Another warning bell goes off in my head. Hesitation of any kind denotes a guilty conscience, or fear. “I don’t know, Starlet. Did you?”
Our gazes lock for a long, silent moment. At this point, if she told me she was married with five kids, I’d probably break all of my own rules and take her upstairs anyway. The attraction between us is powerful—animalistic and more real than anything I’ve ever felt.
She takes the key and gives me a peck on the cheek. I watch her run around the corner, desperate to join her. What does she look like underneath those clothes? Flawless and soft in all the right places—I’d stake everything I have on it.
There’s covered parking in the back of the motel. I secure my bike and then take my saddle bags upstairs with me. The door is locked, so I knock softly. When it opens, I have to take a deep breath to recover from what I see. Starlet is wearing a bath towel. Her long hair is twisted into a messy bun and her cowboy boots are gone, revealing carefully painted toenails. I step inside, and she retreats a few steps.
The room is inconsequential at this point, but I look around out of habit. There’s a queen-sized bed with a blue comforter that matches the thick drapes on the double windows. Two night stands, a desk and chair, and a wall-mounted flat screen on the far wall. Clean and simple. All I care about is the bed, because in a few seconds, that’s where I’m going to be, pumping inside Starlet’s wet little pussy.
I drop my saddlebags on the table and head for the sink to find a plastic cup. I unwrap it and then turn on the faucet, letting the water run cold before I take a drink. There’s a mirror over the vanity and I watch Starlet through it. She’s not paying attention to me, she’s finding some music on the radio. She’s beautiful. Rough around the edges like me but not as stone cold. There’s still room for her to recover from whatever trauma she’s suffered through. I can see it in her eyes, the silent pain. The decades-worth of experience she shouldn’t have for someone barely in her mid-twenties.
“Got it!” she says excitedly. “Found the right station.”
Led Zeppelin. I smile, the girl has great taste in music.
Once I finish at the sink, I turn back to her. She’s waiting for me, visibly nervous but confident in what she wants to do.
“How many men have you taken home?” I ask, stalking closer to her.
“None,” she answers.
Another surprising fact about Starlet I’m not sure I should believe. Never picked up a guy before and she looks like that? It only took me a few minutes to convince her to sleep with me. Or maybe… My gaze lingers on her body again. Maybe this really is her first time to live on the edge. I find her backpack and extract the bottle of whiskey, tear it open, and take a long drink. When I’m done, I offer it to her and she does the same. “Why me?” I want to hear her say it. Whatever attracted her, I want to capitalize on it.
“I-I don’t know exactly.” She blinks up at me, those eyes too penetrating for comfort. “Your demeanor… your body… your dark eyes. Everything about you, really.”
I kick my boots off, never taking my gaze off her, letting her words sink in. I strip down to my boxers, reverently draping my cut over the closest chair. Starlet remains motionless, intensely focused on my body.
“Those tats are incredible.”
My chest, arms, and back are covered in ink. The Iron Norsemen patch, a skull with a rattle snake coiled around it and the wordsfear none, respect fewdominate my back. Raven’s wings are splayed across my chest with intricate Norse designs filling in the space between.Not all those who wander are lost,my favorite quote from J.R.R. Tolkien, is scrolled down my left arm,the wages of sin is death, inked on my right.
She circles me like she’s admiring an ancient sculpture. “How long did it take to get this done?”
I close my eyes as her fingertips trace the lines of my body. “Six years,” I answer.
“I can’t imagine sitting through that much pain.”
I open my eyes, she’s standing so close. “What about your own ink?” I question. “Full sleeves say something about the woman wearing ’em.”
She shrugs. “My tats tell a story. Yours say, stay the fuck away.”
I chuckle at her interpretation of my ink. My tats tell a long story, too. Might not be as clear as hers, but every time I reach a new stage in life, that pivotal moment when everything you stand for could make or break you, I get work done. Call it an addiction, I guess. Ink makes me feel alive, like I’m memorializing myself. As for the raven’s wings—those hold the most importance. If she looked closer, she’d see one of the wings are bent, not broken, just never healed completely.
She’s too close for me not to touch her. I loosen the knot she made under her arm to hold the towel in place, it drops to the floor. Nothing rivals the sight of a beautiful woman’s body. I start at her slim ankles and pause at the sculpted patch of red hair between her thighs. She’s a natural red head after all. It makes me smile. Lust bites me and my gaze wanders higher, her stomach is tight and toned, her hips are proportional to her slight frame, her breasts are full with dark-colored nipples, and her shoulders are surprisingly toned, like a swimmer or surfer.
“Turn around,” I choke out, wanting to see that ass.
“W-why?”
“Don’t question it, Starlet, do it.”
She nods and slowly spins around. I fall silent, unable to breathe. Pure lust takes over. I caress her ass with the back of my hand, wrapping my other arm around her waist to hold her close. My favorite part of a woman’s anatomy is her ass. Not that I don’t appreciate the whole package, I do. But there’s something about a firm backside that makes me lose it, completely. The back of her head falls against my chest and I nibble her shoulder, pinching her ass at the same time.
She exhales.
“You’re beautiful,” I remind her. “Fucking perfect.”
“Kiss me…” She tries to turn around but I hold her in place.
