Page 3 of The Biker and the Loner
“Who do you think?”
“That’s ridiculous. We’re not together anymore.” I wave a hand around. “He’s not even here.”
He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. He’s still a brother.”
Rocking forward, I set my beer down on the patchy-grassed earth, then straighten up from the chair and move to sit astride him. He seems taken aback by this bold move, but the desire broiling in his eyes for me keeps him from protesting. I’ve hung around here long enough and observed the Club Cats mannerisms, saw how they seduced the men. All I have to do is mimic them and Scratch will be mine for the night.
In a sultry tone, I rejoin, “And what ifIsay I’m available?”
He swallows.
I slide my hands under his biker vest and rub my palms over his cotton-covered chest. “What ifIsay I want your big, hard cock inside meright now?”
His erection swells beneath me, hard and threatening. But again, he swallows and replies, “Can’t do it...Grunt—”
“Picture me,” I say, bringing mouth to his ear and licking his lobe, “legs spread wide on your bed… I’m pink and glistening, dripping wet for you.”
A groan reverberates in his throat.
“Your cock is so hard for me it’s painful,” I continue, “and you’re fisting yourself while you watch me slide my finger inside my own heat. You’re jealous...so jealous of my finger. You want to take its place...plunge deep inside me, feel my warm heat clench around your hard dick.” I bite his earlobe and lick the side of his neck. “Now, what’s stopping you?”
His chest heaves up and down. Beneath my palm, his heartbeat thumps wildly. As if in an effort to control himself, he digs his fingers into my thighs astride him. But his desire is stronger than his restraint, because in the next second, he curses under his breath and growls, “Screw it.”
When he jerks up from the chair, I almost topple over. He catches me before I do, locking his strong arm around my waist and whisking me off with him. His long strides eat through the crowd while my baby steps struggle to keep up.
In minutes, we’re at his trailer, the noise from the bonfire at the back of the compound dulled. He yanks open the door and drags me in. When he turns to me, his eyes are blazing with lust and heat.
I feel a brief moment of fear, considering I’ve never done this before and don’t know what to expect. Maybe riling him up like this wasn’t the best idea. Because he doesn’tknow. Which means he’ll likely be rough. Should I tell him?
Nah, he’ll back out. Scratch doesn’t seem like the kind of man who has the patience to do soft and gentle. Plus, they’ll all know that I’m a fraud and no doubt ban me from the compound.
So, with bravado, I urge him on by sticking my chest out and licking my lips.
Grabbing my face between his big paws, he growls out, “You better be worth it.” Right before he slams his mouth down on mine.
~
My reflection stares back at me from the small, black-edged mirror in the tiny bathroom of Scratch’s trailer, my wet hair hanging down my shoulders in thick clumps. I’ve showered away all the evidence, the blood, and now I’m sore between my thighs.
Losing my V-card is nothing like I thought it would have been. Isn’t sex between a man and woman supposed to feel good?Better?
It didn’t for me. Pain, burning discomfort, and tears are what I experienced. It felt as if I was being split open with a metal pole the entire time. And by “entire time”, I mean more than a minute but less than two. Because the second he noticed the blood, he’d recoiled and leaped off of me looking like a venomous snake had slithered out of my vagina and bit him.
With a troubled scowl, he’d pulled up his jeans and slammed out of the trailer. Shortly after, I heard him roaring at someone on the phone. I’d taken a guess at the recipient of his rage—the man whom I’d been in a fake relationship with. Grunt.
After that, it was silence. So I figured it best to shower and start getting dressed to leave before he returned. I’ve seen how vicious he could be to Club Cats if he was displeased.
The sudden slam of the trailer door makes me jump.
He’s back.Shit.
Grabbing a bleach-stained towel from the rack, I wrap it tightly around myself like it’s a shield and tentatively exit the bathroom.
Scratch is seated at the edge of the bed, leaned forward with his hands on his knees, and his furious eyes lifts to fix on me.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands.
Ignoring his question, I tell him, “You need to finish what you’ve started.”
