Page 13 of Rider Daddies
Not while I’m still hungry.
5
LUCIA
I wanted regret.Instead, I wake up with wet thighs.
They’re gonna have to do that again until I feel regret. All I can think about right now is how much I want to?—
“Morning, sweetheart!” The door bursts open, revealing Ryder.
I wink open an eye. This room is too bright and I haven’t properly woken up yet. After the events of last night, the brothers invited me to stay the night and put me up in one of the spare rooms. It’s a bit of a downgrade. The wooden walls are peeling and the springs from the mattress were prodding me in the back constantly. I’m also pretty sure I heard a rat screech at some point, but I suppose it could have been something else.
I sit up on my elbows, shielding a hand over my eye. The window in front of me is east facing, blinding sunlight streaming into the room.
Ryder extends his hand, passing me a mug of something. I take it with caution, sticking my nose into it to give it a sniff. Men can’t be trusted as it is, never mind a whole group of them that ride bikes away from civilization.
The scent of freshly ground coffee hits my nose, weaving its way through my body. God. I’ve been dying for a coffee ever since I hit the road, but I didn’t wanna consume too much liquid on the road in case I needed to pee. You wouldn’t catch me peeing in a bush.
I sip with caution. “Good coffee.”
“Thanks.” Ryder takes a bow. “I made it myself.”
I sit up in the bed and wrap my hands around the mug, surveying Ryder’s face. He’s cheeky. The kind of guy who would pick “dare” instead of “truth” in a game. Something about his crooked nose heats my insides, knowing that he probably got that as a result of fighting. He strikes me as the aggressive type.
His hair is completely gray, matching his stone-gray eyes. I look down at his arm, seeing something that I didn’t catch last night. Is that a bullet wound under one of his tattoos? It must have been there a while. The area looks healed, but I can still see where it hit.
Ryder gives me a wolfish smile. “Did you enjoy yourself last night?”
I almost choke on my coffee. The sun has barely risen and I only woke up five minutes ago. Give me a minute.
I don’t really want to give him the satisfaction and say yes, but I had a brilliant night. I can’t say I’ve ever been fingered in public before by multiple men. Polyamory has never been my thing, but maybe now I should be open to it. They’re all brothers, middle-aged, each two years apart from one another. Why is that so hot?
Answer—because I’m unstable at the moment. A day ago, Mamma was fitting me into my wedding dress. Now, I findmyself at a motorcycle club, dressed in clothes three sizes too big for me. I can barely keep these sweatpants on my waist, no matter how many times I fold over the band.
“It was different.” I take a sip of coffee.
Ryder flashes me another one of his slanted smiles. “Did you get what you wanted out of it?”
A killer orgasm that almost knocked me unconscious?
“Yes,” I say. “You make a good team.”
“I’m talking about regret.” Ryder narrows his eyes, watching me closely. “Do you regret it?”
“Oh.” I tap my fingers on the mug, jaw hard. Maybe Idoregret it, because now I find myself fantasizing about the three of them, wondering when we can arrange another round.
I press my thighs together, trying to alleviate the burn. Desire has always been a strange thing for me. Before I met Tristan, I was an avid one-night stand kind of girl. There were times when all I wanted to do was get railed, so that’s what I would do—head out to the club and treat myself to some pleasure. Some girls like to let off steam by dancing or going on a shopping trip. My form of self-care was always a good hookup.
When I met Tristan, all of that changed. It wasn’t so much about the sex. It was more about him, going to bed next to somebody every night, having somebody there to rely on.
Maybe, now that my relationship is in the trash, I’m back to square one…
But there is a voice inside of me telling me that something is different about this time. Not necessarily bad, but new. Anexperience unlike any other. I’m in the phase of my cycle where I shouldn’t be turned on, yet here I am, rubbing my thighs together to try and stop the burning sensation. This place is trouble. I came here to hydrate and get gas, not to drop my panties for three middle-aged biker brothers.
“Lacey?”
It takes me a moment to realize that I gave them a fucking pseudonym.
