Joyride

by DD Prince

  “Mm,” he said, looking at me. Tracing my scar with his index finger. And then his finger slid over to my panties. He kept going, pulling them down. I was glad I’d gotten a Brazilian three days earlier.

  He unhooked my bra, which hooked in the front and then his mouth was on a nipple.

  “Very fucking nice,” he muttered against my boob and I threw my head back and absorbed the feel of his touch.

  “Tell me what you want. What do you want?” he asked against my nipple.

  “You. Inside me,” I whispered, loving the feel of his hair, woven in my fingers, all over my chest.

  A growl rumbled up from his belly and his hands moved up and down my body as he tongued my nipple. His fingers went between my legs and then his other hand was reaching into his jeans pocket, producing a condom.

  “Put that on me, gorgeous.”

  He went back to work at my nipples with his mouth and my pussy with his fingers. I’d never put a condom on a guy before. I’d always thought of that as the guy’s department.

  I fiddled with the wrapper until I got it open, having trouble focusing, because of what he was doing to me. And countless alcoholic beverages probably didn’t help.

  The condom was sticky. I made a face. I rose on an elbow and he watched as I reached down and fumbled a little, or maybe a lot, because he finally… after what felt like forever… took it from me and finished getting it on.

  I sighed in relief. He got poised at my entrance.

  “You’re nice and wet.” He rubbed his dick along the seam of me, making eye contact that was super-duper sexy. “And this rubber is lubed, but I’m big. Gonna go slow for starters. You good?”

  I nodded. “Good news. And yeah. I’m real good.”

  He was working my clit with his fingers, as he moved slowly, advancing inside, and at the sight of his naked body looming over me, I was melting into the pillow.

  His eyes traveled up and down my body and the look on his eyes was the most sensual expression I think I’d ever seen.

  I was still feeling the effects of the booze and feeling in awe of the beauty hovering over me. God, this biker was a sight to behold. All that hair, those soft lips, the sexy eyes, the muscles and tattoos, and holy… a peen piercing. Could this get any better?

  It did get better. Oh God, he was thick.

  I winced. He kept advancing slowly, carefully, rubbing my clit, turning me to nothing but a puddle of need as he sank inside and began to move. Slow. Deep. Eye contact.

  Whoa…

  I got the fastest and best orgasm of my life, the piercing rubbing inside me while his fingers were against my clit. If I wasn’t so hammered, I’d be embarrassed at how quick it happened.

  “Fuck. Fuck, Rider, Fuck that’s… don’t stop.” I was typically mute during sex. It must be the booze. And the piercing. And the thickness. And the hip action.

  “You like that?” he said into my ear, his voice low and husky and oh so sexy as his cock and fingers worked some sort of voodoo magic on my girlie bits.

  My God. Every man needs a peen piercing because Oh My God. I had never asked for a guy to not stop. I typically didn’t make much noise during sex. Even when I came, it was usually quietly, a little gust of breath, maybe a bit of sound at the very end, but never had I ever been this verbal.

  He surged forward in me, deep, so fucking deep, and he went faster and faster and harder as I was coming, and then he repositioned, and the sensation revved up. And he knew what he was doing. This was intentional, taking my orgasm from out-of-this-world to out-of-this-universe. I was coming in multiple places, because he also had my nipple between his thumb and index finger, and the way he was moving in and over me in deep strokes was rubbing my clit while also rubbing me inside with that piercing? Heaven.

  I wrapped my legs tight around his thighs and let out a long and loud stuttered sound that I didn’t even think I was capable of. It almost sounded musical. It was as if I was an opera singer and I’d just hit the highest note of my career.

  And then I blanked out and was like a ragdoll. I was never so loose in my life.

  “Phew,” I said and blew my hair out of my eyes. “Holy shit. Holy shit.”

  He kept going. And then he flipped us so that he was on his back and I was riding him. But I was drunk, sated and boneless, and ruined, so I just kind of… flopped.

  He started to grunt, like he was close. And then he grabbed my hair and was pulling it a little too hard as he ravished my neck with kisses and nibbles, and then bites.

  I shivered.

  He let go, flipped us so I was on my back, and then he grabbed the headboard and began ramming hard into me. Rutting. Like he was driven by carnal need and nothing else.

  Wow, that was sexy.

  He reached under me and then my right ass cheek was in his hand as he made me spread wider by using his knee to push my legs further apart.

  I felt something foreign back there, right on my… asshole? My asshole? Wait…

  I clenched my cheeks, “Nope, not that kinda girl. Not unless there’s a four-carat ring in it for me.” I giggled, thinking it was funny.

  It was one of my ongoing sex jokes that anal required, at minimum, a 4-carat diamond. I swatted at his arm to get his hand away from there.

  He grunted and didn’t laugh at my joke.

  And then he flipped me onto my belly and then was going in from behind. The way he threw me around was crazy-hot. But I was getting dizzy.

  Oh shit. That was deep. It was so deep that I wasn’t sure I could handle it. And he pulled my ass cheeks apart, so I felt super self-conscious that he could see my winking one-eye. How could that be sexy?

  He had a handful of my hair. He pulled it a little too hard as he was thrusting into me.

  “Ow, my hair.” I whined, and tried to clench my butt cheeks against his separation of them. He let go and buried his mouth in the back of my neck. I could feel his whiskers, feel his soft lips.

  I moaned. It felt good.

  “How ‘bout a little ass slapping?” he asked, lips right against my ear. “Float your boat?”

  I laughed, “Not unless you want a kick in the nuts.”

  He laughed against the ridge of my ear and then pinned me by holding my arms above my head. He was thrusting hard, his pelvis hitting my backside, making a slapping noise.

  “Fuck, you’ve got a sexy ass. Love to fuck you up the ass. This ass is sexy enough, I’d maybe consider pullin’ a heist to get you that ring.”

  I giggled, but ew.

  I didn’t say ew. But, I thought it. I had no desire to get fucked up the ass. Exit only!

  Blah. I was starting to get a headache.

  “Work you up again,” he said, lying me on my back and then his mouth was between my legs.

  Holy shit.

  That felt good. That felt crazy-good.

  “Drape your legs over my shoulders.”

  I did.

  “Up on your elbows. Watch.”

  “What?” I laughed.

  “I want you to watch, okay?” His face was serious. So serious that I couldn’t come up with a smartass remark. So, I nodded and got up on my elbows.

  The throbbing was increasing between my eyes. I was drunk and to that point where I needed to go to sleep.

  But then he sucked my clit hard and I forgot my headache. Instant headache cure. I watched him do it, and it was so sexy. The sight of his tattooed shoulders, the sight of his hair, and the combo of the sight and feeling of what he was doing between my legs? I felt it building. I started to tremble.

  “Watch how I lick you,” he ordered, eyes on mine with so much heat I could feel it scorching my skin. I rolled my neck back and my eyes closed anyway. It was too much. Too much sensation. I was suddenly being moved and he flipped and had me sitting on his face, “Climb on my face reverse cowgirl and suck my cock.”

  I turned over and followed his order. Man, this was hot. The dirty talk? The bossiness? Surprisingly hot.

  “Ridin’ the Rider�
��” I chanted and smiled big but then looked down at his cock, which was patiently waiting for my mouth.

  I was never really into sucking guys off. I tried the occasional lick or kiss and maybe a suck and supplemented it with jacking the guy off until he came. I tried this with Rider.

  “Suck, gorgeous. Suck it. Been thinkin’ bout how all that gorgeous hair of yours would feel on me, on my balls. Take me deep.”

  His dirty talk? Holy moly. Half of it, I almost wanted to scrunch up my face and tell him off. But for some reason, it was making me tingle instead.

  I didn’t like the taste of the latex in my mouth, but I didn’t know him well enough to go bare, so I tried to get enthusiastic about it. And I could taste me, too, which really was way out of my usual comfort zone. It did not “float my boat”.

  He was enthusiastically licking me between my folds, putting pressure on my clit. And then he did something and before I could process, I was coming again, his cock firmly and deeply in my throat. And then it dawned. He’d had fingers in me, on my clit, and he’d he tongued my asshole.

  Fuck, that’s dirty.

  I came huge. A big…massive…shuddering orgasm, with his big pierced dick in my mouth, that piercing clinking against my back molars. He started thrusting into my face and then he came. I felt the expansion and warmth in the condom he was wearing.

  I pulled him out of my mouth and collapsed on his pelvis.

  He flipped me and then righted my body effortlessly, so I was at the head of the bed. He yanked up the blanket and tucked me in. He was gone to the bathroom.

  I was destroyed. I was completely and utterly ruined for any other man. Ever. I just got fucked, and I also just got my butt tongue-fucked by the father of my future children. For sure. And he tucked me in. I smiled.

  ***

  “Hey gorgeous; good morning,” I heard a deep sexy voice say. I felt warmth near my ear and smelled minty mouthwash.

  “Hi,” I said, as I opened my eyes. “Whoaaaaa. Make the room stop spinning, please and thank you.”

  “Two Tylenols. Big bottle of water on your bedside table. I gotta ride.”

  “Hm?” I sat up. Ouch. My head. I put it back on the pillow, my hand over my eye.

  “Not Tylenol. My liver’s already working too hard.”

  He chuckled. “Huh?”

  “Advil is processed by the stomach, Tylenol by the liver.”

  “Advil bottle was empty, babe.”

  Shit.

  He was dressed, showered, ready to go.

  “Oh. Sorry, Liver.” I popped the pills into my mouth and washed them down. “What time is it?”

  “Dunno, close to noon, I think. Gotta drop Ella’s car off to her with Deacon. Me and Joe are goin’ to do that now.”

  “You and Joe?”

  “Yeah, babe. Gotta go. Okay? See ya.”

  “Wait.” I grabbed his wrist, “I was gonna make you breakfast.”

  He smiled.

  “I was gonna… wake you up with breakfast and dessert.” I ran my hand up his chest.

  “Raincheck? D and Joe are pollutin’ your street.”

  “Huh?”

  “Cars are runnin’, babe, burnin’ fuel,” he clarified.

  “Oh. Okay.” I shrugged. I was feeling a little shy suddenly in the morning light under his intense turquoise gaze. Something was weird with him. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what.

  He kissed me right on the lips and it was quick, but it was still hot.

  “Great night, gorgeous. Later?”

  “Yeah,” I said, smiling, hoping he saw how great it was for me, hoping he saw that I really would’ve preferred that he stayed. But then something gripped me like a vise. Fear of rejection. I didn’t like the look on his face. It was sort of … serious. The playful expression I’d been getting from him thus far wasn’t there.

  I tried to lose the desperate lovesick look I was probably giving off. I shrugged, “Yeah. Sure. Cool.”

  I wondered if he’d come right back after he helped Deacon get Ella’s car to her. I wondered how Ella’s night had gone.

  “See ya,” I waved and then took another swig of my drink, trying to act like I didn’t care as much as I did.

  He leaned over, and I thought he might kiss me again. But, he chucked me under the chin and left.

  Chucked me under the chin?

  What?

  I was sitting there, trying to process that, when I heard talking outside over the sound of motors running, so I hopped out of bed, peeked out my window, which overlooked the back parking lot, and saw him get on a motorcycle and follow a convoy of Ella’s car and Joe’s. Rider’s orange muscle car was still parked here.

  I called Ella. A couple times. And then I texted Ella. And then while I lazed, replaying the night in my mind, Ella finally called me and without as much as a Hello, asked about her car.

  She hated her car. It was this big snot green 70s muscle car that her father gave her. And he was so proud of it that Ella drove it in misery, barely able to afford the gas because it was such a gas guzzler. It was funny to hear her sound worried about it.

  “Duuuude. Where’s my car? Haha. Well, hello to you too, bitch.”

  “Sorry Jen. Feelin’ rough. I blame you and Pip. My car?”

  “Isn’t it always my fault when you have a hangover?” I laughed. But, I laughed too hard and hurt my own ears. I closed my eyes and finished, “Deacon picked it up. Rider and Joe followed him there with Joe’s car and Deacon’s bike. Rider spent the night, Ella. Oh. My. God. Omigod! I think I’m a little bit in love. I think I’ve met the father of my future children.” I felt myself slipping toward a daydream, seeing a wedding, babies. I’d never thought I wanted that. It was sort of weird to not only daydream about that but to daydream about it with a biker, a type I’d never even considered might be my happily-ever-after type.

  Me and Ella were both dating bikers.

  But Ella’s biker might not be what she was looking for and I needed to clue her in to what I’d heard. Spencer had said a couple of things snidely at our table about him being a player and king of the one-night-stand, during the time Deacon and Ella had disappeared at the bar, and I hadn’t had a chance to get her alone since then yet, to feel things out.

  “But listen Ella, I need to talk to you about Dea---”

  “Oh, that’s good. Listen, I’ll call you back.” She cut me off, sounding distracted, and then the bitch hung up on me before I could tell her about my concerns about Deacon.

  I closed my eyes and decided to go back to sleep. I’d feel things out with her later, when I could open my eyes without this level of brain pain.

  A while later, I woke up and peered out the window, seeing that Rider’s car was gone. He must’ve come back and gotten it. I asked Pippa if he’d come back up. She told me he hadn’t. I pushed away the way that made me feel.

  I also realized I didn’t get his number and he had said he’d lost mine. Which still made no sense, since I’d watched him put it in his phone. Well, he knew where I lived.

  3

  I was having trouble getting ahold of Ella. And I very much needed to talk to her about her ‘beautiful biker’. The things I’d heard the day after the bar were twice as bad as what I’d heard when I was already concerned.

  When I finally felt somewhat human on Hangover Sunday, Joe and Pippa were having a quiet night in front of the TV. I hung out with them and while we ate Chinese take-out, they told me all about the Night of Terror on The Terrace.

  Rider’s brother Deacon was bad news. Bad, bad news. Super jealous and abusive, according to Joe who’d heard that from Spencer, the youngest brother.

  It was looking like I’d landed myself the right brother. The middle one. But, he hadn’t come back up when he got back to get his car. Joe said he hadn’t said much that morning.

  All we knew about these guys so far was that the oldest one, Deacon, was a possessive stalker psycho. Sure, he’d saved Ella from the armed robbery, but that didn’t mean he was boyfri
end material. Spencer, the youngest brother? He was a coke-head loudmouth asshole.

  I’d heard a few things at the bar the night before that had me concerned as it was, but my concern went from the yellow zone to the burning white-hot zone when Pip filled me in.

  While me and my beautiful biker were doing the dance with no pants, Pippa, Joe, Spencer, and a few other friends from the bar were over, having a fire, drinking beers, and chillaxing on the rooftop terrace. Lara and Andre had even come by.

  All of us ‘roof’ people, as we were known, were like moths to a flame whenever one of the other rooftop dwellers had a fire. The party went on until nearly dawn. But things didn’t stay in the chill zone, though, when Deacon arrived and beat up Spencer and then dangled him from the part of the roof where the railings hadn’t yet been put up. I needed to get that shit put up, stat.

  I also needed to talk to Ella, faster than stat, about the things that Spencer had reportedly said about Deacon and how possessive and abusive he was in relationships.

  I was freaked right out by the idea that my best friend could wind up with a guy like that. Someone who would hurt her or make her afraid. I’d never seen her as excited about a guy as I had with Deacon. She would be heartbroken. But, she needed to know.

  I also needed to be careful. If Deacon was what he sounded like and Spencer was a Coke-head, could I trust that Rider was really a good guy?

  ***

  I can’t lie and say I didn’t care that Rider didn’t call me Sunday. I cared. I would appear nonchalant on the outside, but as that saying goes, inside, I was ‘chalant as fuck’.

  Late Monday morning, I demanded Ella come into the salon, which she did, and I told her what I’d heard about Deacon. She didn’t wanna hear it and was ready to cover her ears and pull a “La la la”, on me, so I had to do some quick blurting. Because, it was important.

  I’d heard Rider’s brother had put a girl in the hospital. And that he’d done time in jail for beating another girlfriend’s brother almost to death. And while they’d been partying on my terrace, not only had Deacon beat the daylights out of Spencer and dangled him from the roof, but Spencer had also said that was because he’d been hitting on Ella. He’d also said that another girl had left the country to get away from Deacon’s possessive ways.