Water runs down my chest, over my stomach, as I try to think of anything to take this hounding spark of arousal away from me.
The rat in the club.
The hurricane.
Instead, I remember the way she looked at me after nearly hitting my bike: Sun catching her hair, and a look of fury in her eyes. Not scared of me. Not backing down.
Hell, if I didn’t know better, I’d even think there was a spark of interest. The kind that comes when you know there’s tension, but the world isn’t going to let the two of you stay in the same orbit long enough to explore it.
“She’s Caldwell’s daughter,” I manage to say, although I know it would piss him off if I touched her.
But not even that thought can kill the twist in my gut that tells me she wants me too.
I know nothing about her, even though we’ve lived in this small town our whole lives. I never see her out at any of the bars or restaurants. Only at the bait shop and the marina. Occasionally on the water, and rarely at the grocery store.
She’s like a fucking hermit crab, living on the water’s edge by herself with the bait shop as her shell.
As I stroke from root to tip, I try to remind myself that we’ll always be connected by an ugly history. Her father killed my brother. But in my head, I jump to an unexpected place.
The two of us in bed together at my house. The one I never take anyone home to.
I squeeze my cock more firmly and I try to remind myself it’s just tension. That I don’t need to sensor my fantasies.
But when I close my eyes, it’s her. Back against the office wall at the bait shop. Or sitting on the counter. My cock thrusting in and out of her, raw, feeling her tight cunt squeeze and pulse around me.
My jaw tightens.
The feeling is so good.
“Fuck,” I gasp.
I look up at her face, and she wraps her arms around me. The words are whispered, breathy. “Kiss me, Knox.”
And I do. I smash my lips to hers.
Here in the shower, I try to drag myself into a different kind of consciousness. I attempt to switch her out for Destiny and her long legs. Or tittie-fucking Steffi. But it never lasts.
My imagination always winds its way back to her in the days after I’ve seen her. Even though I shouldn’t be thinking about her or imagining the feel of her beneath my hands.
Pressure builds low and tight in my gut. My legs shake as the orgasm hammers down my spine. And when the release hits, it’s hard and sharp enough to blank my mind for ten blissful seconds.
“Maren,” I whisper as cum hits the shower wall.
I work hard to catch my breath and then tip my head back beneath the spray of the shower.
Wanting Caldwell’s daughter is a reckless but powerful fantasy. One that’s tempting enough to follow through on, consequences be damned. Hell, the woman is basically a recluse, holed up in that apartment above the bait store.
It’d basically be a public service to…well…service her.
A night. Maybe a week.
No more.
Because I’m a lifetime biker. A serial non-monogamist.
Thinking of anything more than that is dangerous.
Moreis the kind of shit that changes a man. Makes him question the goals he’s built for himself in life.
