It was about seven in the morning. Jase and his friends were crashed on the couch and the love seat and the recliner—and granny’s hand upholstered chair—drooling, snoring and farting all over what had been the pride and joy of her first nest, now burned with cigarette holes and stained with beer.
Cheryl was leading her by the hand, spilling out of her bikini top and long legged, vicious and hot in her tight cutoff jean shorts, her purse slung over her shoulder—a leather gun case really. She didn’t even have her purse with her, what—“Cheryl, my purse, my phone?”
Cheryl stopped and held up Kelly’s card case with her debit and I.D. and such in it, winked and said, “Remember, Cheryl thinks of everything, Sweetie.”
“What about my phone?”
“We’ll use mine—live free until I get you back here on Monday. You deserve it, Beautiful.”
No one has ever called me beautiful—that is no one that has ever touched me. Only Aunt Sue said I was beautiful. Am I beautiful?
They were outside on the walk. Cheryl kissed her on the lips and whispered huskily, “Yes, you are beautiful. Get on—you’re riding with the Pagans this weekend.”
“Who are the Pagans?” she said sleepily as she climbed on the back of the bike and rested her naked mid-drift against the chrome bar to her back.
“Cheryl snarled at her over her shoulder, “Real men, who know what a woman needs—not that limp shit you just walked out on. I’ll have Savage come back and clean those rat turds out and you’ll never see them again. Would you like that, Baby?”
“Yes, I would. Take Me.”
Cheryl smiled with her lips, but her deep, sexy eyes looked through her like a cat at the zoo looking through the bars of its cage. Then she kicked a thing like a kickstand with her booted foot, and the machine exploded under them, rumbling to life.
“Wow, this is wonderful!” she screamed at the girl in front of her, as the taller woman strapped on a helmet, then reached down on the other side of the bike and handed another back to her, regarding Kelly through a dark glassy panel, her sexy mouth commanding, “Put it on and remember, your just a passenger, just my pretty piece-of-ass, got it?”
The statement bent into a questioning demand thrilled and frightened her all at once as she buckled on the helmet, balling her hair up inside of it so it would fit snug and her hair wouldn’t be tangled by the wind, which Cheryl had coached her on in bed. She nodded obediently, which had thus far brought nothing but pleasure at Cheryl’s hands, feeling all of a sudden relieved of some wicked burden and breathless as they pulled off, much louder than faster, but with a free and easy feeling.
I wonder if anyone has ever felt this free, this relieved, riding on the back of one of these things?
