Page 51 of The Biker and the Loner
“Say ahhhhh.”
“Stop!”
“Ooof!” He keels back on his ass and his eyes roll back in his head as he frantically fans the air in front of his nose. “Baby, you’re pretty but your breath ishhhugly.”
Mortified and indignant, I scramble up and grab one of the throw pillows, smacking him with it. Repeatedly. “You jerk!”
I throw the other two pillows at his head then stomp away. I’m only a few feet off when I’m swept up off the ground fireman style all while he is laughing his stupid face off.
“C’mon, Peach, it’s only a little stank breath,” he teases. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. Look at me, I’m all sweaty and gross.”
If only his sweatwasgross. No, he’s sweaty andhot and sexy. His sweat doesn’t smell like sweat; it smells like seduction.
Yep, he’s a jerk.
He carries me upstairs and straight into the shower. Despite all his teasing, he pushes me up against the wall and deep-tongue kisses the crap out of me. Morning breath be damned.
This inevitably leads to amazing shower sex and explosive orgasms.
A girl could get used to mornings like this…
~
Fresh from the shower with squeaky clean skin and minty breath, I head back downstairs to prepare breakfast. Tipsy Scoop opens at noon rather than 10 AM on Saturdays, so I don’t have to be in for another few hours.
I slip my earphones in, hit play on Audible, and get to cooking.
When it’s time to eat, Scratch comes downstairs with one of my panties dangling from his middle finger. Red, lace, with double straps at the waist. Nothing special. Except that they’re the same panties he peeled off me with his teeth on the night he deflowered me.
“I remember these,” he says, flipping the underwear around his finger. “They’re in real good condition for being dog-years old.”
That’s because I haven’t worn them since. They’ve been tucked in the back of my underwear drawer as memorabilia.
“And you’re holding them why?” I ask as I butter his toasts.
While I was preparing breakfast, he’d come down for my bags, offering to pack my things out for me. And now my panties are dangling from his finger.
“Because I’m keeping them.” He winks and crumples the panties in his fist, then stuffs them into his back pocket. “They’re my new good luck charm.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever, perv.”
He grins, unabashed, and plops down at the breakfast bar. “That’s your dad’s Range outside, right?”
“Yep.” I sometimes forget how much he knows, how much I used to tell him on our phone calls. “Kathy hid my keys to the Beemer.”
“Hm. It’s in spectacular condition for an old boy.” He shoves a spoonful of diced fruits in his mouth. “Good as new.”
I round the breakfast bar and take the stool beside him. “That’s because I take good care of it.”
“Can I ask you something?” he pitches as he stuffs scrambled eggs, strips of ham, bacon, sausage, mushrooms and tomatoes into a pita pocket. I feel so sad for the poor pita pocket, the fate that awaits it.
“Go ahead.”
“Would you still be attracted to me if I wasn’t a biker anymore?”
That’s a weird question. “Hmm, let’s see…” I bite a piece of toast and drift my eyes to the ceiling as I pretend to think about it. “Would I still want you if you weren’t around sex-crazed Club Cats shoving their tits in your face all the time? If you weren’t getting involved in unnecessary bar brawls because of the club’s feuds? If you weren’t a part of shady ‘club business’—aka criminal activities that will inevitably land you in jail…?WouldI still be interested? Hmmm… I don’t know.”
He slides me a side glance as he takes a huge bite of the overstuffed pita pocket, contents spilling back onto the plate. He chews and swallows before muttering, “Smartass.”
