Page 73 of Savage Daddies

I just have to hope they can orchestrate a plan good enough to get Felix off my case.

For good.

They’re determined, and determination is something I’ve seen lots of, but it’s always centered around money. The bikers show a different kind of determination, and it makes me hopeful. They couldn’t give a fuck about finances.

I’m all that seems to interest them.

I lie back, my thighs squeezed together. Already, my pussy burns for them.

Fine lines web around their mature faces. Felix has wrinkles, but they’re different to the bikers. They rot his face. Make him look even worse. He has a couple photo frames propped up from school and college when he aced his exams and scored top of his grade, and he looks slightly better, but still evil. Some people’s faces just don’t sit well in your gut, and I’m tired of acting like I find him attractive in front of others.

Bullwhip has that similar, dangerous aura about him, but his good intentions make that hard exterior all the more inviting. He’s dangerous, and looks like he could wolf me down in an instant.

And that excites me.

I catch Poet staring at me. He looks at me.Reallylooks, like he’s seeing straight into my soul. We share a love for Shakespeare, and now apparently Jane Austin, and we understand each other. We both know how it feels to be let down. Admitting his love for me is ballsy, considering he experienced a divorce a few years back, but he’s brave, and that bravery might just help him and the others execute something big.

“Fuck me. All of you.”

This turns Bullwhip into a statue.

Poet shakes his head. “Zoe?—”

“Please. Help me get it out of my system. I know you feel it too. Don’t lie.”

Bullwhip squares his shoulders. He stands up straight from his position leaning against the wall, and his height rushes even more blood south. “Sweetheart, two minutes ago you were just saying?—”

“I trust that you can do something. Make a difference.”

Wrangler swirls around on the chair he’s been sitting on. That man’s cheekbones pop out of his face more every day. He purses his lips and they look even more inviting. All I want to do is kiss him.

All of them.

Rip off their clothes and straddle my legs around their bodies as they each individually fuck me. I want to feel sore like I did the morning after the masquerade. I want to limp down the street and have to purchase something to ease the burn because they fucked me that hard.

I stare at them.

They stare at me.

It’s like my whole entire life has been leading up to this moment. I’m at a crossroads.

Do I obey and remain starving for the rest of my life?

Or do Ilive?

Common sense leaves my body.

Desire replaces it. It courses through my veins and fills every single cell in my body with a need. One that only these bikers can meet.

Like my life since being married to Felix, I feel my body slip away from me.

My mind tells it no, but it doesn’t listen.

But why should it? It’s human nature. When you’re starving and teased with a beautiful, homemade dish of spaghetti carbonara, it’s impossible to say no. You can try, but when it’s right there under your nose smelling of fresh parsley and sage and roasted garlic, naturally, you give in to that primal instinct and devour what’s yours.

There are seven pulse points in the human body.

But mine has just grown an eighth.

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