Page 38 of Rider Daddies
They want to fuck me?
Love me?
God forbid it’s the latter.
Mentally, physically, and emotionally, I’m in no place to get into another relationship. In fact, after the Tristan shit show, I think I’ll stay single for the rest of my life and die alone.
“Let me get this right. I’m not allowed to touch another man if you three ‘claim’ me?”
“Woah, woah, woah,” Ryder interjects. “Who said anything about all three of us claiming you? No, darling, the ball is in your court. If this is something that interests you, you may choose between one of us.”
Something that interests me?
They make it sound like it’s a fucking sales pitch.
“You know the score, boys. Three or none.”
Saint glares at his two older brothers like they’re letting him down.
“And anyway, I’m gonna have to read the terms and conditions. Can I still interact with men in, like, the real world?”
“Not unless you want us to slit their throats.”
That answers my next question.
I stare into their cool, hard eyes and feel my pussy grow a heartbeat. Why do they have this effect on me?
Better yet, why does the idea of being “claimed” have me soaking through my panties?
Maybe this whole thing isn’t as serious as I’m making it out to be. Motorcyclists are all for a good time—they made that crystal clear when I crashed their party. Drinks are limitless. Social taboos don’t exist.
For a sweet, lawful citizen like me, it could be a lot of fun. I haven’t gotten laid properly in a year, and I’ve never really experienced a life-shattering orgasm. In that department, I know I’m in capable hands.
“How long does the claim last?” I ask.
“As long as the tattoo on your ass,” Saint answers.
“And what will the tattoo say?”
“We mark our names so that you’re our property,” Ryder jumps in.
My pussy flutters.
Damn, to be property of three biker brothers would really be something.
But it won’t last forever. I might have been here all but two days, but I know men well enough to be sure that a year from now, they’ll be getting bored and moving on to the next girl.
They’re all the same.
Too predictable.
Tristan was the same. He moved fast, asking me to be his girlfriend way sooner than I expected. Men like to own and possess. The bikers here have just given it a more exciting label.
Also, tattoo removal is a thing. It might sting like a bitch, but when I’m over them, all I have to do is book myself in for an appointment.
“Sure. Sounds good.”
Saint bats his weirdly long eyelashes. “What?”
