Page 53 of Misadventures of a Biker

I ached for him to finger me into oblivion.

I closed my eyes and bucked my hips, forcing my wet pussy against his hand. He obliged, pushing his fingers deeper until the tips tickled my G-spot. He curled them repeatedly, grazing the hypersensitive flesh with each motion. Euphoria smothered me, stripping me of my ability to resist. With each stroke of his fingers, I grew closer to climax. I was seconds from an earth-shattering orgasm when a car whizzed past, the rush of air in its wake a reminder that we were standing in a public street.

I opened my eyes.

Many of the coffee shop’s patrons were unaware I was two finger strokes away from reaching climax, while others seemed all too interested in what we were doing. Being fingered while I stood in the narrow two-lane road wasn’t the best of ideas.

I glared, but in a playful way. “You make me mad.”

He smirked. “Do I?”

“You’re starting something you can’t finish,” I complained. “So yes, you do.”

He pressed his fingertips into my G-spot. “Why can’t I finish it?”

“We’re standing in the street,” I whispered, my body shuddering as I spoke. I nodded toward the patio in the distance. “And there are people over there. A few of them are watching us.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Do I look like I give a fuck?”

He didn’t. As satisfied as he was with his existence on earth, I doubted he cared what anyone thought of him, including the two women behind him who were now nodding in our direction.

“No,” I replied. “You don’t.”

He studied my face. His eyes narrowed. Using the two fingers that were still buried deep in my throbbing pussy as leverage, he pulled me close to his chest.

“If I want to finger you in the street,” he said sternly, “I’ll finger you in the street.”

“Umm.” I swallowed a ball of apprehension. “Okay.”

As the two women in the distance watched eagerly, he proceeded to do just that. Seconds later, I was backed against his motorcycle with my eyes rolled back into my head and him leaning over me.

The world around me vanished momentarily, leaving me to enjoy the fruits of Devin’s labor in the solace of silence.

My eyes shot open as he brought me to climax. I bit into my lower lip in hopes of stifling my urge to scream out in pleasure. Wondering just what he’d done to change me from the woman who once worried what someone might think about the color of my shoes to one who obviously didn’t care if someone watched me being finger-banged while my ass rested against a dusty Harley-Davidson, I looked at Devin, thinking the answer might be hidden somewhere deep in his brown orbs.

His eyes glistened with satisfaction. He curled the tips of his fingers against my G-spot once again for good measure. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

I collapsed against his motorcycle, nearly tipping it over. “What…what are you doing to me?” I stammered.

He slid his hand from inside my jeans. “Whatever I want to.”

That much was obvious. I braced myself against the teetering motorcycle. “I can see that.”

“C’mon,” he said, tilting his head toward the coffee shop behind him. “Let’s go get a cup of coffee.”

I situated things the best I could and checked myself in the motorcycle’s rearview mirror. “I look like hell.”

“You look fantastic.” He draped his left arm over my shoulder. “You always look fantastic.”

I tugged my panties out of my crotch and adjusted my ponytail. “I’ll take your word for it.”

We sauntered across the street. As we strolled past the table where two of the interested parties were seated, Devin paused and faced them. He raised his right hand to his mouth and sucked my juices from the two fingers he’d used to please me.

“Good morning.” He lowered his hand and gave the two women a sharp nod. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

Either incapable of responding or unwilling to do so, they both gawked at us as if we were aliens.

Devin reached for the door and opened it. “After you,” he said, gesturing inside.