“Yeah?” I growl, not appreciating the interruption.
“I need the shitter man,” a gruff voice I recognize snaps back, sounding just as urgent as I feel but for a very different reason.
“Alright, alright,” I groan, shutting off the faucet and wrapping a towel around my waist.
I make sure to open the window wide before I open the door.
“Moose. Just try not to back it up like you did last time, huh?” I request, clapping a firm hand on his shoulder before he bundles past me, slamming and bolting the bathroom door.
Bikers.
Some things never change. When they gotta go, they gotta go…
Not that Moose would have noticed, but I’m suddenly aware of the erection straining against my towel.
If this keeps up, I don’t know what I’ll do. Although, it is nice to feel this virile again.
I haven’t felt this hard… since I was a teenager.
The word makes me sink a little inside, and only because I know that Abby is almost two years younger than my daughter Tasha.
Tasha is twenty-one in a month, so that makes Abby?
Nineteen.
The reality of it hits me and deflates me a little both inside and out at the same time.
I walk from the bathroom to my bedroom in a kind of daze, ignoring the mini party happening in my living room.
Unable to fully accept how I feel about things right now.
Maybe this is what they call a mid-life crisis? I thought I had mine when I had my favorite ride rebuilt.
It cost me a mint.
But this is way different.
This doesn’t have a price tag. If only it was that simple.
I take deep even breaths as I dress, picking some fresh jeans and a T-shirt from the closet to cover myself.
Looking more like a regular guy than a half-naked animal in mating season, my denim jeans do an average job at disguising my above-average cock, which seems to have a life all of its own right now.
I put on a pair of boots, and although I know it’s not official, I slip on my old sleeveless vest with my old patch too.
It is my birthday after all, even though it’s a little snug after all these years.
I haven’t gotten fatter like some of the members out there, but I have gotten bigger.
I know I’ve made the right choice when I rejoin the others. I’m met with low grunts of approval and plenty of hard slaps on the back.
Brick gives a silent nod of approving consent, but still manages to look slightly irked that I didn’t ask him first if I could show my old patch.
Hell, even I know the rules. I fucking wrote ‘em. But respect is a two-way street, and I only plan to wear it indoors.
Not like I’m gonna go cross country wearing it or anything.
But I’m less interested in clubs, patches, and MC Presidents than I am in Abby. And I’m quick to make an exit.
I ask after her once I spot Tasha on the back deck, sighing into her phone with cartoon hearts in her eyes.
She only shrugs moodily before opening her eyes wide and giving me a look that speaks louder than any words she’s allowed to use under my roof, I get the message.
Not now dad.
Turning back into the house I ran straight into Abby. I grip her out of sheer instinct, the best feeling so far, and it more than makes up for the momentary loss of her presence.
She lets out a squeak but shivers once she registers it’s me that has a hold of her.
One of my hands has found her hip, and the other is gripping her just below her chest on the left side.
She’s as soft as she is smooth.
Sweet and definitely… Nineteen.
I almost groan at the thought, but my seed has different ideas.
My seed doesn’t give a fuck about social convention. Like my gut instinct, it knows where it needs to be, and that’s balls deep inside Abby.
But how could I even broach the topic with her, let alone get there?
“I was looking for you,” she says eagerly, talking a little too fast.
Not wanting to expose myself any more than I have already, I employ my earlier advice. Take it easy and slow, but at the same time, I don’t want to sound disinterested.
“I didn’t go far, just changed after my shower. I didn’t really expect company today. I just had a hunch Tasha had cooked something up,” I confess. Noticing her face fall some.
“You’d rather be alone on your birthday?” she asks the floor, studying her feet, drawing a near circle in the floorboards.
“I’d rather not have a living room full of bikers,” I answer instantly, giving her an intense look when she looks up that I hope she picks up on.
“And Tasha and her friend…” she adds, mournfully but I shake my head firmly, moving a couple of inches closer to her. Making her breath catch and her body shiver in a way I’m already addicted to seeing.