Since I was old enough to walk, I’ve vowed to deal with issues as they come along. I knew waiting would only let things fester and get worse. Yet, my sister came home, refused to explain a fucking thing to me, and I just let her. I watched the tight ass of her friend disappear upstairs. The sight of her made my cock achingly hard, and what did I do? Did I rush up after her and demand she finish what we started in room four? Nope. I just let her go, while I took a second shower for the night and jizzed on the shower wall.
The sound of soft footsteps reaches my ears only seconds before the brunette bombshell that kept my mind awake for hours last night comes skipping in the kitchen.
“I love coffee,” she murmurs as she pulls a clean cup from the dish drainer and pours some. “Any milk or sugar?”
I snort. Seems both of our days are going to be filled with disappointment.
“Nope,” I grunt in irritation. “People around here don’t know how to replace shit when we run out.”
I’d blame TJ fully, but I’m pretty sure I used the last of the creamer yesterday.
“Easy fix.” She hums quietly behind me, opening the fridge door again as if milk will suddenly appear from when she tugged it open a few seconds ago. “There.”
Staring in horror down at my cup of coffee, I watch the glob she just dumped begin to melt.
“The fuck did you just do?” Does she not realize that not only are we out of creamer and sugar, but I also used the last of the coffee to make the half pot on the counter?
Turning to stare at her, I find her sucking on the end of the spoon that just aided in ruining my entire day. My dick clearly hasn’t gotten the message that we haven’t been caffeinated yet, because it stands to attention in my jeans as her pink tongue licks the metal utensil.
“Ice cream.” She points the tip of the spoon in the direction of my cup, but my eyes never leave her mouth. “Milky and sweet. You had French Silk in the freezer. It’s a perfect combination.”
Glancing back at my cup, I refuse to acknowledge that the coffee is now the exact color I prefer.
“You look much less intimidating this way,” she whispers, running her finger up my bare arm as she walks back to the counter to grab her cup of coffee. “I thought bikers never took off their leather vests.”
“Cuts,” I correct, grabbing her before she can reach out for her drink.
Spinning her around in front of me, I press her back to the breakfast bar and cage her in with my thighs.
“With or without my cut on, never question my ability to snap you in two,” I hiss.
Lips parting, her breath rushes out in quick warm bursts. She squirms, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, and the thought of her rubbing her pussy lips together with the action nearly makes me groan.
“You’re scaring me.”
“You like the aggression.” If I had a mirror, I’d hold it up and show her the pink in her cheek and the hard points of her nipples.
“I’m scared,” she repeats.
“I bet if I pulled your panties to the side, I’d find you slick and ready.”
Her throat works on a swallow and then she whispers, “I’m not wearing panties.”
Who needs fucking coffee with a woman this extraordinary around? I’m wide awake now, ready to offer her the rod she caused in my jeans.
“I guess you can make the rules, but can’t follow them?”
“Correct,” I answer TJ without pulling my eyes from hers. I’ll punch him in the windpipe if he even utters the word whore again where she’s concerned. “Go back upstairs.”
Candi scurries away the second my hands release her, and I don’t bother to hide my need to adjust my cock to a more manageable position in my jeans.
“Why are you up so early?” I ask him as he picks up her coffee and takes a long sip.
He ignores the question, just as I expect him to.
“Is this new creamer?” He stares down into the cup. “This shit’s really good.”
“I don’t trust her,” I confide as he tilts the cup up again and drains it.
“You aren’t supposed to trust whores.”
“She’s friends with Molly. You know our sister is an amazing judge of character,” I remind him.
“Still a whore,” he says with a shrug before setting the cup down on the counter rather than placing it in the dishwasher.
I’d complain about his messiness, but I’m just as guilty with leaving dishes around. Piper has spoiled us. Without a word, in the last week, she has continued to take care of the house. My dad insisted she clean here long before my stepmom died. I think it was a way to torture Donna by parading the other girls in front of her. Piper continued to do so even after Dad began to spend more time in the clubhouse than his actual house.