Page 18 of Biker Boo
I don’t say a word as I step closer, my boots squeaking on cheap linoleum.Her eyes stay shut, but she shifts, like she’s bracing.
Good.
Let her be scared.
Let her be wet with it.
I kneel beside the couch.My gloved hand grazes her calf.She doesn’t flinch.
She exhales.
Then she turns her face toward me, eyes flying open, wild and feral.
“It’s you again,” she whispers, but I hear a thread of fear in her shaky voice.
I nod once, still hidden.Still a fantasy.Still a sin she hasn’t confessed to.She licks her lips.I watch her chest rise, nipples hard under that threadbare tee.
“You gonna kiss me again or do worse?”she breathes.
Worse.
I could do so much worse.
Instead, I press my hand to her thigh and drag it upward, slow, deliberate, teasing.Her breath catches.
She should stop me.She won’t.Because even though she’s scared… She’s aching.
“I dreamed about you,” she says, voice hushed and shaking.“I came in my sleep.Thought I was going crazy.”
I lean down, lips by her ear.I change my voice into poison and longing.“You ain’t crazy, baby.You’re mine.”
Her thighs part.“So, you are a biker?”
“Sure,” I answer in the same fake voice as I slide my hand up, under the long shirt, under her panties that are damp and begging.She gasps and rocks against my gloved fingers, greedy.
Damn, I want to take off the gloves, feel her juices.
Her hands fist in my hoodie, and I know she wants to tear the mask off, see who I am.
I won’t let her.
I want her to want the monster.I’m not ready to give her that.But I rub her pussy until she shakes.Until she clutches my arm like it’s a lifeline and moans into my shoulder.
My cock is more than ready, but I don’t fuck her, not tonight.Tearing myself away, I vanish out into the woods.
She follows me to the old cemetery behind the trailer park like a moth to a flame.
Losing her, I follow her now.Always two steps behind.Always watching.
The place is older than Hell, Kentucky itself.Tombstones lean like drunkards.The dirt sinks in patches, where moles have infested the earth, making it look like corpses are digging out.Broken stone fences bite at the earth like broken teeth.
Becki walks among the dead like one of them.She stops at a grave she knows too well.No name.Just a stone cross with faded letters.Mama.I swallow back the heat in my throat.
Behind me, a twig snaps.I turn, teeth bared behind the mask.There’s a man.Drunk.Loud.I’ve seen him before at the gas station.He’s following her?
Big mistake.
He slinks toward her like a coyote thinking it’s found easy prey.But I’m the predator here.I step from the shadows, still masked, still cloaked.
