Page 38 of The Biker and the Baker
If that’s how you truly feel, then why’re you still holding on to the compound? Why do you still ride?
Mentally flipping the bird to the bitch-ass voice in my head, I park horizontal behind Kyor’s car and dismount. The nomads outside park in the empty lot across the street, lighting up cigarettes. If only they put all that effort into getting a good job…
Tugging off my leather gloves, I head inside the building and take the stairs to the fourth floor because I fucking hate elevators.
Kyor opens the door wearing a long see-through robe with nothing underneath.Shit.When I called her up and told her I was coming over, I probably should’ve been clear about the nature of my visit.
The door’s barely closed when she’s on me, arms around my neck, lips on mine, moans in her throat.
“Kiki,” I say through a chuckle as I gently ease us apart. “Need to talk to you ‘bout something.”
Her lids are droopy with lust, her brown nipples puckering under her robe. “Can’t we do thatafter? I’mreallyfrickin’ horny for some D, Owen.”
Isn’t she always? That’s all she’s about. A good pounding and voice-scratching orgasms.
“No, Kiki. It can’t.”
Sobering from her lust, she takes a few steps backward and looks me over. A range of expressions sweep across her face before it relaxes with one of acceptance. “You’ve met someone.”
My shoulders jerk in an apologetic shrug. “Yeah. Kinda wanna see where things go with her, you know.”
“Wow.” She turns and struts into the living area. “Never thought I’d see the day, Owen.”
I follow her into the living room and take a seat in one of the armchairs. This is probably the first time I’ve used a piece of furniture in her apartment for its intended purpose. All we ever do in here is screw each other’s brains out.
From a decanter on her side table, she pours me some whiskey on the rocks before disappearing into her bedroom. She reappears a few minutes later fully clothed.
“Bruh, do you know how hard it is to find a damn good dick?” Her tone is borderline accusatory as she pours herself a glass of whiskey then plops down on the couch across from me.
I arch a brow. “Almost as hard as it is to find sweet, tight pussy?”
She rolls her eyes. “I hate that you’re cutting me off. But I can’t give you more.”
“I know.”
Not that I’d be able to give her more either. I’ve recently realized that your capability and willingness to give more, all depends on the recipient of more. And Kyor’s not that person for me.
“So, who’s the girl?” She takes a large gulp of whiskey. “Tell me, what makes her more deserving of my Owen than anybody else?”
I smile to myself. This is why we’ve been fuck buddies for so long. Kyor is as cool as they come. We could be screwing like a slut and her pimp one minute, then vibing like bro and sis the next. I can talk to her about anything, trust her with anything, and she’d never judge me.
“It’s gonna sound strange,” I begin. “She’s been there for over a year. Literally right in front of me. But somehow, it feels like she just came out of nowhere, running the red light and coming straight at me, and here I am, a deer in the motherfucking headlights…”
~
I left Kyor’s spot slightly buzzed but ten times lighter than when I arrived. We could’ve talked all night—not uncommon for us—but I’ve got to head to the pastry to close up.
Not surprising, the nomads are still loitering across the street, watching for me. By the time I accelerate out of the apartment complex, they’re on their motorcycles and off behind me.
Once at the pastry, I go through the usual end-of-day routine with the floor manager before sending him off. After I’ve secured all the funds in the safe and locked up the main office, I head out to the front and arm the alarm.
Hitting the master switch for all the lights inside the building, I’m about to head out the door when I hear a tumble of utensils from the kitchen, accompanied by a, “What the—shit!”
Someone’s still here. I’d asked the floor manager if all the staff was gone and he’d answered in the affirmative. Clearly, he hadn’t bothered to check.
Switching the lights back on, I head to the side door that leads to the prep room next to the kitchen.
It’s Pia. She’s crouched on the floor, wiping up spilled batter with paper towels.
