I wake up at the sound of my alarm. Turning over, I tap the button to stop the music blaring. Winston groans, startling me even more awake. I’d nearly forgotten about the night before. My body reminds me quickly though.
“Morning,” I say, kissing his shoulder.
Winston doesn’t want to wake up. He mutters something about five more minutes even as his fingers skim my leg to my hip. By the time he tweaks my left nipple, his eyes are half-open and a smile warms his face.
“I dreamed about you,” he murmurs, rolling over so our bodies press together. “You were swimming and I was stuck on the dock. What does that mean, Miss Shrink?”
“I suspect you fear being left behind.”
“Makes sense.”
Kissing him, I embrace the intimacy we already share. Sandy and I never knew anything like this openness. I’m as much to blame as my ex-husband. I allowed the walls to remain up. With Winston, I can’t wait to see what happens when I knock them down.
The morning shower takes forever as our wet bodies playfully slide together. No fucking, only exploration in the form of washing each other. I wish we had forever to play, but work is barely an hour away. Soon, we leave the shower and dance our damp bodies to the bed.
Winston’s cock is thick when I suck him into my mouth. I haven’t given a blowjob in years, yet I want everything from him. I need to hear his groans and feel his body tense as the pleasure builds before he releases all the pent-up need from the shower.
With time in mind, I lick and suck at his cock even after he comes. My pussy aches to be filled, so I tease his cock until it’s hard again. Winston lifts my chin and smiles.
“Your turn.”
I nearly giggle while climbing over him. I’ve never been so aroused. My hard nipples hurt when he rolls them in his fingers. They’re too erect, desperate for pleasure. My pussy throbs even after I press down on his cock.
Winston wastes no time, thrusting into me. His lips find and suck hard at my nipples. He knows I’m unbearably close and fucks me until I come hard. Breathing fast and whimpering from a mixture of pleasure and agony, I roll my hips faster against his. The orgasm isn’t enough. For either of us.
Bouncing hard on his cock, I need more relief before I can even think of leaving this bed. Screw work and responsibilities, I’m a horny beast needing to get fucked hard and long until I can’t stand.
Winston’s hands leave my swaying tits, sliding down between my legs. One hand opens my pussy wider while he teases my swollen clit. The pleasure is so intense that I nearly slap his hand away. Instead, I come hard. He never lets up. My hips keep working and his fingers keep teasing until my third orgasm forces him to come too.
“And that’s how you start your morning,” Winston murmurs, kissing me as I lean down against him.
My hips keep moving, still wanting more. “Can I see you again?”
“You’re kidding, right?” he laughs. “I’m picking you up for dinner.”
“What if I said no?” I tease, regretfully sliding his cock from my body.
“I’d talk you into saying yes. I’ve never been much of a nag, but I could learn.”
Resting next to him, I’m uninterested in going to the office. His body tempts me to call in sick, yet I sit up and push aside the idea.
“I need to get ready for work,” I say, walking to the dresser. “The coffee should be ready by now.”
Winston rolls over onto his stomach and reaches out to me as I walk past him, wearing only panties.
“I’m really glad you got drunk and ended up at Stinky.”
Holding his hand, I smile. “Me too.”
“But you need to get ready for work,” he adds, sighing.
Accepting I can’t call in sick, I leave Winston and walk to the kitchen. Still dark out, the day is barely starting, yet I’m ready for evening to arrive. I want to return to bed with Winston. I need to feel beautiful, sexy, and brave again.
I return to the bedroom to find Winston resting on his back. He grins when I set down the coffee cup on a side table. I open my mouth to speak, yet don’t trust myself. He looks too tempting spread out naked in bed. If I say the wrong words and he gives me the wrong look, I’ll join him and never make it to the office.
I hide in the bathroom and get ready for work. Winston doesn’t join me, leaving me grateful. I apply makeup and pull my hair into a ponytail. Once I’m in gray slacks and a white striped dress shirt, I slip on my shoes and look for Winston.
He isn’t in the bedroom. Neither are his clothes. I walk into the kitchen to find him leaning against a counter sipping coffee. Behind him, a cabinet stands open, revealing my Skittles stash.
Smiling, I sigh. “My name is Meredith and I’m addicted to Skittles.”
“Hello, Meredith,” Winston whispers, kissing my cheek. “I think you’re even sexier now.”
I wrap my arms around him and hug him tightly. In a little over twenty-four hours, this man has stolen my inhibitions. I just worry he’ll steal my heart next.
Chapter Eight
Winston
Bubblegum Babe
‡
The next few days, I’m wrapped up in Meredith Gordon. I drop by her place each night. First time, I bring pizza. Next night, it’s Thai. Finally, we try Mexican. Nothing says sexy like refried beans.
Without asking, I bring clothes and hygiene stuff. Meredith doesn’t mention anything about me staying over. I know she’s thinking it. Her mind is always ripping things apart and figuring them out. I see all the thinking in her blue eyes.
Meredith hasn’t called me a rebound guy since the first night at the bar. I wonder if she’s still thinking that too. Call me a chickenshit, but I don’t ask. I’m too damn happy to fuck things up with honesty.
Except I don’t want it to end. If I’m wrong about us being something permanent, what then? Do I want to be shocked when the big moment arrives? Am I really so cowardly that I won’t test this new thing I have with Meredith.
When I call her in the afternoon, she’s with a patient, but calls me back.
“Is something wrong?” she asks, sounding worried.
“No, I was thinking we might change things up tonight.”
“How?”
“I’ll pick you up on my Harley and we’ll go riding in the back roads.”
Meredith’s silence says more than any words.
“You’re a shrink, so you outta know the keys to a happy relationship are communication and compromise. I’m communicating with you about what I want you to compromise on. Bikes and my club are important to me. You’re important to me. It’d be like never having you meet my family.”
“Compromise is important. So if I go riding even though I’m leery of motorcycles, what do I get in exchange?”
“What do you want?” I murmur.
“Next Saturday, I’m golfing with my parents and sister. I want you to come with me.”
I’ll need to agree to dip my booted foot into her uppity life or she won’t be forced out of her comfort zone with the Harley. I have to applaud her sly moves.
“Do I have to wear those ugly pants?” I ask.
“I want my family to meet you. Wearing those ugly pants wouldn’t be the real you. I don’t want a lie.”
Hearing her embrace the real me, I wish we aren’t separated by ten miles. “I’m fucking you extra hard tonight for saying that.”
“Assuming I survive the bike ride.”
“I’ll drive nice and slow. I promise.”
Meredith falls into silence again and I wonder if she’ll wiggle her way out of the compromise.
“What should I wear?” she finally asks.
“Something comfortable. That way I can get you naked faster when we get back to your place.”
Meredith laughs in a quiet way that tells me her mind is now on the naked part rather than the ride. I hope she’ll still be in such a great mood when I pick her up.
When I arrive at her place, Meredith is pacing on her porch. She forces
a smile, but her eyes are really frigging tense.
The only way I know how to make her relax is to kiss her hard. My hunger startles her. First, she tenses then she wraps me in her arms and holds on tight.
“I brought you a helmet,” I say, revealing the pink monstrosity. “It’s my sister-in-law’s.”
“Where’s yours?” she asks as if channeling my mom.
“I don’t wear one.”
Meredith takes the pink helmet and sighs. “I don’t approve. I know the statistics of motorcycle crashes and survival rates.”
I reach over and tug at the loop on her jeans. “Please don’t share them. I’m not wearing a helmet even if you school me all night long.”
Meredith smiles, but she’s worried. I take the helmet and adjust it on her head. She’s a sexy body with a gumball head.
“Did I tell you how Kemp’s dad died?”
When she shakes her head, the helmet adjusts lower, covering her eyes. I suspect my sister-in-law bought an especially large helmet to prevent messing up her hair.
“He had a severe panic attack one day at work,” I say, helping Meredith adjust the helmet. “He ran a small trucking business and the economy was in the toilet. Jerry figured he’d need to lay off people soon and the pressure got to him.”
My hands find the buttons on the front of her pale blue shirt and I think about what’s underneath. That morning she wore a bright white bra. Smelling like she’s taken a shower, I wonder if she was wearing a different bra now. Man, if I’m not dying to find out the answer immediately.
“So he thought it was a heart attack and ended up in the hospital. Even after finding out it was a panic attack, he looked at his life and decided to make a change. He wanted to be around for his grandkids and travel with my mom after he retired. So he decided to get healthy. Hired a dietician. Got a trainer at the gym. Jerry lost thirty pounds over the next six months or so. He jogged in the mornings. Quit drinking beer. Started ordering salads. All healthy shit.”
Meredith gives me a smirk as if knowing where my story ends.
“Yeah, so he had a real heart attack at the gym one day and was dead before the paramedics arrive. You get my point?”
“Yeah, I get it.”
“You can micromanage shit, Meredith. When death is coming, it doesn’t really give a crap what you have planned.”
“Fair enough, but I’m still wearing the helmet.”
“You do that,” I say, kissing her nose since it’s the only part of her face I can easily reach. “Ready? I figure we can ride for a while then stop at a diner I know.”
“Why a diner?”
“Why not?” I ask, throwing my leg over the Harley. “It’s a place I go with my friends.”
Meredith studies me from inside the cavernous helmet. She’s figuring out my reasons for this sudden departure from our last few days together.
“You’re testing me,” she says, awkwardly climbing on behind me. “If I fail and you dump me, I plan to throw a huge fit. I’ve never done that before and they look fun when Bethany does them.”
“There’s no failing and I’m not dumping you.”
Meredith says nothing, nervous now to the point of shaking. I feel her tension ramp up as soon as I start the engine.
“I don’t want to die.”
“I’d be more worried about the food at the restaurant than getting hurt from riding.”
“You’re not making me feel better.”
“Sorry, babe. I’ve never had a chick so scared to ride before.”
Meredith tenses even more and I sense she’s pissed. Glancing back, I can’t see anything past the gumball on her head.
“I’ve never taken a chick to the restaurant either.”
Whether Meredith takes this as a compliment, I don’t know. She says nothing, holding on tight. I’m careful to drive slow through the neighborhood streets. Through it all, Meredith holds me in her death grip.
Just outside of her subdivision is a street leading to expansive farmland. Empty roads allow me to open up the engine and enjoy the Harley’s power. Meredith grabs me tighter, digging her nails into my gut like she’s hoping to climb inside me.
Not wanting her to be afraid, I wish Meredith loved riding the Harley. Her fear isn’t a deal breaker though. I’m not sure anything could be.
As the sun sets, we ride down the long quiet roads and past miles of cornfields where the only sounds are the engine and singing bugs. Meredith’s grip loosens after fifteen minutes. Slowing at a stop sign, I glance back even if I can’t see her face.
“You ready to get something to eat?”
Meredith struggles with the helmet until she can make eye contact. “Are you?”
“I could eat.”
“Okay, but take the scenic route.”
Grinning at her, I rev the engine. Meredith gets comfy and we take the long way to the Lora’s Greasy Spoon. The place is packed as usual, but we don’t hurry in. Meredith needs a few minutes to get steadied. She also needs help yanking the helmet from her head.
“How’s my hair?”
Grinning, I smooth down her wild blonde hair. “You look really sexy. In fact, I’m thinking about getting the food to go and heading back to your place where we can eat naked.”
Meredith leans into me and smiles widely. “Let me see this place where you hang out with your friends.”
Hands in her hair, I kiss Meredith hard. I can think of nothing sexier than a woman who cares enough to leave her comfort zone.
We get a table near the windows, allowing Meredith to smile at the bright moon.
“How often do you visit this restaurant?” she asks after ordering a good helping of greasy pulled pork.
“A couple guys from my club also work for Boyle. We come here after work most Wednesdays.”
“You made an exception for yesterday though.”
“No offense to the guys, but you’re a helluva lot sexier to look at.”
“These club guys,” Meredith asks, trying to find the words, “what do they do? I mean, what do you do with them?”
“We’re not outlaws. We just like bikes. We like the brotherhood. The sense of belonging that comes from people who think the same way.”
Meredith nods, but she’s unsure. I don’t blame her. Good girls think bikers are all criminals. Of course, my club family thinks country club types like her dad are all criminals too. Assumptions go both ways.
“We have charity rides,” I say, taking her hand and studying her perfectly pink nails. “One of the guys has a kid with muscular dystrophy, so we have charity events a few times a year to raise money. When another guy’s wife got hurt in a car accident, we helped out with his expenses. The old ladies took food to them and watched their kids. The guys helped with the yard and fixed stuff around the house. It’s like an extended family.”
“How long have you been involved with the club?”
“Since I was twenty. My uncle is in the club and he figured I might enjoy talking bikes with other guys. I felt lost after high school and didn’t know what the hell to do with myself. My brothers were getting married and having kids. I was busy dating bad women. I wasted a lot of time with those types of chicks. Good thing I finally woke up and swore them off.”
“Why exactly did you swear off wild women?”
“Bad women,” I mutter. “You’re wild in your own way.”
“No, I’m really not.”
I lean back in my chair and wink at her. “You haven’t seen yourself in bed.”
Meredith blushes and my cock hardens. I think she knows my reaction because a little smile creeps across her face.
“So why did you give them up?”
“Who cares?”
“I was just wondering if the reason you’re fixating on me…”
“Fixating?”
“Is the reason you’re hot for me,” she suggests, “because you had a bad break up? After all, you claimed to seek out certain women and now you’re hot for a very different type of w
oman.”
“You’re forgetting how I was hot for you back in high school.”
“Me and every other girl.”
Despite the truth to her comment, I grunt. “Not even close. I didn’t want your sister or Maria Zulma or Emma or Melissa or Jacqueline or Paula or Elizabeth. Should I go on?”
“No, I get the gist.”
“Do you, baby?” I ask, taking her hand again.
“Yes. I’m just trying to understand why you liked bad girls and now you don’t?”
“Trying to figure out if this temporary?”
“Just curious.”
“Well, doc, if you want to know why I had a thing for bad women, you can blame my mom. No doubt blaming parents is pretty standard in your line of work.”
Meredith wants to roll her eyes. I see her struggle against the urge. Once she wins, she asks, “Why your mother?”
“She was a slut and a bitch growing up,” I say, grinning at her expression. “Mom says as much. She was a groupie skank. A petty thief. Did drugs and drank like a sailor. These are her words. She had a lot of fun for years then she got bored of it. Got a solid job, found a good man, and had a few kids. Mom’s old stories made me think I could marry someone like her. A slutty bitch who turns around and becomes a good woman.”
I caress the soft skin on the back of her hand. “The problem is I never really thought that plan through. All those sluts and bitches I dated over the years probably did eventually become good women. Especially those younger girls like in high school. I bet they’re all soccer moms or business executives. Once they changed, what the hell would they want with me? I never considered that part. Things usually ended before they ever turned sweet.”
“What interests you in the slutty bitchy phase?”
“The sex is usually hot and the drama is entertaining.”
“So what’s the downside?”
Thinking of my long line of ex-girlfriends, I lose my smile. “It’s exhausting. Maybe I’m too fucking old for their shit anymore, but the hot sex isn’t enough to put up with their flaws. The drama is just noise now. This last girl was always upset. People were mean to her. No one understood her. Not her coworkers or friends or family. She was always an emotional mess. That stuff seemed more fun when I was younger. At the end, I just looked at her and thought why couldn’t she pull her shit together? I guess, my mom was right. The behaviors that are cute when you’re young have an expiration date. These bad girls had stopped being cute too. I’m tired of it all. This last one always thought I was cheating. Drama girls always think that about their men. I used to think it meant they were really into me. Now I see it as an insult. I’ve never cheated. My mom raised me with two rules for women. No hitting and cheating.”
Blue Colla Make Ya Holla Page 36
