Page 6 of Mile High With the Bikers
“Fuck,” Shrapnel hisses, almost reverent, as I pull it off and drape it over the chair on the other side of the aisle.
I was right, you can see my bra through the thin silk, but I hadn’t realized just how obvious my nipples would be. Taking a sip from my drink, I draw a sharp little breath as I feel them crinkle at the attention. I'm going to drive myself crazy before they even get the chance to.
A few hands later, Bull is down to his boxers and Shrapnel is about to take off his shirt. He meets my eyes and pulls it off in one movement. Glinting in both his nipples are short silver bars with little balls on the end. The first thing that goes through my mind is what they would feel like under my tongue. Would the metal be cold or hot? And then I see the scars pocking his tan skin, and what looks like a military tattoo on his left pec. At almost twenty-two, I’m not a kid, but these men who are probably all in their mid to late twenties somehow seem like they have decades more life behind them than I do.
In another round, Diesel's still wearing his vest, though his jeans are on the floor next to his chair. Every piece of clothing that drops makes it harder to focus on the game, and with nothing but thin cotton to hide the way their bodies are reacting, I know they’re all feeling the same way. My concentration shot, I quickly end up in my bra and panties, making sure to keep my legs crossed and hoping nobody will see the damp spot I’m sure is growing.
There’s electricity in the air when we finally get to the round where no matter who loses, someone is going to reveal something that could get you arrested in public. Bull puts down a straight. He’s safe for now. Diesel has a pair of aces and I have a pair of threes. Shrapnel eyes all of us, grinning confidently. Not looking good. I swallow hard.
School always came easily for me, the grades anyway. I’m not too proud to admit that I have enough of my father in me to maybe be a little overconfident in my own skills, and I’m starting to wonder if this was really a good idea.
“Well, fuck.” Shrapnel drops his cards on the table. Nothing, just high king.
I let out a shaky sigh of relief.
He stands up, which makes the thick bulge in his boxer briefs even more obvious.
“You don’t have to.” I blurt out awkwardly, staring right at his erection. “It’s just a game, right?”
But Shrapnel's anything but shy. With a cocky grin, he hooks his thumbs in the waistband, then looks down at me. “You wanna do the honors?”
“M—me?”
“Go on, you earned it.” His voice is teasing, but has an edge that wasn’t there earlier.
My right hand reaches out without checking with my brain first, but as soon as my fingertips hit hot male flesh, I wake up and snatch it back.
He shrugs. “Next time.”
The fabric clings for just a moment, stretched around him until he pulls the elastic past the tip. Suddenly free, his cock bounces out to stand thick and proud, and pointing right up at me. He pulls the tight boxers over his muscular thighs and lets them fall, his grin never leaving his lips.
Ooooooh my.
A bulge is one thing. It’s sexy and conjures up all sorts of images, but seeing his bobbing erection in the flesh is a whole different ballgame. I'm no expert with cocks, I'll freely admit that, but what my hands on experience has been lacking, the internet made up for. Shrapnel’s cock has star quality. I thought it was all clever angles and trick videography.
Obviously not for everyone.
How does that even fit?
I wet my lips, not sure what to say. I shouldn't be just staring at it, but I don't know where else I'm supposed to look, especially when he grips it and gives himself a couple of lazy strokes only inches from my face. A glistening clear drop forms right at the tip. When I finally pull my eyes up over his washboard abs, past the steel hanging from his nipples and up to his deep brown eyes, he's smiling at me.
“Changed your mind about touching? You can come closer. I don't mind.” He slides his fist up and down his length again, just for emphasis.
I know what I look like, and it’s nothing like the women in the porn videos. I don’t have massive perky breasts, or do a thousand squats a day for a bubble butt. I’m just me. An average girl who should really use the gym in our building more than twice a month and could probably stand to eat more vegetablesand fewer cookies. There's no way guys like this don’t have gorgeous women lining up, but he’s looking at me like I’m not just the only woman at the table, but the only one in the world.
It’s almost as distracting as his glistening cock.
“Game’s not over,” Diesel says with a snort.
“Oh no. I lost,” Bull jokes as he stands to pull his own briefs down. “We all know where this is fucking going.”
I gasp when he reveals himself, at least as thick and long as Shrapnel, swollen dark red with virile blood. He looks so hard it has to hurt.
“But I—” But I what? He's right. What did I expect? For someone who prides herself on being smart, I can be pretty freaking dumb.
“Fine, but for the record I think we all won.” Diesel shrugs off his vest, and drops his underwear.
It's like a three-cannon salute, with the three of them around me, cocks in hand.
