Page 43 of Biker's Tribute: Property of Bear

Attraction that I do not experience towards him. It takes a lot more than a chiseled body and giant penis to get my attention. I've seen it all and hot men aren't worth a damn if they stress you the fuck out. Ethan has fired a nuke at my nervous system. I'm not even the slightest bit intrigued.

That would have been the old me. The woman who’d had her heart broken by "situationships" long after a grown ass woman ought to be using that word in the first place. Healed-Amanda has no space in her heart for bad boys with big dicks.

"Some women might be curious about if I could eat their pussy the way I say I can."

"Sounds like a pretty big risk. I'll go without ever finding out."

He chuckles. "Then how do you plan to distract me from gambling?"

"I could introduce you to the Bible."

"Bible's back in Missouri," he says. "Now get your ass in bed."

"Promise you won't bring up any more filthy subjects or I'll sleep on the floor."

Ethan's face becomes stern and stubborn. He's in for a fight if he thinks that stubborness will work on me.

"I can't promise without it being a lie," he says. "I either think about your sweet ass nipples or... my next parlay."

"Ethan. No more parlays. Climb into bed and I'll tell you a bedtime story that has nothing to do with my... body parts."

A flush spreads through me as I dare to acknowledge his comments. He agrees to climb into bed. I slide under the covers and just like before, he gets on top of the covers. I relax slightly.

He's just messing around. I have to convince myself that's the case to get calm enough to fall asleep. Ethan sighs, his chest rising like a gigantic loaf of sourdough. I look over at him, briefly considering the effort it would take to suffocate him. Not to kill him or anything, just enough to knock him out.

It would be useless. He could throw me across the room with one hand on some Super Saiyan shit.

"Bedtime story," Ethan mutters. "You promised."

But you didn't promise.

I glance over at him, watching his eyes flutter shut. His breathing is fully conscious, possibly hyper conscious of me. As he stops talking to listen to my voice, the room grows quiet. Peaceful. It feels like I'm laying up talking to a boyfriend, which is incredibly dangerous right now.

"Once upon a time, there was a beautiful, educated black woman who lived in Boston."

"Did she have a nice ass?" Ethan interrupts. His eyes are closed. I could give his throat a good poke. The pleasure of disabling him for a few seconds would last until he ended my life, I'm sure of it.

"Yes," I respond, struggling to conceal my irritation with this impossibly horny beast. "She had a nice ass. But she also had murderous tendencies."

"Mm..."

I ignore that deep-throated growl. And the sensation it causes.

"Unfortunately, she was a very unlucky woman. While working her dream job, a dangerous criminal kidnapped her."

I pause, awaiting an interjection that never comes, before I continue. "This man had struggles of his own. He could be just as protective as he was violent. He had an insatiable hunger for more that he tried to satisfy with lust... and gambling."

Ethan shifts uncomfortably.I'm getting in his head.

"But life wasn't that simple. If we could satisfy that urge for something more with hedonistic pleasures, we wouldn't have to keep chasing those highs. Life is just a little bit deeper than gambling. Or lust."

"Hm..." Ethan mutters, his grunting more frustrated than pensive.

"To earn her freedom, the beautiful woman promised the dangerous criminal that she could fix him. After all, she has a habit of fixing broken things."

He's quiet. The room is quiet. And my body is so dangerously close to this man's.

"There was just one problem," I whisper. "At her age, she learned the hard way that broken men can't be fixed unless they want to fix themselves. No amount of withholding, begging, pleading or trying to force a man to change will work. Especially not with a dangerous man like this one."

---