Pump Two

by J. Cherry

For those who like smut and masked men.

Is this really the hill this guy wants to die on?

“Call her a name other than the one on her name tag, and I will shove one of those gasoline pumps so far down your throat, you will bleed from the inside out,” Biker Guy snarls.

The bar for men is clearly in hell because all it takes is a deep voice and basic human decency for me to form a crush.

Are we arguing or flirting? Whatever it is, I like it.

I can’t tell if he’s brooding, flirty, or just completely unhinged.

“Oh, and thanks for keeping the change,” he says. With that, he flicks up the visor on his helmet. Impenetrable green eyes look back at me.

I immediately take out my sketchbook and start drawing his eyes out of fear that I’ll forget them.

It’s only when I clock out a few hours later that I’m convinced I can hear the low hum of a motorbike for my entire journey home.

I feel like my crush on her is becoming a bit obsessive.

She blushes a little and it only accentuates her already glowing face.

Violet’s eyes widen so much that if she’s not careful, they might roll out of her head.

“You underestimate me. Hiding my face is foreplay, but we can skip that if you’d rather?”

I just sit back down and watch her draw. It’s therapeutic as fuck.

Giggles bubble up from Violet’s throat, the sound causing a jolt of heat to rush through me.

“You’re stalking me,” she accuses, her lips curving upwards. She’s completely unconcerned.

This is probably the most vanilla strip tease known to man, but I’m reacting like I’m in heat.

I divert my gaze before my mind summons thoughts that would send me straight to the pits of hell.

I lean into his neck and smell him. “Did you just smell me?” He lets out a low, husky chuckle.

With one of his large hands, he gathers my much smaller ones behind my back. The other grips the nape of my neck and caresses upward, unclipping my hair and fisting it tightly.

“My bad,” he mutters, adjusting himself in his pants. He’s so not sorry.

“I don’t want to take anyone else, Violet. You’re the only person I want on the back of my bike.”

He then reaches his arm back to pat the edge of my thigh and squeeze it before taking off.

I don’t know what’s vibrating more violently, me or the bike.

He uses a finger to hook through the belt loop on my pants and pulls me toward him.

“Don’t hide your neck. You enjoy showing your artwork and I enjoy showing mine,” he murmurs against my throbbing skin.

“Don’t mention getting on another man’s bike in front of me, Violet. You ride with me, you stay here with me and you leave with me.”

my complete lack of knowledge puts me on edge.

“Got yourself a little supporter, hm?” Isaac smirks at Devon and then directs his gaze to my neck, moving toward me. “Take one more step forward and I’ll break your foot. I’ve done it before,” Devon cautions.

I like the feel of his hand secured around my throat. It’s not violent or scary…it’s erotic and possessive. A firm hold that mimics the one he has on my volition.

“Speak to me.”

Devon lightly swats my still-sensitive clit.

“I can’t,” I whimper. “You will.”

“If this is how wet you get for a stranger, you must be drowning the men you know,”

“Would you fuck a stranger’s face like this, Violet?”

I want Devon to ruin me in the best way possible.

“Lick it off,” he rumbles, his voice almost inaudible. Devon points to the bike seat which shows my wet release glistening on the dark leather.

“Good girl,” he praises. I guess I am a good girl. A good girl that went to an illegal bike race, engaged in a police chase, and enjoyed it when a stranger wrapped his hand around her throat. A good girl that also came all over his bike and licked up her own bodily fluid off the seat. I’m such a good girl.

She haunts me when I’m not around her. And when I’m with her, she possesses me in every sense of the word.

I am done for.

There it is, her little angry streak.

I wish I found Violet’s attitude off-putting, but it’s honestly really fucking hot when she talks back to me.

“Yeah, but the clerk at this one lets me eat her pussy on the back of a bike.”

“Let’s just move past what happened, okay?” she says, pressing a hand to her throat. Move past what happened? I think not. “You’re seriously asking me to move past that? The hottest thing I’ve ever done with a woman, and you want me to just move past it? You expect me to pretend that I’m not a changed man after that?”

I don’t bake, but her liking the dessert has me wanting to order every piece of baking equipment I can find just to learn.

Violet doesn’t just call out instructions—she works me like a dog.

That’s when I come to a sudden realization: I dislike absolutely nothing about Violet.

“I want to taste you again, you’re so fucking sweet,” I groan, sucking her harder. “Then taste me, Devon.”

“You’re driving me insane, Violet.”

I think I’ve been subconsciously conditioned to get turned on by both darkness and Devon, that being the stimulus and my arousal the response.