Page 40 of Biker's Tribute: Property of Bear

Again with the 'sweet cheeks'. Ugh. Most terms of endearment are beyond corny, but knowing that Ethan is most definitely talking about my ass cheeks just makes it worse.

"Don't call me that," I grumble, giving a boundary in a situation where boundaries seem futile. I pick my underwear off the floor and throw it at him.

"Enjoy the shit stains."

I obviously don't shit in my underwear or let it streak around, but I have limited options to turn this man off me entirely. Ethan ignores me except for the loud, dramatic sniffing noises he makes once his fingers clutch my panties.

That white boy is nasty as fuck.

I take one step into the shower and shut the door, pretending it isn't see-through and that I have some semblance of privacy. Water splashes against my skin and heat spreads through me as I allow the water to soak in.

I don't even care about Ethan being gross with my panties on the other side of the door. I needed this shower to wash the road off, to wash off what happened in Boston and to exercise the slightest amount of self-care in the strangest situation I've ever been in.

I wonder if I called the wrong person when I called Mallory. She's fine and if I think about it, she has the tools necessary to handle herself. I should have called Keyshawn.

Months ago when she reached out to me, she mentioned involvement with some bikers that I brushed off as my crazy cousin's tendency to get sucked into the wildest situations.

Would she know what to do? I know she made it to safety, but she never told me what happened with her and that biker. Shit, I didn't think those conversations would foreshadow a biker experience of my own.

I let the water soak my curls, untangling the abstract shapes into a thick, flowing head of managed messiness. It took me forever to get this much length in my hair and as I get soaked, I feel the smells of the highway disappearing down the drain along with the dust and grime.

I need this shower to last, so I lather myself slowly and pretend Ethan isn't watching. I don't know what he'll do to me once I'm done, but considering how deep he buried his nose in my panties, I'll have to remind him to keep his word.

Two weeks no gambling. If he wants to press that nose anywhere else, he'll have to stay clean.

* * *

Fourteen

Ethan

Imade a huge mistake pressing Amanda's panties to my nose because my brain activates like a predator that caught the scent of its prey. I search for loopholes in our deal the minute I come up for air. I can smell her sweat, how long she's been on the road and unwashed, letting her sweet ass pussy juice up the fabric. My dick doesn't just strain through my towel, it threatens to jump out.

We don't have to fuck tonight, but after putting my nose up against Amanda's panties, rest assured my lips and tongue will touch her pussy lips tonight. I'll put a damn sock in her mouth to stop her from crying out if that's what it takes.

I don't know why she continues to fight this. She shares my attraction to her. Women can be so mean and hateful -- at least the ones I like-- that when they're into you, they can't hide it. Amanda looked at my dick. I saw her. And her eyebrows did that little wiggle where they move up. And then they move up again.

She's the fancy sort of woman who doesn't say all the crude shit in her head like a biker chick might but... I can tell she's a freak. Tossed me those damn panties without a fight. And the way she cleans herself…

Shit, if she'd let me, I would get all up where she's putting that soap and clean her out myself. Ass crack and all.

I don't rush her in the shower. Even when she closes her eyes and turns away from my lustful gaze. Shit. I drop my stare down to her ass and take it all in. I never thought Wyatt was crazy for screwing around with a black woman while dad was alive. I tried to get some myself once or twice, always turned down for my tattoos or beard. But I prefer a black woman with a big ass--the type of ass I've never seen on a white woman.

An ass like Amanda's that just begs for me to sink my teeth into it and leave marks. Anna's a pretty woman, don't get me wrong, and Owen was on the right track with Vickie... but neither of them compare to Amanda. She does look similar to Keyshawn, I suppose. But that's the type of comment that would make Juliette call me a "racist" -- a label she loves throwing around any time she doesn't like what a white man says.

I must have gotten too quiet, because Amanda turns the water off and faces me with a scowl.

"Hands where I can see them," she says. My eyes flicker with amusement. As tempting as it might be, I'm not touching myself. Fuck no. I'm saving that all for Amanda. I reach for a towel and toss it to Amanda as she holds the shower door open. She wouldn't have made it far as a wide receiver. Or a near receiver, for that matter.

She struggles to get the towel wrapped around her ample chest, especially because it has to get around her butt too. I fight the urge to ask her to drop the towel, especially because I know I'll end up with more of her dirty looks and possibly worse down the line. Outright rejection.

"I never took my eyes off you."

"I noticed," she says. "Feel free to give them a break."

"Why? You're fucking hot. Noticed it the second I set foot in your office."

"That... completely compromises everything," she says, but I can tell she's nervous because her dark brown cheeks flush a little bit. I've never seen a black woman blush before, and her cheeks are pretty dark, but without makeup on and with the natural texture of her skin visible beneath the bathroom lights... I see her flush.

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