Biker romance book bundl.., p.325
Biker Romance Book Bundle: 17 Full Length Novels, page 325
It bothered me, but I wasn’t about to admit it. I regretted telling him he could take a shower with me. I knew if he chose to accept my offer that it would take every ounce of my willpower not to ride him like a pogo stick.
“It’s just not what I’m accustomed to,” he said. “I guess if I want things to be different, I have to do different things.”
“So, you’re going to stay?” I asked, trying to hide my excitement.
“I’ll go downstairs and grab a change of clothes off my bike while you’re in the bathroom.” He turned toward the door. “I’ll shower after you’re done.”
I guessed he felt the same way I did regarding showering together. It was a good thing, because I planned on relieving myself of some serious tension when I was in there.
“Your loss,” I teased. “It’s probably for the best, though. I doubt you’d be able to keep your hands off me. I’m irresistible when I’m wet.”
“That sounds like a challenge.” He turned around and looked me over. “I’ve never been one to back down from a dare.”
“Wait. What?” I stammered.
“Hold on just a minute while I grab my clothes.” His mouth formed a smug little smile. “I’ll go ahead and shower with you.”
Being in the shower with Porter would be a true test.
One I was sure to flunk.
92
Porter
Although I fantasized about having sex with Abby, I didn’t feel the need to act on those desires. The absence of sex left me at a loss for what I should be doing with our time. In the past, if I spent more than an hour with a girl it was because we were having sex. Consequently, the time I spent with women taught me very little about what to do with a woman if we weren’t having sex.
I had zero experience at being romantic but wanted to act in a manner that she found pleasing. More than anything, I wanted whatever Abby and I shared to be in complete contrast to the one-night-stands that defined the sexual experiences of my past.
The trip to Julian drew me even closer to Abby. A ray of hope now shined from her being. A hint that cancer didn’t always consume its victims. Some people beat deadly disease, and she stood as proof. I doubted I could defeat a brain tumor without medical attention, but I could always hope.
Filled with that hope, I began to inch my way into her life.
While Abby poured two glasses of wine, she confirmed my decision was a good one. “Truthfully, I’m glad you decided to let me shower alone.”
“I know me well enough to know I would have made achieving your goal difficult.”
She corked the bottle of wine and handed me a glass. “What goal?”
I lifted my wine glass. “Why’s this stuff pink?”
“It’s pink Moscato.” She sipped the wine. “What goal?”
I tasted the wine. The sweetness was such that I almost spit it out. I gave a taut smile and looked at the glass in disbelief. “Holy shit. This stuff’s sweet.”
“What. Goal?” she asked, her tone demanding.
“Not having sex.”
“Oh.” She gestured toward the living room. “That.”
Her home was along Mission Beach Boulevard on a corner lot that faced the ocean. I had no idea what it cost, but I knew it wasn’t cheap. If Tito’s opinion of her income was correct, I doubted she had any problems paying for it.
The floors were constructed of wide slats of gray hardwood. There weren’t many interior walls, but what was there was painted white. A winding staircase manufactured of steel and contrasting wood planks led to an upstairs loft, and the kitchen was filled with state-of-the-art stainless-steel appliances.
Decorated in a colorful array of yellows, blues, reds, and greens, it looked like what I expected a beachfront condo to look like. Her furniture was a combination of leather and fabrics, all of which were contemporary in design. Personally, I felt most of it would be more suitable in an art studio than a home.
I meandered to one end of a pea green fabric sofa. It looked as uncomfortable as a concrete park bench. When I took a seat, I was surprised by the comfort. “Damn.” I pressed my palm against the cushion. “This thing’s comfortable.”
She took a seat at the left end of the same piece of furniture. “I think everything in here is comfortable.”
“That weird-looking chair I sat in earlier was,” I admitted.
She looked at the chair. “It’s not weird-looking, it’s ergonomic.”
While her attention was elsewhere, I admired her. Dressed in a pair of cut-off sweat shorts and a tattered white tee shirt that said mermaid on the front and off-duty on the back, she looked adorable. While she took a drink of her wine, I noticed her nipples were as hard as rocks.
Normally attracted to girls with curvy asses and huge boobs, it seemed strange to be so physically drawn to Abby. She was petite, short, and had boobs that may not have filled a “B” cup bra. Nonetheless, her looks alone sucked me in like a vortex.
Noticing her hard nipples started me on a rapid downslide. Knowing I’d be trying to hide a hard on if I continued to look at her, I shifted my eyes to the white leather chair. It was low in the front, high at the knees, low in the seat, and then curved upward again.
“It’s shaped like a backward ‘S’,” I said. “It’s weird-looking.”
“That’s what makes it comfortable.”
I studied the chair. Upon a closer inspection, it seemed to be designed for fucking. The high spot intended for one’s knees would be perfect for her hips, forcing her ass high in the air. I glanced at her, and then at the chair. In seconds, I was mentally fucking her while she was face-down on the surface of the ergonomic piece of furniture.
I took a shallow drink of my wine. In being reminded of the sweetness, I opted to raise the bottom of the glass and down the contents. With the empty glass dangling loosely from my hand, I shifted my eyes from the chair to Abby.
My cock twitched.
I rested my left arm over my lap and tried to hide my rapidly growing appreciation of Abby’s beauty. Knowing if I didn’t immediately divert my train of thought that she’d soon notice my level of excitement, I decided to change the subject to something that would kill the mood.
“I showed the fellas that picture you sent me,” I said.
Her eyes narrowed. “Which one?”
I pressed my forearm against my cock. “How many pictures have you sent me?”
She tugged against the hem of her shorts and then crossed her athletic legs. “Only one that I can remember.”
Her toned legs all but tossed me off the edge of the celibacy cliff. I pressed my forearm firm against my rigid cock.
I winced in pain. “That’d be the one. You, me, and a rattlesnake.”
“What did they say?”
“They said what were you doing rattlesnake hunting with Uptown Abby?”
The color drained from her face. “They recognized me?”
It wasn’t easy to have a conversation while my cock was standing at attention. I repositioned myself in the seat and pushed against it with my elbow. It pushed back with greater force. The pain made me feel that I might just fucking faint.
She gave me a funny look. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lied. “Why?”
She swiveled her upper body to face me, giving me a full view of nipples that were trying to cut their way through the worn fabric of her tee shirt. I tore my eyes away from them and focused on the wall behind her.
“You look like you’re uncomfortable,” she said.
I was uncomfortable. I had a raging hard on and wanted to fuck her so bad I was dizzy. Light-headed and feeling half sick from a lack of sex and overindulgence in pink wine, I gazed beyond her, toward the kitchen. “I think I drank that wine too fast.”
“Do you want a glass of water?” she asked.
I didn’t. I wanted her face down in the ergonomic chair with her bare ass in the air and her wet hair balled in my clenched fist. But now wasn’t the time. I needed to honor her desire to be sex-free for one night. I had no idea how an evening of sexual agony was going to solve any problems, but it was what she wanted. Therefore, I intended to give it to her.
In support of her wishes, I pressed my forearm against the head of my rising dick. When I did, the pain caused my back to arch.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.
I arched my back even more. “Back spasm.”
“From being on the bike all day?”
“Probably from the gym,” I lied. “Might have pulled a muscle.”
“Want me to rub your back?” She set her glass of wine on the end table. “It might make you feel better.”
She raised her hands and fanned her fingers as if preparing to rub my shoulders. If she touched me, there was no doubt the problem would escalate. I needed to make some space between us. Standing was out of the question. I inched my way to the arm of the sofa, gaining six inches of distance and nothing more.
Pinned against the pea green burlap fabric, my throbbing cock reminded me of each heartbeat. I looked at her with fear in my eyes.
“What?” she asked. “You don’t like being touched?”
The thought of her touching me excited the absolute fuck out of me. Moving my arm away from my cock would lead her to believe I was exactly what she didn’t want me to be. There was no way I could hide my state of arousal if she was giving me a back rub.
“No.” I shook my head. “I like being touched.”
She moved closer. “Let me rub your shoulders.”
If she touched me, I’d probably come in my pants. Before I could blurt out an objection, she came even closer. Her milky smooth thigh brushed against mine.
The contact, albeit small, pushed me over the edge of the cliff.
Enough was enough. I was thirty-one years old, my days on earth were limited, and I was in the presence of the most attractive woman I’d ever seen. My arousal was natural. Whether I acted on my desires or not, there was no sense trying to hide it any longer.
“Look,” I said, lifting my forearm. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to fuck you on that stupid chair. I’m not saying I want to do it, I’m just saying I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Her gaze dropped to my bulge. Upon seeing it, her eyes shot wide. “This is dumb,” she said. “Let’s do it.”
“Do what?”
“Let’s screw.” She motioned toward the chair. “On that.”
“You said you needed to--”
“You’re wearing jeans and a wife beater,” she said. “This is torture. I can’t take it anymore. My nipples are so hard they ache. I’m so wet it’s uncomfortable. I’m attracted to you because I’m attracted to you. What am I trying to prove?”
“So, you’re okay with--”
She nodded. “I am.”
“You want to--”
She tugged against the hem of her shorts. “I do.”
“I don’t want to force you to--”
“Come here,” she said.
I shook my head. “I can’t stand up.”
She lifted the oversized leg of her shorts and nodded toward the opening she’d created. “Stick your hand in there.”
I wasn’t about to argue with her. With my eyes locked on hers, I slid my hand along the inside of her thigh, from her knee to her pussy.
She began to giggle like a teen.
“Sorry,” she said, her face blushing as she spoke. “It’s been a while.”
I smiled in return and continued. As the knuckle of my index finger bumped against her clit, she flinched and let out a moan. Her pussy was just as she said it would be. Soaking wet. It was also, much to my surprise, surrounded by hair.
I grabbed her shorts by the waistband and pulled them away from her stomach. With the curiosity of a cat, I peered inside. A two-inch long vertical strip of hair as wide as my index finger was just above her otherwise perfectly pretty little pussy.
“What the fuck is that?” I gasped.
Her eyes shot wide. “What?”
I nodded toward the trail of pubes. “That. It looks like a caterpillar is crawling out of your twat.”
“It’s a landing strip,” she said matter-of-factly. “They’re popular again.”
I took one last look for conversations sake, and then released the elastic waistband of her shorts. I had news for her. That shit was never popular in my eyes. It needed to be shaved off and shaved off quickly.
Before I puked.
I laughed until I vomited in my mouth. After swallowing a mouthful of pink wine and bile, I shook my head in disagreement. “You need to shave that shit off.” I chuckled. “Really.”
“They’re coming back. They really are,” she said with a laugh. “By the end of the year, everyone will have one.”
I burst into laughter, again. I couldn’t help it. When I finally caught my breath, I shook my head. “Everyone but you.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I shouldn’t have believed that article, huh?”
“What article?”
She looked away. “In Cosmo. It said they were the new thing. The new old thing. It was like a jungle down there when we met. After reading that article, I trimmed it into that. I thought you’d like it.”
“So, you’ve been planning this?”
“Hoping.” She laughed. “I was hoping.”
“Well,” I said. “I’m hoping you’ll shave that strip of nastiness off.”
She looked at me. “Now?”
“That’s my recommendation,” I said. “I’m not interested in getting hair stuck in my teeth.”
“Oh, yeah. This thing’s coming off.” She leaped from the couch. “Right F-ing now.”
After five agonizing minutes, the sound of her clearing her throat caused me to look up.
“How’s this?” she asked.
She was standing in the opening of the corridor that led to the bathroom. Wearing nothing but a grin, she pressed her hands to her hips.
Awestruck by her naked beauty, I stared.
“Well?” she asked.
Her hair was disheveled and partially obscured her face, hiding one of her insanely sexy blue eyes. The other one looked right at me. Her breasts were small and perky. Upon seeing them, I decided everything about her was exactly the way I wanted it to be.
My eyes dropped to her waist. Her pretty little pussy was as bald as the palm of my hand.
“You look good enough to eat,” I said.
She cocked her hip. “Are you hungry?”
My first sexual experience with Abby was going to be a selfless act. I’d never had sex with the intention of satisfying anyone other than myself. I was eager to have Abby be my first.
Certain there were going to be many firsts with Abby, I grinned and nodded. “I sure am.”
93
Abby
Although I hadn’t tried it out yet, I’d purchased the chair in question with the sole intention of using it for sex. Eager to feel Porter’s skin against mine, I nervously walked the length of the living room.
He rubbed the light scruff that had developed on his jawline over the last few days. When I stopped in front of him, he let out a long breath. “Jesus.”
“What?”
Starting at the floor, he took every inch of me in, slowly. When his gaze met mine, he smiled. “You’re perfect.”
I worked hard to keep myself in shape, but there was nothing I could do about my teenage breasts. I’d been self-conscious about them since high school.
I felt like covering them, but I didn’t. “I’m far from perfect.”
“Turn around,” he breathed.
I faced the bathroom.
“No,” he said. “Turn in a circle. I want to see every inch of you.”
I did a low-speed pirouette with my hands over my head, feeling self-conscious as my front side came into his view. I wished I had boobs, but not so much that I was ever going to alter my body. Porter needed to find a way to accept me as his flat-chested girlfriend.
“You are…you’re fucking gorgeous.” He looked me up and down, taking his time to do so. “Come here.”
I took a few hesitant steps.
He slipped one hand behind my waist and pulled me into him. After spinning me in a semi-circle, he planted his lips against mine.
Once again, the kiss transported my mind to another place. An existence not of this earth. As if I wasn’t already prepared to give myself to Porter, the kiss confirmed that something between us was special.
The chemistry we shared during a kiss could not be denied, and I loved being reminded of it.
He broke our embrace, placed his hands on either side of my face, and looked me in the eyes. “Beautiful.”
An almost indiscernible thank you puffed from my lips.
He looked me over. A worried look washed over him. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
I couldn’t believe he was second-guessing our decision to have sex. Prepared to fight for the dick that was rightfully mine, I lowered my hands and cocked my hip. “I haven’t had sex in six years,” I coughed. “You can either give it to me, or I’m going to take it.”
“Not that. The relationship thing. With me. It’s just…you’re more beautiful than…” He took a long look at me. It appeared he was on the verge of tears. “You’re more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen in my life. You could be with any man on this planet. Are you sure you want to be with me?”
The thought of sex excited me. But. I also wanted Porter. He was kind, had a dry sense of humor, and seemed to mesh well with my inability to retain my thoughts. If there was any doubt in my mind that he was the right man, it vanished after his confession of my beauty. I fought against the lump that was rising in my throat and nodded my head.
“Take off your pants,” I said, my voice cracking from emotion. “I’ll show you how much I want to be with you.”
Obviously as eager as I was to get started, he fumbled with his belt. In a moment, he carefully pushed his jeans past his rigid member. When the denim cleared the tip, the fleshy monster sprung free.
