Using his tongue, he starts scooping up the cum that's dripping down from my inside of pussy and, once he has licked my folds dry, he starts moving up. I shudder as I feel his tongue going over my crack, fishing out every strand of cum, and then he finally crushes his mouth against my ass. His tongue jabs inside of me with fast strokes, and I start moaning again, barely capable of understanding what’s really happening. Christ, this is amazing!
“Fuck,” he breathes out, finally pulling back from me and laying down on top of the mattress, his eyes closed shut as he tries to catch his breath. I lay next to him, breathing as hard as he is.
“This was… something else,” I whisper, not sure of what to say. He turns to me, a lustful flicker in his eyes, and then just smiles.
“You drive me crazy, Lisa,” he says, and I just smile back at him. Somehow, there’s nothing I can say to him that will make this moment any more perfect. With that silly smile of happiness on my lips, I drift off and let a sweet darkness overtake me.
He might not be a real outlaw, but he sure is a bad boy when it comes to sex.
77
Lisa
I wake slowly, stretching as I do so. God, that felt good! Everything felt good. Diesel’s dick was amazeballs. All I need out of life is a deep dicking. Every day.
Oh yeah, I could get used to that idea.
Hold on...
I breathe in deep.
Wow, he's making breakfast! Or someone's making breakfast.
I slide out of bed, but instead of putting on my clothes, I decide to wear Diesel’s shirt instead. Yeah, it’s cheesy as hell to wear a guy’s button-up shirt down to breakfast, but c’mon—everyone does it for a reason. There’s really no better way to show off your legs, and there’s something about wearing a guy’s shirt that just makes them horny as fuck.
Not that Diesel needed help in that department, but who am I kidding? Like I’d complain if he were to fuck me again this morning. Satisfying myself on his dick? There's no such thing. I’m gonna be 92 and still wanting him to fuck me hard and unprotected.
I stop in my tracks, halfway down the stairs to the kitchen. When I am 92? Why am I thinking about being with Diesel that far into the future? This is just a fling, and nothing more. I want a real man, and Diesel, no matter what he claims, just isn’t it. He’s something fun to play with until a real outlaw comes along.
Reassured, I continue my descent, spotting Diesel in the kitchen with a damn kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder. I don’t know if I should groan or laugh. I slip up behind him and put my arms around him.
“Good morning,” I say, laying my head against his back. “How’d you sleep?”
“Fucking amazing,” he says with a growl, turning around in my arms and pulling me up to his lips for a mind-blowing kiss. “I think you’re my sleep talisman; I sleep better in your arms than I do at home.”
“I think I just wear you out,” I say with a naughty smile, and go back for another one of his mind-blowing kisses. We pull apart, finally, when I can smell something...
Burning?
“Fuck!” Diesel says, pulling the pan off the gas burner and flicking off the flame. We stare down at the pan of burnt scrambled eggs in silence.
“So, is this how they taught you to cook in MC school?” I ask, because really, I can’t help myself. If Diesel wants someone who'll fawn over his every word and action, he’s picked entirely the wrong girl to fuck.
“Yeah, pretty much,” Diesel says with a self-deprecating grin. “Although I don’t remember the president’s eggs looking quite this…dark.”
He scrapes them off into the trashcan and after a nice, long stare into my entirely-too-bare fridge (I like to eat out, what can I say?) we settle on bagels and cream cheese.
“Who's the president of your boys’ club?” I ask, digging into the bagel with relish.
“I used to be president of the Black Fist MC,” he says, ignoring my dig. “I stepped down about a year or so ago so I could focus on the family business.”
“Speaking of, don’t you have to go to work sometime soon?” I ask with a glance at the clock. I should probably be going myself, although I’ll be the first to admit that I use Daughter of the Law Firm to my advantage quite often, and thus if I’m an hour or three late to work, no one says a word.
Lisa Spoiled Rotten Macomber is my name; don’t wear it out.
“I’ll get my shit done, don’t you worry,” he says, dropping a kiss on the crown of my head as he passes by to put his plate in the sink. “I have some things I have to take care of tonight, but I’ll be back in town tomorrow.” He comes back, pulling me off my barstool.
“Wha—”