Page 83 of Rider Daddies
I lick my lips, tasting remnants of last night.
The fire feels just as hot as it was last night…maybe even hotter now that I know what Ash and his two Magic Mike brothers are capable of doing in the bedroom.
“How’s your tattoo?”
“It hurts,” I say. “But in a good kind of way.”
“That’s good to hear.”
Fuck me. This man could call me a bitch and I’d still be desperate to take off his clothes.
The spark is supposed to disappear the next day. Why is it stronger?
“Have you all made up?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t say that.” Ash directs his answer at my breasts. “We haven’t really spoken…about…” He trails off. He tips his head to the sky and thinks.
I was holding on to consciousness by only a thread last night, but I still know what I saw. Their brotherly feud dissipated the second Saint entered me.
Ryder and Ash were flabbergasted.
Tristan could’ve attacked and they wouldn’t have noticed.
I saw the look in their eyes…
Saw the big deals in their pants…
They were watching Saint fuck me the same way you’d expect a test subject to watch their hypnotist. Nothing else in the world mattered.
Ash takes his eyes from the heavens and does something a hookup isn’t licensed to do. He puts his arm around my waist.
My initial reaction is to flinch and move away, but it feels oddly comforting.
It’s something Tristan used to do a lot. If there was an opportunity to hold my hand or snake an arm around me, he took it.
The gesture is exactly the same.
But the feeling is entirely different.
Bar work is kind of amazing.
And I’m not just saying that because my boss has electric-blue eyes and the body of a Roman gladiator. I say it because it’s easy and fun, and doesn’t require you to have a “work voice” that you must use for nine hours a day in order to be taken seriously.
I wear push-up bras and teeny denim shorts, and have never been more respected in my life. I think that has something to do with being claimed by the head chiefs of fun, but I’ll take what I can get.
I’m slower on the tequila tonight, given that it caused me to word-vomit my entire life’s story to my three claimers yesterday.
I still don’t know if I can trust them…
But I don’t really care. They took sexual gratification to a whole new level last night. The tattoo on my ass is sore, my pussy wrecked, but it was all worth it.
And I’d do it all over again.
That’sifthe brothers can overcome their complex egos and sort out their differences.
Reality must’ve hit them like a truck today.
I sling the towel over my shoulder and lean over the bar, watching them. None of them are working, as usual. Tonight, the fine lines around their brows are deeper than normal. There’s also been a lot of finger-pointing and whispered angst.
