Page 1 of Thunder Thighs
Chapter One
Ella
I stepped through the door of the first bar I'd found in this pokey seaside town, thunder crackling behind me. A surprisingly classy sign identified it as the Bronze Horseman, the words hung above the door in a flourish of steel and light. But it'd been the overpowering smell of meat that drew me inside. The scent of smoked meat was entirely too tempting when my damn stomach was already eating itself.
The heavy wood door slapped closed behind me, shutting out the sounds of the approaching storm. I paused, taking in the surrounds. The bar was busy but not crushed. A glance showed locals and tourists filled the booths and tables, chatting quietly or listening to the band on the far stage.
I'd docked late, babying my ship to the closest port. A storm had come on fast and the big waves had fucked with the engine. It'd shit itself just as I'd docked. An hour of playing with it had revealed a blown gasket. I'd have to seek parts in the morning.
I'd rinsed off the grease and grit and gone in search of food. It was after ten, I'd assumed my chances in a small town like Capricorn Cove wouldn't be good – but it was tourist season and this sleepy little town looked to be hopping.
Maybe my luck had turned.
I made my way to the bar, noting the tasteful décor. Rich wood, leather, and bronze all offset my navy blue and hunter green highlights. Place had had some money pumped into it.
I slid onto a stool, snatching a menu from the stack closest. The menu informed me that they served food till twelve. Perfect.
"What can I get you, Viking?"
The words were delivered in the huskiest, sexiest voice I'd ever heard. My cock immediately hardened and I hadn't even seen the face that had delivered that sucker punch.
I looked up. Thick pouty lips, long lashes ringing satin brown eyes, soft, full cheeks, and big cascading brunette curls. My dick, already impossibly hard, pressed insistently against my fly.
Mine.
My gaze dropped, taking in the overly generous cleavage playing peek-a-boo with the v of her shirt.
Fuck.
She tilted her head, nodding at the menu. "See anything you like?"
"You." The word slipped free before I could think.
She laughed, sending that mass of hair shimmering. "I'm not normally on the menu." She leaned forward, her shirt shifting down, giving me a tantalizing glimpse of her lacy bra. "But for you? I may make an exception," she winked and I felt that deep in my gut.
Who'd have thought I'd be thanking the sea gods for a busted engine?
"I'm Ella Bronze." She absently brushed a thick chunk of hair back. "And you are?"
"Gunnar Larsson."
Her cheeks pinkened. "Oh, I was right. You really are a Viking."
I grunted, shifting on my seat. "What do you recommend?" I asked, trying to distract my cock. At this rate I'd be coming from one fucking smile.
She leaned back over the bar, her tits pressing against the wood as she reached out, tapping one of the menu items. "Get the fully loaded burger. It's my favorite," she slid off the bar, turning her back to me and bending over to pull a bottle from the back fridge.
Her ass was fucking perfection. Big, curvy, framed by thick thighs that I wanted clasped around my head while I licked her sweet cunt until she creamed.
I am a sick fuck.
"Here," she popped the cap sliding the beer across the bar. "On the house."
I took a sip, eyes on her.
"Good?" She asked.
"Fucking perfect," I growled.
