Chapter 6
Twister lived in a ranch style home on the far east side of town, about five minutes beyond the compound.
The house was situated on a decent amount of land in a small, well-kept neighborhood.
I pulled into his driveway as he rode into his garage, parking beside his truck.
Other than his vehicles, some lawn equipment, and a work bench I assumed was stocked full of tools, his garage was otherwise nondescript.
I hopped out of my Bronco, pocketing my keys as I closed the distance between us. He waited for me at the door, closing the garage as I crossed the threshold, and led me inside.
The mudroom we passed through doubled as his laundry room.
Other than a basket full of clothes on top of one of the machines, it looked hardly used.
While he didn’t offer me a tour on our way to the bedroom, I saw his kitchen and living area were one, big open space.
Just like the garage, there was nothing remarkable about it.
Nothing hung on the walls, other than a television.
His windows didn’t even appear to have blinds—though, his nearest neighbor would have to be a bit of a creep to see inside.
We walked down a hallway, passing a bedroom, then a bathroom, and there were two more doors which I assumed were both bedrooms near the end. When Twister walked through the door to the right, I did, too.
He flipped on the light switch, revealing a room with a king-sized bed, a single nightstand, a dresser, and little else.
The walls were painted the same egg-shell white I saw in every other room.
While I assumed his window didn’t have any blinds, he at least made an attempt to cover it by tacking up a black sheet.
If it hadn’t been for the few pieces of clothing discarded on the floor, I would question whether or not anyone actually lived here.
“This time, I get you naked,” he said, earning my attention.
I looked over at him as he shrugged his way out of his kutte.
“Excuse me?”
“By my count, you’ve come around my dick four times. I think I’ve earned the right to see you with your clothes off.”
No sooner had he said the words than he was reaching for the hem of his tee-shirt. I watched as he peeled the cotton up over his torso and then his head. My sex pulsed at the sight.
His shirt hit the floor, his fingers went for the top button of his jeans, and then he froze. I lifted my eyes to meet his, and he quirked an eyebrow at me expectantly.
“Dick’s not comin’ out until those tits do.”
I hesitated long enough to be sure he meant what he said, then I reached for the knot at my waist and began unfastening my shirt.
His brown eyes stayed locked on my green ones as I rid myself of the garment.
My bra unclasped from the front, and I opened it without looking.
The straps fell off my shoulders, I freed one arm, then caught the opposite strap between two fingers and held it up before making a show of dropping it at my feet.
Twister smiled, heat began to burn in my belly, and we both unbuttoned our bottoms at the same time.
It took me a minute to get out of my boots. By the time I was naked, Twister was already stretched out on the bed—a condom lying beside him, and his dick in his hand. I watched him stroke himself twice, then decided I’d had quite enough of that.
I crawled between his legs before pulling at his wrist, silently demanding for him to stop.
“Let me,” I insisted before descending with my mouth.
“Fuck,” he grunted as I licked his tip. “Turn around, sparky. Two can play this game.”
I peeked up at him, and he crooked his finger, reiterating what he wanted.
The thought of his bearded mouth between my legs was too damn tempting to refuse. It had been ages since I let a man go down on me—and he didn’t have a beard. Reckless as it was to give me yet another reason to want the man whose dick I just tasted, I was already naked.
What was one more stupid mistake?
I repositioned myself, planting my knees on either side of his head. As I took hold of his length and began to swallow him, he pressed a hand against the small of my back, forcing me to spread my legs wider, lowering me where he wanted.
At the first swipe of his tongue, I knew I was never going to forget this night.
I moaned around his dick, pumping my hand along with my mouth as he consumed me with fervor. When he slid two fingers inside of me, it took every ounce of will power I had not to rock my hips. I was already being reckless—there was no need to get greedy.
“Fuckin’ drenched,” he muttered.
The next thing I knew, he clapped a hand against my ass before filling his palm with my cheek. If he didn’t stop, I was going to come—but I came one way and one way only.
I lifted my head with a gasp, peered over my shoulder and panted, “Stop. I wanna ride.”
Rather than use his words, he helped me throw my leg over his head before he reached for the condom. By the time I was turned around, he was rolling the rubber over his shaft. I was so turned on, so desperate to have him inside of me, when he reached for my waist, I didn’t stop him.
I positioned him at my entrance, and slammed down on his engorged length, mewling pathetically at the sheer perfection that was him, stretching me open and filling me full. I closed my eyes and threw my head back, overwhelmed by a plethora of sensations.
The feel of my hair as it swayed against my bare back.
The sound of my wet core soaking his hard cock.
The taste of his skin still lingering on my tongue.
I was lost in the whirlwind that was Twister.
Until I wasn’t.
The fire he was stoking inside of me was snuffed out in an instant.
One second, I was on top, on the verge of coming undone.
In the next, I was on my back, and Twister was all I could see.
I watched as his lips moved, but I couldn’t hear a word of what he said.
He thrust his dick inside of me, and then his face was lowering to meet mine.
I turned away, pressing my hands against his chest, suddenly short of breath.
“Get off,” I managed to spit out.
He froze, but he didn’t release me, and I began to panic.
“Phoenix, what’s wrong?”
I sealed my eyes closed tight, shoved him as hard as I could, and screamed, “Get the fuck off me!”
The next thing I knew, he was on his feet, his hands raised in surrender as he looked at me in confusion. “What the fuck?”
I didn’t bother with a reply. I scrambled out of the bed, racing toward my clothes.
“Phoenix,” he called.
I ignored him, jumping into my shorts. My hands were shaking, and I hardly got the zipper closed before I gave up and reached for my shirt.
“Phoenix! What the hell?”
I barely got my arms into my shirt before I swore I heard him coming toward me. Rather than worry about the buttons, I reached for my boots, grabbed my bra, and raced from the room.
“Phoenix!”
I managed to find his front door with little trouble.
As soon as I was on his porch, I held my shirt closed and ran barefoot to my car.
Tossing my boots and my bra into the passenger seat, I dug my keys out of my pocket and started the Bronco’s engine immediately.
I didn’t even bother with a seatbelt before I reversed out of his driveway, coming to a halt with a screech before I shifted into drive.
My naked foot pressed against the gas pedal, I sped down the street like a bat out of my own personal hell.
He managed to yank on his jeans and stow away his dick before he heard his front door slam shut—but he was only halfway down the hall when he heard the screech of her tires, and he knew he was too late.
He turned into the empty door frame of his guest bathroom and stared unseeingly into the darkness as he played back the last five minutes. The sound of her screaming at him was still reverberating in his ears—and the look on her face was one he wouldn’t soon forget.
She was terrified.
The redhead who strutted around with a knife on her hip was terrified .
But moments ago, she was unarmed.
He had her completely naked—right up until the point where she went racing for the door, like a frightened little animal.
It didn’t take a genius to guess what set her off.
He thought back to that night in the A-frame.
He remembered their wild ride in the back of her Bronco.
Both times, she’d been in control.
Both times, she’d been on top.
“Fuck,” he spat, angry she’d felt threatened underneath him.
‘…too bad for you, I only fuck men who are down for a ride. And you don’t strike me as the docile type, Stallion.’
“Fuck!” he yelled, slamming the side of his fist against the bathroom’s door frame.
He thought her knife was on account of the fact that she was five-foot nothing, working at a biker bar, where things got rowdy on the regular.
Now he knew, that wasn’t the half of it.