Page 4 of Bliss: Part 1
Two
Bliss
Around 4:50, and just as I put a cherry sucker into my mouth, a tall and bulky man with tattoos all over his arms and legs walked in. A real biker. One of those who lived for the club and only took off his leather cut to sleep and shower.
I’d say that eighty-five percent of our customers were men who were members of motorcycle clubs, and I damn sure wasn’t complaining.
I liked those men. They were mostly hot.
The one standing in front of me was here to pick up his bike.
I leaned forward on the desk, showing off my tits because that always worked for tips. With the sucker in my mouth, I smiled up at him through my lashes.
“How can I help you, sir?” I asked sweetly.
He studied me, taking me in from top to bottom, with his eyes lingering where I wanted them to. The corner of his mouth twitched.
“Here to get my remodeled Harley,” he told me, voice deeper than his cock would ever be in me.
I knew he wanted to fuck me. It was written all over his face. He wasn’t even trying to hide it, and he wasn’t the first one. Many men came in here, hoping for a bit more than just my flirting. Maybe that was the reason whyThe Oldwas making so much money. Because word spread quickly about the young girl with the icy-blond hair and striking glacier-blue eyes who worked atThe Old.
Those weren’t words I described myself with, but more so the men who came in here and left with the memory of me on their minds. I was eighteen. Legally an adult, and these men knew it.
But no matter how often I got drooled on, I would never let any of these men touch me. They could look and admire—I’d even let them fantasize—but nothing more. This was business to me, and I was damn good at my job.
I pulled the sucker out of my mouth and looked at the computer screen in front of me. “Hmmm, what’s your name, sir?”
“Gunpowder.”
I looked up at him with a raised brow and a grin. “That’s a lovely road name, sir. Did you pick it?”
“No, sugar, I did not,” he grumbled.
I pursed my lips and pushed the sucker back into my mouth, curling my tongue around it with my lips parted so he could watch. When I pulled it back out, I said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Gunpowder, I don’t see your road name on here. What’s your real name?”
I kept my voice as sweet and innocent as possible.
“Kenneth Burch.”
“Ah, here you are.” I pointed at the screen even though he couldn’t see what I was pointing at. “My daddy finished remodeling your Harley last week. It looks so good and sounds even better than it did before.”
His tense expression eased as I talked about his bike. His baby, probably. Not many of these men had anything more to live for than their motorcycles and club. Most of them had women, but they didn’t matter to them as much as their bikes did.
“Gonna show me to it?” he asked, brow raised.
“Of course! Follow me, Mr. Gunpowder.”
He grumbled something under his breath as he followed me over to the workshop. As I stopped and turned around to look at him, his gaze was on my ass. When his eyes met mine, he didn’t even try to hide it. He liked to look, and he knew I wore skirts like this for a reason.
I couldn’t wait for my big tip once he left.
“Here it is,” I told him, holding out my hand toward his bike.
“Ah, Kenneth,” Dad said, walking over to us. He put one hand on my shoulder and shook Kenneth’s hand with his other. “About time.”
Kenneth took in his bike before he moved his gaze to Dad, then to me, then to Dad again. “Was out of town for work. Would’ve come and gotten it way earlier otherwise.”
“No worries. Gave us more time to admire it,” Dad said.
