Biker romance book bundl.., p.333
Biker Romance Book Bundle: 17 Full Length Novels, page 333
“I want to watch you come,” I whispered.
“Are you talking to me, or to him?”
“Both of you.”
“Keep doing that, and you’ll get exactly what you’re after.”
The thought of it excited me. I’d never watched cum spurt from the tip of his dick – or any dick, for that matter. If such wayward things were going to occupy our days in the future, my life was truly going to be filled with blessings.
I developed a predictable rhythm, stroking his dick as if it were mine, doing what I felt I’d want done if I were a man. He seemed unaffected by the gesture, which satisfied me and bothered me both. His lack of interest left me feeling like I was doing something wrong, or that my dick stroking skills were mediocre at best.
But. I was free to do as I wished, without fear of repercussion or retribution. He truly didn’t give a fuck. Hell, he could have been asleep for all I knew.
I licked the tip of his dick as I stroked it, circling my tongue around the swollen tip. Then, I wrapped my full lips around the head, encompassing it fully. I knew having my mouth on his cock drove him crazy, and that was exactly what I hoped for. After another minute or so of sucking and licking, I lifted my head.
“Are you going to come for me?”
“He is,” Porter breathed.
I continued my pace, licking and kissing as I stroked the entire length from base to tip. After a long period of forcing my mouth over the head and onto the shaft, his back arched a little. Then, a little more.
The thought of seeing him come was wreaking havoc on me. Tingling in all the right places and driven by a passion to satisfy the man I loved, I maintained my pace, hoping for an end result that pleased him deeply.
His breathing became labored. Excited for the grand finale, I sat up straight and fixed my eyes on the tip.
With his eyes closed and his hands dangling loosely at his sides, Porter continued his expression of indifference. It fascinated me that he could maintain such an emotionless position on the outside but be brimming with sexual excitement on the inside.
“I’m going to lose it in a minute,” he whispered. “Fuck this is hot.”
“Come for me, baby,” I said softly.
I nudged my purse to the side in hope of getting a better view of the fountain of cum that was sure to blow from the tip at any moment. Then, a light bulb illuminated in my feeble mind. I reached into my purse, grabbed my phone, and opened Instagram’s Boomerang app.
With his cock in one hand and my phone in the other, I waited to start my ten-second recording of Porter’s climax.
As his breathing changed to choppy and unpredictable, I stroked with one hand, and pointed my phone with the other. His hips raised, lifting his ass from the seat cushion. Then, the muscles in his legs flexed.
Excited beyond belief, I pressed the record button.
Two seconds into my rudimentary pornographic production, a stream of cum shot from the tip of his dick. Another followed. Watching through the phone’s screen, I grinned from ear to ear, knowing I satisfied my man to no end – and that caught every morsel of the climactic ending on film.
When I lowered the phone, Porter was giving me a side-eyed look. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Oh,” I gasped. “I thought you were sleeping, or whatever.”
“Relaxing,” he breathed. “I was relaxing.”
“I was just.” I released his dick and raised my phone. “I was making a Boomerang.”
“A video of me busting a nut?”
“Uhhm.” I grinned. “Yeah.”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be putting that shit on Instagram.”
Instagram had a strict policy against nudity, which included Boomerang videos of skinny women in sundresses jacking off musclebound hunks with big dicks.
A shame, but true.
“They won’t let me,” I said. “It’s porn. It’s for personal use. Just for me. I’ll pleasure myself while watching it.”
He lowered himself onto the seat cushion. “That was pretty awesome, by the way.”
“Getting a handy at noon?”
“Yep.” He crossed his arms and closed his eyes. “After you give me a kiss, and I take a little nap. I’ll be ready to surf.”
I leaned over and kissed him, thankful that our relationship was so open and loving that I could choke his cock for research purposes and not have to worry about him taking exception to my ridiculous idea. My future with Porter was an open book, limited by nothing more than our imaginations, and my imagination was vast.
After repositioning myself beside his chair, I touched my phone’s screen with my thumb and started the Boomerang, which was nothing more than a ten-second video on loop.
On the video, Porter’s abs and chest were visible in the background, as was my hand stroking his cock. Two seconds into it, cum blasted from the tip, twice. Then, it repeated itself.
It was the most awesome, no-nonsense piece of pornography to ever exist. Brief, and to the point. I watched it play, repeatedly, a dozen times. I loved satisfying him sexually, and the video stood of proof of my abilities.
“UPS delivery,” a voice said from my left side.
“OhmyGod!” I screeched, nearly jumping out of my skin.
I hadn’t even heard him come up the steps. A mere five feet from us, the UPS delivery man stood with a box in his hands.
Without opening his eyes or covering his still semi-rigid dick, Porter raised his left hand and pointed at the space beside his chair. “Leave it right there.”
“Need a signature, Sir.”
“Got a pen?” Porter asked.
“You can sign with the stylus.”
Naked as the day he was born, Porter leaned forward, opened his eyes, and accepted the electronic signature pad. After signing it, he stood and handed the device to the stone-faced delivery man.
The man handed Porter a brown box. “Have a nice day.”
“I’m in the process of it,” Porter replied with a nod.
While my phone continued to re-play the money shot video, I gawked at the transaction in disbelief. Only Porter could do such a thing without an ounce of emotion or sliver of embarrassment.
He handed me the box. “If I can do that without turning red, you can try and surf. All it requires is a little confidence. You’re a badass, Abby. Get out there, get on a board, and be a badass.”
Porter had a way of building my confidence through compliments. Two years in our future, I’d be overflowing with self-assurance, I was sure of it. I grinned at the possibilities that were on our relationship’s horizon.
“Fine,” I said. “Let’s go check another one off the list.”
106
Ghost
I didn’t have parents to introduce Abby to, but I had five brothers and two sisters-in-law. “Remember,” I said. “Everything we talked about is hush-hush. Even when you meet their girlfriends, you know nothing about the club’s business.”
“I’ve got it,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to say anything.”
While she buckled the strap on her helmet, another thing crossed my mind. “Don’t mention the cancer, either.”
“Mine?”
“No, mine.”
Her eyebrows raised. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Okay. What if one of them brings it up?”
“They won’t.”
“What if they do?”
“They don’t know about it.”
“You still haven’t told them?” She gave me a bug-eyed look. “Any of them?”
“Nope.”
“I’m just glad my prayers were answered,” she said. “And that it’s over. But, I won’t bring it up.”
My physical condition had nothing to do with prayers, and everything to do with science. I didn’t miraculously recover from cancer. I’d been misdiagnosed by a doctor who had his head in his ass. Giving God credit for something that no God has control over was ridiculous.
I wiped the lenses of my sunglasses. “Do you really think your God answered your prayers? That you prayed, and that he changed me from having a brain tumor to having nothing?”
She nodded. “I do.”
I chuckled. “Ohhh-kay.”
She stepped away from the motorcycle and gave me a shitty look. “You’re going to tell me after all of that, after going from a brain tumor that was so bad your migraines kept you from sleeping to being completely cured, that you still don’t believe there’s a God looking over you? And, that the very same God didn’t answer the prayers that I asked of him while you were in there getting your tests done?”
“I’m sorry.” I put on my glasses. “I don’t.”
“I’m not going to preach to you about it,” she said. “But will you let me believe what I believe?”
I shrugged. “Sure.”
The ride to Goose’s home was silent. Discussions between believers and non-believers never ended well, which was why I’d refused to participate in them in the past. Refusing with Abby was impossible, so I had to accept that such discussions may create tension between us.
Her beliefs, however, weren’t going to become my beliefs. For the time being, I believed in my bracelet, and that was enough to get me through each day.
After coming to a stop in Goose’s drive, Abby pulled off her helmet and lifted her leg over the seat. “It smells good.”
“Goose is a great cook. Basically, the guy’s a chef. He can cook anything. Wait ‘till you taste his smoked turkey. It’s awesome.”
She hung her helmet on the handlebars. “Awesome is the best something can be. You know that, right?”
“Wait ‘till you taste it. You’ll agree.”
Apparently, we were done discussing God. I liked that Abby gave me my space when it came to religion. I hoped she realized it wasn’t my intention to argue about it. Convincing me of the existence of God wasn’t something she – or anyone else – was going to do. In time, I hoped she could find a way to accept that my position on the matter wasn’t something that was going to change.
Goose’s home was a small ranch with an ornate yard that stood out from the rest of the homes on the block. His green thumb was obvious, as his yard was filled with greenery, flowers, and various shrubs that only he could get to grow in Southern California’s climate.
We walked up the drive and to the gate that led to the back yard. As soon as we came into view of everyone in attendance, all eyes were on us. I’d warned the fellas not to swarm her, but I feared they would, regardless. Partially due to her celebrity status, and in part because I had settled down with one woman, I suspected we’d be the center of attention.
Twenty feet into to the yard, Tito stepped off the deck and greeted us.
“Tito,” he extended his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“I’m Abby,” she said. “Are you the cook?”
He shook his head. “Brother Goose is the cook.” He gestured toward the back deck. “He’s the one wearing the apron with the lobster on it.”
Abby glanced in Goose’s direction. He stood beside the grille, talking to Baker and Cash.
“Oh,” she said. “Whatever he’s cooking smells wonderful.”
“He’s not cooking seafood, is he?” I asked.
“It’s kind of a hodgepodge,” Tito said. “Baker wanted seafood, and everyone else wanted barbeque. So, we’re having oysters, lobster, turkey, brisket, and grilled fish of some sort. Maybe trout, I don’t know.”
“I love seafood,” Abby said with a smile.
Baker, Cash, Goose, and Reno craned their necks in our direction. Baker’s girlfriend Andy, and Cash’s wife Kimberly stepped off the deck together, and began walking in our direction.
“Hi,” Andy said. “I’m Andy.”
Andy was as solid as any woman on earth. She’d entered the club through an odd series of circumstances, but had proven her devotion to the club, and to Baker repeatedly through her actions. There weren’t many people on earth that I’d give my endorsement, but Andy was sure one of them.
“Abby,” Abby said. “Nice to meet you.”
Kimberly shook Abby’s hand, and commented on her new Converse, saying that the shoe had made a recent comeback.
“It’s all I wear,” Abby said. “Chucks and a dress have become my signature outfit.”
“It looks great on you,” Andy said.
Abby smiled. “Thank you.”
“Come on,” Andy said. “I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
“I can introduce her,” I said.
Andy gave me a look. “Go hang with your brothers and let the girls have their time together.”
“Fine.”
I didn’t consciously hold back on my relationship with Abby, but for some reason, I hadn’t introduced her to the club. After being given a clean bill of health, the first thing I wanted to do was bring our relationship to light.
I suspected an inner fear of dying prevented me from outwardly admitting that I was in a relationship, and that I was sick. Admitting one required admitting the other. Keeping my diagnosis from the club was easier if I kept Abby from the club.
“So, this is what you’ve been doing with your time over the last two months,” Tito said.
“Pretty much,” I responded.
Seeing Abby interact with the girls opened a new window of opportunity in our relationship. As I watched her meet the rest of the fellas, I envisioned trips across country with her on the back of the bike, sharing one of my favorite activities.
Connecticut in the fall with Cash and Kimberly would be quite an experience. During the trip the women would develop a bond that would be unbreakable, comparable to the bond the men had developed since childhood.
Since Cash and Kimberly adopted their child, Cash’s mother moved from Montana to San Diego to be closer to the baby. She was a loving grandmother, a babysitter, and the club’s voice of reason.
“Is Erin bringing the baby later?” I asked.
“I haven’t heard,” Tito responded. “Maybe.”
Kimberly and Cash opened a nursery, which had been Kimberly’s dream for some time. It was an immediate success, consuming much of Cash’s time and all of Kimberly’s time. Their baby and Cash’s mother, Erin, had become fixtures in the nursery’s office, staying in a nursery Cash had built within the office.
Seeing Cash happily married gave me reason to believe I could to the same. I knew, beyond a doubt, that I would never want anyone but Abby. I’d given her my entire heart, and she, in turn, had given me hers.
I worried that two months into a relationship was far too early to propose marriage, but not expressing my intentions to her – when marriage was all I could think about – seemed dishonest to me.
And, as I had said since the beginning, I wanted to maintain complete transparency.
“Can you keep your little mouth shut?” I asked.
“About what?” Tito asked.
“About whatever I want to talk about.”
Reno stepped off the deck and started to walk in our direction. I raised my index finger. “Give us a minute, Brother Reno.”
He paused and gave a nod.
“Sure,” Tito said. “Why?”
“Because, I want to talk to you about some shit, privately. And, privately means privately.”
“It’ll remain between us,” Tito assured me.
While I watched Andy and Abby wander through Goose’s lushly landscaped yard talking, I turned to face Tito. He was a walking dictionary, had received a scholarship to MIT – which he declined – and a genius.
Beyond that, he had a good head on his shoulders.
“I’m going to ask you something,” I explained. “But I don’t want the statistical answer, or the Google response. I can Google shit. I want your opinion, because I respect you.”
“Okay.”
“Abby and I have been seeing each other for two months, basically. We’ve both admitted that we’re in love with each other. I can’t imagine living a day without her, and I want her to fully understand how much she means to me. How soon is too soon to get married?”
“The national average time to date prior to marriage is about three years,” he said.
“Damn it, Tito. I said I wanted to know--”
“But,” he interrupted, raising his hand between us. “I don’t think three years is required to realize you’re in love with that one woman who makes a difference in your life that only she can make.”
“So, you think it’s not too early? Not to get married,” I said. “But to propose marriage.”
“To get engaged?” he asked.
“Yeah. Engaged.”
“An engagement is the promise of marriage. Personally, I don’t see the problem with doing that as soon as you’re certain that the woman in question is that woman. Postponing that marriage to allow a lengthy engagement is probably a good idea. It would allow the two parties to learn each other’s faults and weaknesses, and to build on the relationship. Then, when they’re married, there’s very little that might go wrong.”
“Gives time to plan it and make sure everyone can attend and stuff, too,” I added.
He smiled. “Absolutely.”
I narrowed my gaze. “What?”
“Are you going to ask her?”
“That’s none of your business,” I said.
“You already revealed your cards, Ghost. Personally, I think it’s quite charming. To take a guy like you, who has struggled with relationships for one reason or another, and form him into a loving caring--”
“Stop,” I insisted. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“Hear what?”
“All that wishy-washy shit. I love her. She loves me. I can’t imagine life without her. That’s the beginning and the end of it. Nobody formed me into anything. I finally found the girl that makes a difference in my life, and in my way of looking at love. It’s that simple.”
He shrugged. “Okay.”
“Now, keep you little mouth shut,” I said. “Let’s go mingle.”
He gestured toward the deck. “After you.”
We joined the rest of the men on the deck while the women sat by the fountain that Goose built in the center of the yard. While they discussed decorating ideas, clothing, and makeup, we talked about camshafts, horsepower, and blowjobs.
