Page 10 of Thug

“You don’t have a damned thing to be afraid of,” he continued. “Rattlesnakes around here won’t bite unless you step on them, people with nothing to lose are just as scared of dying as anyone, and there’s not enough water in the desert to drown in.”

“Three inches,” I argued. “It only takes three inches.”

“To drown in, or to satisfy you?” he asked, stone-faced.

Price McNealy just set a trap. I could either step in it or avoid it altogether. The choice was mine. If I took the bait, I’d likely end up on the receiving end of Price’s sexual offering. If I chose avoidance, I could have my choice of the thirty-two men who were two-fisting beers and bolstering their courage.

I opted to dive in headfirst. “It takes three inches to drown in.” I set the pitcher aside and locked eyes with him. “To satisfy me, it takes this much.”

I slapped the edges of my outstretched hands against the bar, leaving my open palms eight inches apart. I glanced between them, and then met Price’s curious gaze. “So,” I said, cocking my hip slightly. “Are you big enough to get on this ride?”

With the agility of a youthful African gazelle, he leaped over the bar and landed feet-first at my side. Facing his thirty-some MC brethren, I stood with my mouth agape, completely in awe of his athletic ability. In anticipation of his next move, my heart raced with such force that I feared he’d hear it.

The stubble of his five o’clock shadow grazed against my cheek. “Give me your hand,” he growled into my ear.

Incapable of doing anything but complying with his demand, I raised my arm, offering my hand for whatever he deemed necessary.

He gripped my wrist firmly with one hand while unbuckling his belt with the other. Upon completing the task, he shoved my hand down his pants. “You tell me,” he breathed. “Am I big enough?”

My face flushed hot. If I stood at his side seeming embarrassed, he would walk all over me and it would never stop. I needed to pull up my big girl panties and take ownership of my smart mouth. There was no backing out now. I resituated my hand and pressed my palm against his thick shaft.

His girth swelled.

I surveyed the crowd. So far, no one was giving us a second look. Nevertheless, my anxious heart continued to pound against my ribs. I stroked his rigid shaft as good as I was able, considering my hand was confined to the inside of his tight-fitting jeans.

Within two strokes, he was as stiff as a stone.

“Well?” he asked in a low, drawn out tone. “Can I ride, or not?”

“Difficult to say, with it being hidden and all,” I replied dryly. “If I had to guess, I’d say you’re falling a little short.”

When a girl spends enough time around life’s most colorful characters, she tends to adopt their ways. Having spent a lifetime around bikers, I’d developed the mouth of a sailor and the filter of a death row inmate. Although it wasn’t a daily occurrence, it was commonplace for me to blurt out a remark that I later came to regret.

Even so, it was highly unlikely my comment would get me in trouble. Price wasn’t going to get his cock out in front of thirty-two men, that much I was sure of. My remark was meant as an offering for him to spend some one-on-one time with me, naked, in a place much better suited for cock inspections.

I gave his manhood another tug, just because I could. Satisfied, I pulled my hand from inside his pants.

He met my playful gaze with a horrific scowl. A waterfall of regret washed over me. Price McNealy wasn’t happy, that much was clear.

His hands became a blur. The next thing I knew, my chest was pressed tight against the edge of the bar.

I felt his hand against my hip. He unbuttoned my shorts. As he struggled to get them pushed down my thighs, my mind said, “No, wait. Not here, not now.” My mouth, however, said nothing of the sort.

My shorts cleared my knees and then fell to my ankles. My pussy throbbed with each beat of my heart. Being fucked behind the bar while nearly three-dozen men swilled beers and listened to Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Simple Man ten feet away wasn’t on my to-do list, but Price sure didn’t know it.

So far, I’d given no verbal opposition to his advances whatsoever. In fact, I’d kicked my shorts to the side without a moment’s thought.

He fumbled with my panties. His eager-fingered efforts didn’t last long. He tore them in two in a show of frustration. With the delicate fabric dangling from my left thigh, I accepted my fate wholeheartedly and widened my stance.

My eyes darted around the bar. Our antics had garnered the attention of a few of the men, but not all of them. While I tried to find a way to accept what was happening as being part of my life’s destiny, I felt pressure between my legs.

I sucked an uneven breath.

With the care of a sex starved satyromaniac, he pushed his swollen girth past my wet folds.

The air shot from my lungs like I’d been punched in the gut.

Not only was he big enough to ride the ride, he reset the bar for any future riders to get on. My mind may not have wanted to start a relationship with Price McNealy, but my pussy was starting one hell of an argument in his favor.