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SHELLEY
Okay. So the very last person I expected to run into today, here at the arts and crafts stall, is the biker I slept with. I would have thought a family community day complete with fairground rides would be the last place any self-respecting outlaw biker would show his face.
He appears to be security or something. Weird. I thought the cops did security at these things. I don’t imagine they would draft in outlaw bikers. They don’t exactly seem to be… natural allies.
I love that he didn’t recognize me. The last four guys I hooked up with knew my name before I knew theirs. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but… I have a trust fund accessible in the event of my marriage. Sexy, huh?
Merch not recognizing me was a breath of fresh air. It was kind of a buzz. Like I get when I go and lie in the desert, staring up at the sky, feeling tiny and unimportant.
It was also pretty funny that he called me “kid.” I mean, I get it. I have butterflies painted on my face. That’s kind of childish. But it also felt like… I wasn’t being viewed solely as a marriageable option for an entire conversation.
I can feel his eyes on me, even as I studiously ignore him, trying to give all my attention to the kids I’m painting with. Try as I might, I can’t give themallmy attention.
A tiny part of my brain is constantly aware of Merch’s eyes, like fingers brushing lightly over the back of my neck. It’s driving me fuckinginsanewith need. I’m trying to concentrate on helping kids paint inside the lines, and I’m getting flashbacks to Merch’s fingers….
Eventually, the hot and squirming sensations are too much. Thankfully, Colleen turns to me with a smile.
“That’s your coffee break, Shelley. I’ll take the next two painting sessions.”
Shoving to my feet, I flash her a smile and hurry out of the tent. Merch is standing across near the face painting stall, his eyes locked on my face. I deliberately pass close to him on my way to search for a soda. He doesn’t move, and my arm gets close enough to brush his.
“Stop staring at me,” I mutter. He doesn’t ignore me, turning and falling in step with me instead.
“I’m not staring at you,” he mutters back.Surehe’s not. I throw a glance over at him, smirking.
“Okay. Stop not staring at me then.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
Look. No one needs that kind of logic. Especially not me when he’s just driven me crazy horny with all hisstaringfor almost an hour and a half. I shrug at him, hoping I come off way more nonchalant than I feel.
“That sounds like ayouproblem.”
Merch grins down at me, his eyes darkening. I remember that look. It’s really not helping my horniness.
“I think I know a way to stop staring at you,” he suggests. I’ll take any suggestions right now. My eyebrows shoot up as he takes my elbow, leading me away from the crowds in the direction of the stallholder's parking lot. My car is over here somewhere.
We don’t get anywhere near my BMW. We don’t get more than three rows into the vans before Merch tugs me behind one, completely shielded from the fair. The metal side of the van is cold against the back of my legs as Merch presses me up against it, one hand curling around my waist, the other cupping my jaw as his lips crash down on mine.
He kisses me just as hungrily as he did that night at his clubhouse, his tongue urgently licking into my mouth. I suck on it, drawing a growl out of him, and he deepens the kiss with renewed enthusiasm. Yeah, okay, this is definitely helping with the hot and squirmy feeling. Now we’re getting somewhere.
We clearly aren’t going to make out for my entire break. Merch lifts his head, his thumb stroking over my jaw as he smirks at me. I try not to look too dazed and kissable.
Merch’s hand leaves my waist, and the unmistakable sound of a zipper lowering fills the air. My eyes drop down to where he takes his dick out of his jeans.
I feel squirmy again as I remember how he really knows how to use that thing. It’s just as big as I remember. Merch grins at me instead of reaching for a condom, my eyes lifting back to his face.
“It’s not going to suck itself.”
Giggles burst from my lips. I have been propositioned for many blow jobs. A crazy amount from the Wolf Pack. No one has ever used that line on me before. Usually, they don’t even ask. They start pushing my shoulders down, or worse… the top of my head.
“No. It’s not,” I agree, eagerly dropping to my knees on the sandy grass. “Let me help you out with that.”
Merch grins down at me, bracing against the van with one hand, the other brushing the top of my bun.
Dropping my eyes to focus on the task, I take his dick in both hands. I’m pretty small, and so are my hands, so his dick looksenormous. Merch thinks so too, because he chuckles. I think I hear something aboutfucking pixies, but that doesn’t really make sense.
Leaning forward, my mouth opening, I take the tip of his dick in my mouth, sucking lightly. His hovering hand slides into my hair, not gripping, just resting there.
