by Miss Merikan
Sam grinned at her and raised the vibrator far above his head, watching Jolie, as if he were playing with his pet cat. “What will I get for it?”
She jumped to try to reach the vibrator, but even with Sam not being all that tall, she still couldn’t reach it. Her face was so hot it was throbbing like the freaking toy. “I didn’t use it!” She chose to ignore his question in hope that it would go away.
“No? Are you sure?” asked Sam, suddenly scooping her close to his chest.
Jolie kept reaching up, trying to ignore his hot breath on her cheek. “Yes, I’m sure! It’s not even mine,” she said in an attempt to shift the blame for the existence of this throbbing, buzzing, sparkly nub monster.
Sam groaned. “A friend’s?”
Jolie looked into his eyes with her heart clenching in panic. “Don’t go imagining some lesbian action! I’m not into that.” She got to her toes, climbing her fingers up his strong forearm, while pressing her breasts against him. He didn’t have to know it was on purpose.
Sam chuckled, spreading his unearthly scent all over her. “I can give it back if you agree to come to the party and stay over for a bit.”
She gave up her vain attempt to reach the vibrator. This was a disaster already. Jolie looked into his eyes, swallowing her pride. “And there’s gonna be girls there, not just you guys?”
Sam raised his free hand and nodded. “It’s no Catholic school, Candy.”
Jolie took a deep breath. She could really use getting to know some people outside of work. When Jake was still here, her whole world revolved around him, so she didn’t even make any new friends. “Well, if it was, it wouldn’t let you in.” She crossed her arms on her chest to make her breasts bulge up slightly.
“Is that a ‘yes’?”
“Okay, I’ll stay for an hour or two.” Jolie just wanted the torturous buzzing to end.
Sam lowered his head toward her, squinting. “Okay, and now kiss me to seal the deal, will you?”
A knot of nerves bundled up in her stomach. The worst thing was that her first reaction was glee that Sam asking for it was a perfect way to have her cake and eat it. She rolled her eyes and leaned up to give his lips a peck as if the vibrator above their heads were some new form of mistletoe, wiggling its head in a jolly manner.
Sam groaned into her lips and flicked his tongue over their seam, gently prodding as his free hand ventured to the back of Jolie’s neck and squeezed it gently.
This was not good. Not good at all. Jolie was melting into him by the second. She leaned closer, and a shiver went down her body, all the way to her pussy, at the touch of his rough hand. She didn’t even know when her lips parted, inviting Sam’s hot tongue inside. Not good. Not good at all.
Sam’s mouth was very soft and smooth, a sharp contrast to the bristling beard that tickled Jolie’s skin as their faces instinctively crooked to the side when the kiss deepened. Her head spun when he pressed her flat against the wall, squeezing her breasts between their chests. He was gently coaxing her tongue into his mouth, stroking it and gently sucking on her lips.
A tiny whimper escaped her lips. Wrong. Wrong. So wrong. But there was no denying it any longer. Her panties were getting damp, her nipples hardened against his chest. She slid her hands up to his shoulders to push him away, but they somehow ended up trailing to his neck, along the stubbly beard and to Sam’s jaw. Jolie was useless at saying ‘no’. She knew it when Jake talked her into leaving Kansas, and she knew it when she signed on his loans.
A high-pitched guitar solo broke the charm. Sam pulled away from her mouth, with a curse on his lips, and yanked a cell phone out of his pants. Only then did she realize that the vibrating sound was gone, and Sam was holding her in a loose grip against the wall. She could have fled any time.
“Of course, I got her the candy,” growled Sam with a deep frown on his flushed face.
Jolie cleared her throat and slipped out of his hold, clasping her hands over her belly, unsure what to do with her arousal. For one, she should grow a backbone and not have her hormones rule her life. When she noticed the vibrator on the bed, she grabbed it and kneeled to stuff it under the bed. How humiliating.
Sam kicked an empty box of chocolates on his way to the door. “I hear you, man. Can’t it wait? I’m kinda busy over here.”
“No, no, he can go!” Jolie yelled and got up from the floor. She didn’t know how she would make him leave otherwise. Her body was saying ‘let him just put his fingers in, just his fingers’, but her mind knew how it would end.
Sam blinked and left the bedroom. “What? No, who do you think I am? We were just getting friendly.”
Jolie was pretty sure that the person on the other end of the line yelled something about Sam having to bake the cake himself if he fucks up. She followed Sam into the living room with her heart pounding in her chest. She was a nervous wreck. And probably a nympho, since she was ogling the back of Sam’s body as if it were made of chocolate. His jeans were baggy, so she couldn’t clearly see his shape, but his shoulders were nicely wide in comparison to his hips, and the rock-hard muscle on his forearms suggested little body fat.
The patches on the back of his leather vest though were a bad omen. Demonic hands reaching out of a coffin and nailing it on itself. Coffin Nails MC, California.
Sam was an outlaw, and she needed to keep that in mind. But as of today, with the hash in her kitchen drawer, Jolie had become a part of a criminal enterprise as well.
“Fine,” growled Sam and put his phone back into his pants, looking at her with a squint. “Trying to give me trouble with my prez? Naughty girl.”
“I just … I have these cakes to bake, and all that.” Why did she have to always like the wrong guys? Did her ovaries have a death wish?
Sam shook his head and called her over with his index finger. He was so handsome with that roguish charm. She bit her lip and approached him as if he were catnip for her pussy.
His warm, rough hand clasped around hers, raising it up to his lips. His beard moved over it like something Jolie ached to pet. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, won’t I, Candy? I know where you live,” he whispered, blowing hot air against her skin.
Breath caught in Jolie’s chest. Oh God. Was she scared out of her mind or turned on? She couldn’t tell anymore. “But I won’t stay long,” she said, looking into his eyes.
Sam’s lips curved into a crooked smile. “We’ll see.” He opened the door and left.
Jolie locked it behind him and hit her forehead against the wood. She should be giving those hash brownies a second thought, but for now, there were more pressing matters to attend to. She hitched up the front of her dress and slid her hand over her wet panties with a sigh of relief.
“Yes, Sam, just like that,” she whispered into the door, rubbing herself through the fabric.
Chapter 2
Sam stared at Lucy’s tits as she slid down the pole, swirling sensuously to the pulse of the music. The tips of her long wavy hair tickled the floor of the stage before she swung around and got on all fours, approaching Sam like the beautiful beast she was. Her moves were that of a pussy in heat, sensuous, tantalizing. Just looking at her perky small tits jiggling closer to him, like ripe peaches, made his cock twitch.
He stepped closer and cupped her angular jaw before sliding his hand down her throat. Her pulse was quick, very fitting for the boldest stripper in town, but it was her breasts he wanted to touch. Firm with hard nipples that dug into the middle of his hand so deliciously, he wanted to suck on them. She had long horizontal scars under her breasts, but with the size of her boobs, and how natural they felt to the touch, he was sure the scars weren’t proof of a boob job. He’d never dare ask about them.
Lucy smiled at him and didn’t even slap his hand away for once. She swayed her chest from side to side, so the breast moved in his grip. “Having fun, Sam?” Lucy asked in her classy European accent, which Sam couldn’t place on the map even if someone paid him. She kept rubbing her tit against his h
and. “Thinking that nipple is my clit?” Her tongue traced her top lip. Such a fucking tease. Lucy charged an arm and a leg for a lap dance, yet guys still always clamored for an opportunity to feel her barely legal ass on their crotch for three minutes.
He stood closer and breathed in the sweet scent of her perfume. His head was pulsing along with the rhythm of the music as his eyes met her black gaze. “Why? That’s where you want me to touch you?”
Lucy straightened up on her knees, pulling her breasts away from Sam’s touch and putting them on his eye level. Lucy’s body was scorching hot even if a little less curvy than Sam’s ideal woman—a stomach hard like a chopping board, long legs, and her whole body tan with a tint of olive. Lucy arched her bikini bottom-clad hips forward. “I only let presidents touch me there.”
Sam chuckled and pulled out his wallet. There was a pleasant buzz in his body, but with the time for cake approaching so rapidly, he didn’t want to disappear, even though that one lap dance he got from Lucy had been amazing. “Well, I’ll hold you to that once Borg kicks the bucket,” he said, pulling on the waistband at the front of her panties. He imagined she was already wet down there as he pushed his fingers in, sliding the bank note as deep as he could reach without pulling her underwear lower.
Lucy purred with a wide smile and gently rocked her crotch against his hand. “Mmm … Mr. Jackson. Haven’t heard from you in a while.”
Sam swallowed as the decision center in his brain exploded with red light, and the warmth radiating off her pussy made his cock swell even more. He gently cupped his hand over her pubic mound. The chaos between his ears came to a halt the moment Red Jack’s fiery hair came into view. He was the one to wait for Candygirl’s arrival, and when Sam saw long blonde locks trailing along through the crowd, his hand was out of Lucy’s panties. He cleared his throat.
“Yeah, I have to be somewhere,” he said and rushed through the bustling clubhouse. Red Jack would not even get to lick Candy if there was anything Sam could do to prevent it. He saw her first, after all!
For a girl who barely got talked into coming to the party in the first place, Candy looked fucking stunning, even if a bit out of place in her mint, lace-trimmed dress, in the sea of leather-wearing biker hangarounds. So sweet, Sam could eat her whole. Candy’s long, blonde hair was arranged in an elaborate style with curled strands falling on her shoulders and back. She couldn’t be more than twenty-five, and the pastel look only added to the impression of youth. Candy was all flowers, sparkly jewels, and pearls, and Sam couldn’t wait to smell her. Would she be all vanilla and sugar again, or maybe this time it would be chocolate and cream? When he got closer, he noticed she even wore pale green stockings to match her dress.
Red Jack narrowed his blue eyes when their gazes met over Candy’s head, as was the usual routine between them. The freckled fucker would always try to win over the girls Sam wanted. Sam was glad Red was holding the box with cake and could do nothing when Sam scooped Candy toward him, flicking his fingers over her ear.
“So that’s what smells so sweet. Shoulda known.” Her hair was vanilla-scented, with a hint of strawberry coming from her skin.
Candy gave him a nervous smile, and she hugged a little sparkly clutch bag to her chest. The gesture only drew Sam’s attention there. The dress didn’t have a low neckline, but it wasn’t all that necessary with the fabric so sheer he could see where her bra was starting. Candy was short enough for him to have a good look down her cleavage, not too big, not too small, tits just right for his hands.
“It must be the cakes,” Candy said and waved her hand dismissively. They walked along toward the kitchen, and Sam got a better look at her face when they left the dim light of the club lounge. Her skin had that healthy glow of a girl who liked to go to the beach. She had big blue eyes framed by doll-like eyelashes, a slightly upturned round nose, and cute small lips that gave her that baby-faced look. She could be twenty-five, but she could just as well be eighteen.
As they walked past the table where Borg, the club president, sat with his old lady, Sam whistled loud enough for him to hear the sound through the noise. Borg’s nickname was actually Cyborg because of the two prosthetic fingers he was wearing on his left hand since coming back from Afghanistan some years ago, but most found it too long, and so the name was usually shortened. Much taller than Sam, Borg used to intimidate him a lot when Sam was still prospecting. With his silence, the scar on his cheek, and the hole in his head where an ear used to be, Borg showed off all his scars with pride and didn’t cover them with hair, instead settling for a crew cut that only stressed the strong lines of his face.
Borg raised his hand in acknowledgement and pulled Gina into a rough kiss before leaving her at the table and following them into the kitchen. It was hard not to notice that Adriana, Gina’s best friend, had been crying again. That chick apparently had some issues at home, but when Sam once declared he could kiss it all better, Gina told him to keep his dick in his pants. Well, he wouldn’t be chasing a pussy that didn’t get wet for him.
Sam let his hand drop to Candy’s waist as he pulled her inside the kitchen, now cluttered with bottles of alcohol and pizza boxes. The hangarounds left without question the moment Red Jack nodded toward the door.
Candy gave Borg a little smile, but she looked pale. “Are you Mr. Borg?”
Red Jack snorted and shook his head. “Holy fuck, prez. You gotta be all gallant and shit with this one.”
Borg gave him a warning look before putting his large hand on Candy’s shoulder and leading her away from Sam, who stared at his empty arm with a scowl.
“Holy fuck, Sam. Dibs. I’m plowing that tonight.” Red Jack licked his lips, watching Borg take Candy and the cakes to a storage room.
Sam stepped closer, tempted to yank on that carrot-colored beard, so that they could actually look one another in the eye for once. “Forget it, Red, I already put my dibs on her yesterday. That piece of candy’s mine.”
“The fuck you did.” Red Jack growled, his nostrils flaring. “She’s hot for me, I can see it.”
Sam chuckled, frowning at the ghastly pale, freckled face. “Well, I was the one who’d have fucked her if Borg hadn’t called yesterday. She was all over me.”
“Whatever man, you know the rules.” Red Jack squinted at him and held out his fist for a fight of rock, paper, scissors. This was the way the two of them settled disputes over women when they couldn’t come to an agreement otherwise, which was almost every time.
Sam gritted his teeth and reached out his hand with blood pulsing heavily in his temples. “Let’s settle this.” He couldn’t get the fantasy of that vibrator drilling Candy’s pussy out of his mind since yesterday.
Red Jack nodded. They shook their fists. Once. Twice …
Red, scissors. Sam, rock. Fucking score.
Red Jack scowled at him. “Fine. Whatever. Not the only cunt around.”
“All yours for the night, Red. Don’t chafe your dick. You know, we need to look out for each other,” said Sam with a silly grin.
“I’m still fucking eating that hash brownie cake prez got for Gina.” Red Jack let out a long sigh. Sam could bet Red would rather be eating out Candy, but a rule was a rule—rock breaks scissors.
Red Jack pulled out a bottle of beer and took an aggressive gulp before stilling with his eyes pointed at something outside the kitchen. Sam followed his gaze and chewed on his lip, seeing Lucy bent over behind the pole and sliding her ass up and down the steel.
“Talk to you later,” mumbled Red Jack, before storming into the crowd.
Sam shook his head and looked into the storage room where Candy was cutting the cake into bite-sized pieces while Borg talked to her about something. He was so tall she looked like a little girl next to him, especially in that dress and the dainty shoes with bows.
She took a platter of plain-looking brownies as Borg picked up the colorful cake with icing and sparklers stuck on top.
Sam walked over and looked inside. “You need a
hand?”
Borg smirked. “Since when is waitressing your dream job?”
Sam wrinkled his nose. “Don’t want Candy here to stumble with two platters.”
“It would have been fine, but I’ve got the bag, and the heels …” She passed Sam the platter, and he couldn’t help but straighten up with pride when he noticed Candy sneak a peek at his chest. With the weather so hot, hell yeah, he would wear his vest over bare skin, show off all his ink, show off the chest he’d worked so hard for.
“Yeah, yeah. We don’t want you to stain that pretty dress,” said Sam as Borg left with the first platter, no doubt to present it to his old lady for her birthday. “Did you wear that for me, sweetness?”
Candy opened and closed her lips a few times like a fish running out of air. “Not at all. I just didn’t want to be underdressed for the party,” she groaned and slapped Sam’s arm with her purse. “Why didn’t you tell me there’s a dress code?” She peeked out into the main room where Gina was presented with her cake amongst cheers. The sparklers illuminated her blood-red hair as she gave Borg a long, breathless kiss over her hash birthday cake.
Sam leaned over to Candy with a smirk and snaked an arm around her waist. “It’s a biker party. That is the dress code, darling.”
“Maybe I should just go home. I don’t fit in here.” Candy was all stiff but didn’t move away from his arm. Sam could still recall the sweet taste of her lips, and he really wanted to put his nose against her neck and smell her.
“Are you using vanilla extract instead of perfume?”
Candy glared at him, but it was hard to take it seriously with that baby face framed by blonde curls. “You’re not listening.” And just like that, she walked out of his embrace and out of the kitchen.
Sam slouched but wouldn’t let that discourage him. He got two beers off the tabletop and followed her into the crowd. It was as easy as spotting a fox in the middle of the road. She not only stuck out like a sore thumb, but most of the men followed her with their eyes, clearly surprised to see someone like her at the party.
