Page 44 of Savage Daddies

I survey each of them. They’re all hot, and I’m not surprised in all that leather. Wrangler’s panting breath grows in volume. He licks his lips, and the wet smack of them grows hunger between my legs. I imagine him between them, saliva juicing the apex of my thighs.

Then there’s Bullwhip. He’s the most intimidating one in the group, and my entire body falls to shade when he gets too close. I like it when we’re inches apart, though. Like now. Even seated, he casts an elongated shadow over me. The darkness wraps around me, and it’s like I’m in a bubble, floating away from reality. Gravity weakens.

They sit opposite me looking like models, soft saxophone melodies from the jazz mix playing out their seductive theme tune.

It’s kinda like the beginning of a porno.

I used to visit porn websites late at night. Using my imagination every night gets exhausting, so sometimes it’s a treat to use visual aid. At first, it was your stereotypical step-brother shit, but then my fingers started inputting letters into the search bar, and before I knew it, I was scrolling through search results for “one girl with three men.”

Inserting the vibrator, I used to imagine that it was me. ThatIwas the lucky girl on the table receiving penetration…multiple ways. It was bad and I knew I shouldn’t have been watching it, but sexual desire always got the best of me—and besides, it helped me sleep.

The search results started becoming more specific.

“One girl with three middle-aged men.”

“One girl with three middle-aged biker men.”

“Three hot, middle-aged bikers wearing leather show a girl the time of her life.”

The next morning, I entered the kitchen and saw Felix on the bar stool displaying the Pornhub search results. An angry finger pointed to the screen, and he demanded to know why I was cheating on him.

It’s not like there was ever love or respect between us or anything, anyway.

He smacked me on the cheek and told me there would be trouble if he caught me on pornography sites again.

Now, I stare at Mr. Reeves—Poet—and the other two. I never found out what Felix meant by “trouble”—I abandoned the pornography sites after that, but I imagine it to be mild in comparison to the trouble he’ll inflict if he ever finds out that I’ve engaged in sexual activity for real.

My pussy tells me one thing.

My mind another.

“Zoe?” Poet reaches out to grab me. “You look flustered. Are you OK?”

I swat him away, shoot to my feet and choke out a “sorry.”

“What for, sweetheart?”

“Touching you…inappropriately yesterday.”

“Sweetheart, it wasn’t inap?—”

I exit the room before my ears hear the end of that sentence.

Great. Now what?

I locate the women’s restroom and cross the casino, head down because I can’t look anyone in the eye right now. Anger fizzles through my veins, the kind I need to release somehow. Punching something sounds tempting. A face. Patrick—was that his name? The paparazzi guy who’s about to make a fortune from my misery?

If Felix remembers the niched-down search results on Pornhub, he’ll see the image of me and the bikers huddled up around a corner and explode.

He knowsmysexual fantasies better than he knows his own.

Probably because he doesn’t have any.

If he discovers I’ve been disloyal, it won’t be me he hurts—he needs me alive and red-carpet ready.

It won’t be Sammy, either—that’s his daughter.

It’ll be Fiona he touches.

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