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He’s stopped touching me now. In fact, he’s stopped paying me attention at all, too busy staring wide-eyed up at Merch. Actually, my eyes dart around the room; a lot of people here are staring wide-eyed at Merch. I don’t know how many have actually seen a biker in person, let alone one at a house party here in Pinedale.
I’d giggle at how out of place he seems, but now he’s here, I’m struggling to remember why I didn’t just tell him where I was.
Weed has never made me horny before. Usually, I chill the fuck out. But weed and Merch as a combo is making my vagina hella cray cray.
Seemingly oblivious to all the staring, Merch easily vaults the couch, dropping beside me and slinging his arm around my shoulders, hauling me up against him. His eyes move across the room, lingering here and there on people drinking, dancing, and smoking weed.
I almost wince at how different this scene is from what I remember of his clubhouse.
“So, this is how rich kids rebel, huh?”
His voice rumbles in my ear, his nose sliding against the side of my face, and he sounds like he’s smirking at me. Judge-y much? Turning to face him, I grin as he doesn’t bother moving his face away, letting out noses touch.
“And here I was thinking I was rebelling by fuckingyou.”
His eyebrows shoot up, his hand landing on my thigh, his thumb stroking the bare flesh exposed by my denim shorts.
“You’re not doing a very good job there,” he grunts. “You were ignoring my booty call.”
“Bootytext,” I correct. I mean, I did decline his call, but he definitely booty-texted first. He shrugs, still keeping his face all up in mine.
“Same thing.”
Well, kind of, yeah. But still, I’m not backing down on this.
“I didn’t ignore it. You’re here, aren’t you?”
Merch studies me, his lips pressing together. I have no idea if it’s because he’s annoyed or trying not to smile. I’d like to think it’s the second option.
“If I came all the way to Pinedale, you better fuck my brains out.”
My eyebrows shoot up. All the way to Pinedale? It’s a half-hour drive. Max. Still, challenge accepted. I stand, and he lets me, still sitting there, smirking at me. Holding out my hand, I waggle my fingers.
Merch takes it, standing as I turn and lead him out of the room. The stairs up to the bedrooms are off the lounge here. Marty calls out half an objection from behind us, but I ignore him, and he doesn’t get off the couch. I guess it wasn’t that much of an objection after all.
There are six bedrooms up here, and the second on the left has the door open. The bed isn’t even rumpled. I guess it’s a bit early in the night for people to start sneaking upstairs to hook up. Merch is here kind of early.
Merch flicks a cursory glance around the room, taking in the plush carpet, the highly polished hardwood dresser, and the green plant in the corner. His eyes land on the neatly made double bed, lingering there.
Taking the hint, I kick the door shut behind me, locking it. Merch turns to me with a smirk, but I sink to my knees on the plush carpet, eagerly reaching for the zipper of his jeans. Merch’s eyebrows drop, and he turns his hooded gaze on me as I stroke his dick, taking its tip in my mouth and swirling it around.
I remember how much he enjoyed this last time. As my head starts to bob, Merch tangles a hand in my hair, followed by the other.
“That’s a good start, kid,” he groans, his mouth dropping open as his eyes flutter closed and his head tips back.
Reaching into his jeans, I cup his balls, massaging them lightly. It’s a move that draws a growl from him. So I guess he likes it.
Merch’s hips start to thrust, but he grunts, his hands leaving my hair, finding my upper arms, and hauling me to my feet. His cock slips out of my mouth, and I giggle at him as he drops me onto the comfortable, well-sprung bed.
He comes down on top of me, our mouths clashing together and our tongues tangling. He makes quick work of my clothes, stripping them off until I’m only wearing my red lace bra. Lifting his head, Merch’s eyes darken to coal-black as they drop to run over my form lazily.
Seizing the opportunity, I wrestle his cut and T-shirt off him, fumbling with his jeans as he kicks off his motorcycle boots. He reaches for his condom, but I snatch it off him, shoving at his chest.
I manage to catch him off guard, and Merch tumbles to the side, landing on his back and smirking up at me.
“You’re taking charge, are you, kid?”
“I’m the one who is supposed to be fucking your brains out,” I remind him. He growls, his pupils dilating.
