare apart from a bed. A door leads into a small bathroom. I suspect it’s been set up for visitors like us, but only as some place to lay your head. Or, fuck.

My heart rate speeds up.What does Jake expect? And what do I want to give him?

“Make yourself at home,” he instructs. “I’m going to get your pack and my shit from my bike.”

With that, he’s gone, and my nerves make themselves felt. Visions appear in my head of the casual sex I experienced in the clubroom. Jake’s a biker like them, used to free sex, and tonight there’s no doubt we’ll be sharing a bed.

He’s a full-blooded male. And me? Well, I’m only just one step away from being a virgin. I know both my inexperience and my naked body will disappoint him.

Last time, he hadn’t seen me naked. Of course, he can tell I’ve junk in my trunk, but I don’t work out, I like my food, and my stomach is far from flat. My breasts, while perky, are small and out of proportion in my view. I haven’t been able to hold on to a man in the past against my lithe and sexy stepsister, so why should it be any different now?

Waiting for him, my confidence falls to an all-time low.He’s going to be so disappointed.I know his rejection will affect me more than most, and not just because I’m pregnant with his baby. When he finally re-enters, I’d almost ready to bolt.

Nervously I eye him, my heart rate increasing as he steps close. His eyes grow dark, his pupils dilate. I notice his lips slightly part and what looks like an anticipatory flush comes to his cheeks. I don’t need to look down at his crotch to know he’s turned on.

While my brain screams that he’ll soon turn away, my body automatically prepares itself. My breathing speeds up, my heart thumping in my chest. My panties grow damp, and I feel my nipples jut out against the material of the shirt that I’m wearing.

I shiver under the intensity of his gaze, then question the quirk to his lips as instead of approaching, he moves behind me.

“Stay still,” he instructs, as I start to turn to follow him.

I do as I’m told, startling when I feel his breath against my neck. I suck in air as his lips gently meet my skin, his head dipping down so he can taste me. His touch is so light goosebumps form. He sucks gently on the pulse point beneath my ear, then raises my hair so his caress can trace across the back of my spine, and then applies the same attention to the opposite side.

For a moment, the touch of his mouth is our only connection, and my heart rate increases as my skin becomes supercharged and heated. I’d expected him to start by ripping my clothes off me. His gentle approach has me discombobulated and off balance.

When I tense, he says, “Just relax and feel. This time, I want to do things properly. I want to see you.”

His words don’t help me at all. Seeing me could end this passion. When I feel his hands at the bottom of my tee, I cover them with my own.

“Let me.”

Knowing resistance is futile, my hands first drop, then at his gentle insistence rise so he can extract me from my shirt. The cool air-conditioned draft has my overheated skin pebbling, or maybe it’s the anticipation, or fear of what he’ll think of me.

Still to my rear, he unclips my bra, pushing the straps down my arms. His hands come out to cup me, his fingers finding my nipples, newly sensitised thanks to my pregnancy. His touch makes me inhale air and lean back against him.

“Perfect,” he whispers, alternating between toying with my nipples and weighing my breasts in his hand.

“Too small,” I contradict, but at the same time, unable to stop the moan coming from my lips, as sensations like small electric shocks go from my nipples to my core.

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