Page 78 of Savage Daddies

Deep enough for me to scream his name and clutch the bedsheets.

Wrangler and Poet watch the action unfold, and for some reason, this turns me on. I don’t know how to describe it. Their eyes start fires inside of me that I don’t know how to put out.

Wrangler’s hands return to my breasts. A nipple graze elicits a high-pitched moan out of my throat.

I just hope and pray Felix hasn’t returned home. If I can’t hear the thunder, my ears aren’t gonna be in range to pick up the sound of a door being unlocked.

Bullwhip’s balls smash against my ass. I readjust my position slightly so they brush against my clit.

His tip finds a sweet spot inside of me.

I roar.

The penetration hurts a little—he’s deep and probably bruising my cervix right now, but the pleasure exceeds the pain, so it’s easy to forget.

“Keep going,” I instruct. “Please. It feels so good.”

I was silent when Felix and I slept together on our wedding night. All I remember was those hospital-white bedsheets, and the boredom. He didn’t brush up to be much of a looker, even on his wedding day, but if he was at least good at sex, I remember thinking I’d be OK with that.

He wasn’t, of course.

His fans kick up a fuss over nothing. It’s the middle-aged moms that fancy the pants off him, commenting, “Looking good,” and, “Oh Fernando”—referencing Abba—on his posts. I used to scroll through his posts to try and understand what they see in him. It took me a few days.Money. You have it and people somehow think it makes you instantly talented in bed.

I don’t know how much these bikers have in their pockets, but one thing’s for sure—they know how to have a good time.

Bullwhip continues thrusting deep, and I continue arching my back to accommodate.

God, I’d usually be exhausted at this point, but they breathe life into me every time they enter my body. I grip the bedsheets, stick out my ass, and groan like a woman possessed. Except I’m not possessed. I’m revived. Stepping into my power.

Felix would see it differently, though. Horny, he says, derives from the word “horn.”

“And what wears horns?”he seriously asked me once.“Devils.”

So, when he caught me browsing pornography, he was basically telling me I’d been cursed, and that a place in hell was waiting for me.

In memory of this, I flex my back, shut my eyes…

And ride out my second orgasm of the night.

Bullwhip screams danger, and as a former adrenaline junkie, I think that’s what draws me to him. But it’s not just that. It’s something more. I see his eyes. He’s an onion, and there are many layers to peel. Something tells me things haven’t been easy for him in his life. Poet joined the club for a career change, and Wrangler rides for his family—what urges Bullwhip to hop on the Harley every morning and bounty hunt? The dark expressions suggest he’s here for the very nature of the job—to kill.

And though that should scare me, it doesn’t. It’s exciting.

My walls begin to tense. Fire burns inside of me. Bullwhip reenters, and this time it’s too much to contain.

The orgasm bursts me open, and I let my body react however it wishes.

Bullwhip comes straight after, finishing deep inside me.

I collapse onto the bed after that to relax my muscles momentarily. But I’m not done.

Last but not least—Wrangler.

“Are you ready to ride, baby girl?”

That turns back on the switch.

He lowers himself onto the bed on his back.

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