I close my eyes.
“No, look at me,” he claims, and I obey.
We both come at the same time, looking into each other’s eyes. To my surprise, being able to look the pleasure in his eyes while he’s coming increases my orgasm tenfold.
In his last long thrust, he unloads every single drop inside of me, and with his last drop of energy, he crumbles on top of me, completely spent.
I hold him with both arms while he’s still inside of me.
Nothing will ever be the same between us.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Bunch of psychos.
Carter
I take the last puff out of my cigarette, toss it on the dirt and squash it with the sole of my boot. I look around this filthy parking lot and I can only think one thing.
This business needs to be taken care of.
Bruno’s life is and has been in danger since this gal appeared. I was hesitant at first, but I called him earlier today and he hung up after saying, “I’ll call you back,” which in any other situation would have been a more than okay response to end a conversation; but the tone he used was not. Something has clearly taken over his decision-making skills, which is why I decided I need to step in and end it.
Hell, being the hero once should not be bad, for a change.
I step away from my Harley and make my way to the bar’s entrance. My heavy boots leave deep footprints in this lot. The fucking sun shines more than ever and yet every single window is covered to keep everyone in there happy and spending.
Two big guys are chatting lively in front of the door. One of them notices me and with a single nod in my direction, he alerts the rest that I’m approaching.
“’Sup,” one of them says.
“Nothing much, bro. Just looking to grab a drink after riding for so long,” I answer without giving a fuck. Plus, I look the part.
“Oh, you ride? Those clothes look and smell new for a rider.” That’s right, my clothes are new.
“Do I have to look like a bum when I ride?”
One of them chuckles and says, “Nah, that’s right. He’s the only one who looks and smells like one.”
The rest start laughing after that joke. “Come right in. We serve a mean glass of bourbon in here.”
“Sounds like my kind of bar.” Well, that was easy.
Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song” is playing.
Is there a better song to enter a bar? I don’t think so.
It’s like the official soundtrack for this exact moment. The music is loud and I can feel the bass in my chest. But somehow the drunk people in here are louder than the music itself.
The following list describes a biker bar to perfection. A set of tables with their chairs, a front bar that has seen better days and an empty stage are the main attractions in this joint, all of them surrounded by dark wooden walls; spilled drinks and whores on the floor. The eighties just called, they want their bar back. I chuckle at my own joke. I must be crazy, which would explain what the fuck I’m doing here. I make my way to the front bar and sit on a stool that doesn’t fall apart— points for maintenance. Before I can even sit properly, the bartender approaches. She has a lusty look in her eyes. They’re not the only ones to give out a ‘good time’ vibe— her tits, contained, for now, do the same. Dressed fully in leather, she looks completely fuckable. Just one minor detail though— she’s a Bad Blood old lady; otherwise, I would have been tongue deep inside that pussy minutes ago.
“Rough morning?” She asks.
“Oh, you have no idea, darling,” I reply with my signature ‘panty-dropper smile.’
She winks and says, “I got just the thing for that,” and before I can blink two shots of vodka appear in front of me.
“Oh. Hey now, two right off the bat. That’s a little too much to kick this day into gear,” I say jokingly. She chuckles.
