Page 336 of Devil’s Disciples

His tone was punctual and flat, yet demanding, like that of Rooster Cogburn in True Grit, when he told Ned, ‘Fill your hand, you son-of-a-bitch.’

So far, we’d joked about things. One thing the tone of his voice made clear was the fact that he was no longer joking. He wanted me to grab his cock on the sidewalk in front of a packed beachside restaurant in broad daylight.

A lump rose into my throat.

I swallowed against it. “Huh?”

He grinded his hip against my thigh. “Grab. My. Cock.”

Still donning my helmet and sunglasses, I glanced in the direction of his lower extremities. One upside was that I wasn’t going to have to search for it to fulfil his desire. It was big, bulging, and its outline in his jeans was undeniably pronounced.

“Now?” I squeaked.

“Here.” He reached for his zipper. “I’ll make it easy for you.”

He unzipped his jeans. After a considerable struggle, he pulled an extremely large cock through the opening.

Still seated in the comfort of the motorcycle’s seat and hiding behind the lenses of my trusty Ray-Bans, I gawked at the sight.

I’d seen several cocks, but never in the sunshine. It wasn’t as much of an improvement as I would have thought. Nonetheless, seeing his raging cock out in the California sun was pretty fucking impressive.

He gestured toward it with a nod of his head. “Squeeze it.”

I checked over each shoulder. With the same reluctance I’d use while petting a live alligator, I extended my hand in its direction.

“That’s what I thought.” He laughed and reached for his zipper. “Scared-ass little girl. All talk and no—”

It was all the encouragement I needed. I grabbed it like it owed me money. “I’m not scared of your dick, Mister.”

It was a lie. After wrapping my hand around it—or at least trying to—I was scared of it. Not deathly afraid. His cock and an upside-down rollercoaster had a lot in common.

“Does that feel like the dick of a man who lacks interest?” he asked.

“Uhhm.” It was impressive that he could achieve a full erection in a sunny parking lot. I swallowed heavily. “No.”

“Gay?” He cocked his hip and raised both brows. “Does that feel like a gay man’s cock?”

I wanted to let him know that gay men’s dicks got just as hard, but I understood his point. Or, at least I thought I did.

“No,” I murmured. “Not at all.”

He pulled away. Slightly disappointed and a little relieved, I watched as he stuffed the rock-hard beast into his jeans and zipped his fly. After convincing himself that he was situated in a satisfactory manner, he met my wide-eyed gaze.

“Since Ghost died, I haven’t eaten anything other than a couple of mouthfuls of pity, and a handful of sorrow,” he said dryly. “I couldn’t choke anything else down. Sitting in that diner, talking to you, I started feeling normal again. Not completely, but enough that I’m thinking I might be able to get through this. Right now, that half a hamburger’s worn off, and I’m hungry. So hungry it hurts.”

He tilted his head toward the restaurant. “So, I’m going in there to eat. After we’re done, we’ll reevaluate this situation. Just know while we’re in there eating shrimp baskets and fish fucking tacos that the reason we’re in there instead of fucking is because I’m goddamned hungry.”

He pressed the heel of his palm along the length of his cock. It did little to resolve matters. He looked like he was trying to smuggle a zucchini from Whole Foods without paying for it.

He tilted his head toward the restaurant. “C’mon.”

Eating, at least at that moment, seemed ridiculous. He was walking in with a raging stiffy, and I was so soaking wet I was uncomfortable.

Men like him came along once in a lifetime. I planned on taking advantage of the situation as soon as he had a full stomach. For the time being, however, I had a point to prove.

I hung my helmet on the handlebars. After getting off the motorcycle, I stepped so close to him my boobs were smashed against his chest. I pulled off my sunglasses and met his downward gaze.

“Touch my pussy,” I whispered.