Page 63 of Bullet

She clutched my thigh, and my cock responded with a stretch, hardening and throbbing. She whimpered as I sucked her lower lip until it popped from my mouth. I put an inch of space between us.

“I want more, Stormy.” I lifted her small hand in mine and laced our fingers. When the fuck had I become a hand-holder? It was her. The differences between us. Touching her was touching something beautiful. But I wasn’t a man of poetry. She wasn’t going to get sonnets and sunsets with me. I’d fuck her filthy, and fuck-up anyone who touched her.

A sultry softness shadowed her eyes.

“We don’t know how long we got together,” I said. “This feels good. You and me.” We weren’t forever, but we had to be more than once. “What do you want?”

“I want you, too. And I’m not worried about how your kittens will feel about you fucking me.” She slipped her hand from mine. “But Bullet, how are they going to feel aboutyou and me? I can’t share. Their claws are going to come out when they can’t have you, too.”

“It’s not like that.” I jumped from the counter. “Even if they had a problem with us, it wouldn’t matter. I don’t ask their permission.” Unlike their pussies, my dick wasn’t business property.

“I don’t want to lose my friendship with Bristol.”

“Do you want me to talk to her?” I plucked my cigarettes off the table, flipped one out of the pack, and slipped it between my lips.

“I will.” This time, she stepped into my arms. “I hope you’re right, but until I talk to her, let’s not make it obvious.”

I chuckled and slapped her ass. “I need to grab a few things, then we can take off.”

A few minutes later, I had two-saddle bags packed. I secured the house and followed Stormy down the front steps. She headed toward the bike.

“Here, can you carry these?” I handed her the saddlebags, grabbed the handlebars and rolled the Harley into the garage. I had a couple of different bikes. I parked the Street Bob and grabbed her helmet off the handlebar. The Heritage would be a better ride for her. Once I’d zipped the saddlebags onto the yoke, I started the engine.

The loud rumble echoing through the barn scared a bird from the rafters.

“Ready?” I asked her.

She smiled, clipped on her helmet, tugged on her gloves, and climbed on behind me. This time when her arms went around me, she held on with a familiarity that had my chest tight and my gut snapping with uneasiness. This felt too fucking good for a Heller who never planned to have an old lady riding on the back of his bike.

What the fuck was I doing? There were two possible outcomes, and both were like riding down the highway with the throttle open and hitting a blind curve. Shit could get serious with Stormy, and I didn’t do serious. But the thought of her leaving cut like a fucking knife to the chest.

Her fingers roamed over my stomach. I covered her hand with mine and held her tight to my abdomen. Fuck it. I’d lived life with an uninhibited hedonism, pursuing pleasure with purpose. Nothing had felt as good as Stormy did in a long fucking time.

***

I rolled up to the two-story townhouse in the Hills neighborhood, pulled into the driveway, and parked next to Bristol’s vehicle in front of the two-car garage.

Lacey and Clover lived in an upper middle-class neighborhood next door to suits who drove electric cages to work Monday through Friday and were road warriors on the weekend with their Harleys.

I cut the engine and dropped the kickstand.

Stormy unclipped her helmet, pulled it off, and combed her hair with her fingers.

“We good?” I asked.

She nodded. I kissed her quickly, grabbed her helmet, and lobbed it over the handlebar. She braced a hand on my shoulder and dismounted. In just a couple rides, she’d become comfortable on the bike. Like she belonged on the back.

“The girls are expecting us.” I knocked once and opened the front door. With my arm loosely around her waist, we entered the house. Once inside the foyer, stairs led to the upper floor, and the living room, dining room, and kitchen were on the left of the open floor plan.

“In here,” Lacey called from the kitchen. Clover and Bristol were at the island counter.

Shifting my palm to her lower back, I led her toward the kitchen.

“You’re just in time for lunch,” Lacey said. “Are you hungry?”

I glanced down at Stormy at the same time she tipped her face to me. “We’re hungry.” I spoke to Lacey without taking my eyes off Stormy. “Do you want coffee?”

“Yes, please,” she said.

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