I woke to find I was lying on my stomach, too warm and feeling like I’d had the workout of my life. Last night had definitely been that. Somewhere around round four, I’d already been sore. I’d lost count of where we were not long later, yet Daz had kept at me after that.
The man’s stamina was otherworldly.
“Again?” I didn’t bother keeping the surprise out of my voice.
I wasn’t convinced I could keep getting off, and he’d already come three times. What kind of man could manage that?
“I’ve got months of wanting you stored up. I might have found some form of relief along the way, but that itch never really got scratched. I’m not stopping until you make me, or I get my fill,” he informed me, his cock already hardening again as he rubbed lazily against the lips of my pussy, drumming up a stir of desire I thought would be impossible at this point.
His lips took mine, the lingering taste of my own need still there from the spectacular way he’d eaten me at the club. It wasn’t long before the ministrations of his tongue turned that stir into a raging need.
Daz reached over to the pile of condoms he’d left on the nightstand after pulling them from the drawer, and I took the opportunity to turn onto my stomach, lifting my hips in the air for him. He cock nestled between the cheeks of my ass.
“Mmm. This how you want it this time?” he asked, rolling his hips to pleasure himself against me.
“Yes.”
“You’ve got it, sugar.”
I turned over, aching everywhere, and saw Daz on his back beside me, out cold. There was an alarm clock on the nightstand beyond him, which surprised me. So few people had them anymore, and Daz didn’t strike me as the type to set alarms for the morning.
It was just after ten. I wasn’t entirely sure what time we’d both collapsed—sometime in the early hours this morning—but it was probably too early to wake him. Hell, I wasn’t sure why I was awake. But I was, wide awake, so I climbed out of bed and found the sweats I’d worn to work last night on the floor. Slipping them on, I went to search out a bathroom.
I was a sight. The big hair from being onstage had only grown from having Daz’s hands in it. He hadn’t left it alone, no matter what position we were in. Luckily, there was a hair tie on the bathroom sink. I felt shitty for stealing it, but I had to do something to get this mess under control.
When I was finished, I stepped back into the hall and paused. I wasn't sure crawling back into bed with Daz was the best idea. However we moved forward last night—whether pretending this never happened, or ending up right back here again—I definitely wasn’t into anything that involved cuddling. It might have been best if I took off, but I didn’t want to look like I was running. We’d hooked up, and it was really, really good. I wasn’t going to be ashamed of that or let it make things awkward at work.
Casual fucking was all Daz was interested in, I knew that. He needed to know that was fine by me.
As I stood there, I heard music on low downstairs and my curiosity got the better of me.
There was an older man at the stove in the kitchen, rasping along to Johnny Cash as he flipped what must have been the bacon I’d caught a whiff of on the way down. I wasn’t sure what to say, but I really just wanted to ask for a piece.
“Sit your ass down, pretty girl. Got plenty here for both of us and that jackass. Once the smell gets upstairs, he’ll drag his ass out of bed.”
I did as I was told, crossing the kitchen to sit at the table. I wasn’t entirely sure, but I was thinking this man might have been Daz’s dad, which was bound to be pretty awkward. I was worried it also meant Daz lived at home still. I knew he had some issues, but I didn’t think being afraid to cut the apron strings was one of them.
Whoever this guy was, he had on a Disciples’ cut, so he was at least by some extension kind of my boss.
It was starting to become apparent—again—why I shouldn’t have slept with Daz.
For a few minutes, I sat silently while Mr. Whoever He Was finished making breakfast, then grossly overloaded two plates, setting one down in front of me before sitting across the table with his own.
There was a literal mound of scrambled eggs, toast, home fries, and bacon. I wasn’t sure of the social rules at play when an old, burly biker ordered you to sit and eat breakfast with him after you had a one night stand with one of his biker buddies, so I just went with it, and asked, “Do you have hot sauce?”
He looked up from where he was piling a bunch of the food onto one of his pieces of toast. I wasn’t sure if I’d just committed some sin I’d come to regret, but he said nothing as he got up and lumbered to the fridge. When he returned a minute later, he dropped a bottle of Cholula onto the table, and muttered, “Good call, girlie.”
Brusque, but it was an approval. I’d take it. He was also polite, in his own way. He didn’t reach for the hot sauce until after I’d used it. I’d call that chivalrous. My guess was women didn’t open their own doors around this guy either.
I was thinking I might like him.
“I’m Avery,” I broke the silence between us.
“Know who you are, Cherry Pie,” he answered, punctuating the truth of his statement with that name. “Don’t get all up in the business as much as the other brothers—I’m old and shit, so that’s my due. Still know important names, though. Oh, and I was at the shit head’s party last night.”
That was a little awkward. Actually, anyone seeing the dance I did for Daz last night was a little awkward. It hadn’t been just any performance. It felt private, intimate, even if it was anything but.
“Name’s Doc,” he tacked on while I silently agonized.
I gave him a smile and focused back on my eggs.
“Don’t you go gettin’ weird on me because I know that about you. Spent half my life in med school and rising through the ranks at a hospital just to take off one day to live the life I got now. Even if you weren’t fuckin’ great at what you do, I wouldn’t be judging. Life takes us where it takes us. Ain’t no one can pass judgement on someone else when they haven’t lived their life.”
It was official, I liked this guy.
“I like you, Doc.”
“Pretty girl likin’ me, seems a damn fine way to start the day.”
I smiled bigger at that before asking, “Is Daz your son?”
He guffawed—really, that laugh was like nothing I’d ever heard. “God, I’d feel a pretty deep sense of guilt for unleashing that boy on the world.”
I couldn’t help it, I laughed too.
“Nah, the boy’s not my kid. Lived next door to his folks when he was growing up. Couple of grade-A assholes, those two.”
“His parents?”
Doc nodded. “Not abusive. Nothing I could lay his father out or drag the cops in for. Just assholes. Got blessed with two healthy boys, and they couldn’t find it in them to give a shit about either of them. The kid saw me working on my bike when he was barely taller than the wheels and made no bones about his interest. I did my best to give him a little of what he wasn’t getting from those fucks. Got close with Joel, his brother, too. Big brother wanted to take off with his girl who’d had it even rougher than the two of them as soon as he hit eighteen, but didn’t want to take his brother into somethin’ uncertain. I took Daz in for the last bit so he’d get his diploma. Then he joined the club with me.”
“That was really great of you to do. Most people wouldn’t have bothered,” I told him.
“Can see you’re speakin’ from experience on that one,” he replied, but offered me an expression that managed to assure he wasn’t going to force me to talk about anything I didn’t want to. “Way I see it, standin’ by when shit like that is pulled is just as bad as being the asshole who does it. I got questionable morals by some standards, but those boys were just kids. They didn’t get to pick what dicks made them.”
“Sounds like you’re a good guy, Doc, questionable morals or not.”
We were both quiet for a minute until a rough voice asked, “I smell bacon?”
Looking over my shoulder, I caught sight of Daz coming into the kitchen. He hadn’t put a shirt on, and had only zipped the jeans he’d pulled on, not bothering with the button. His hair was a mess—probably at least in part my doing—and he was rubbing a hand through it. He looked good—good enough I was forgetting that feeling telling me I’d made a mistake.
“Fix yourself a plate,” Doc told him. “Or you can get lost. Your girl here’s a good date.”
“Harsh. Just wait 'til you're drooling in your Jell-O and we all gotta put your ass in a home. We’ll see who’s laughing then,” Daz muttered as he went right for the food and filled up a plate.
“I’d like to see you try. We both know I could gut you six different ways before you even knew what happened.”
It was a joke. I knew it was a joke. Still, there was a sinister undertone there that told me Doc was capable of precisely that. Even though I felt not the slightest bit unsafe with him, it still caused a chill to shoot down my spine.
Daz, still looking no more awake and ready to face the world, plopped down in a chair and started in on his food. We all ate that way, sitting around the table like it wasn’t at all weird that they'd both seen me strip before Daz took me away early so we could have crazy sex all night.
Then, the jackass opened his mouth.
“I wasn’t sure if you'd be gone before I woke up.”
Yes, that was what he said. It was off-handed, not a suggestion that I should have been. Still, it was not a conversation we needed to be having in front of anyone.
Or at all.
“How the fuck you haven’t had that dick of yours chopped off by a woman, I’ll never fuckin’ understand,” Doc grunted into his breakfast.
“Women love my dick.”
“It’s all right,” I decided to put in.
Doc’s booming laugh shot through the room again before he reached over to Daz’s plate, snatched a piece of bacon right off the side, and placed it on mine. Ignoring the two pieces already sitting there, I grabbed my prize and bit into it with a smile on my face.
Daz glared at Doc before looking to me with eyes way too hot for sitting down to any meal. “We both know that’s bullshit, sugar.”
“Are you going to keep calling me sugar? Isn’t Cherry Pie enough?” I asked, trying to divert from that train of thought. It really, maybe, possibly, was bullshit.
“I didn’t come up with Cherry Pie, sugar,” Daz replied. “I just stuck with the theme.”
“Maybe they just call me Cherry Pie because of my hair.” They didn’t—not exclusively anyway.
“Maybe they do. But they don’t know how sweet you are,” he nearly purred. His “sweet” had not one thing to do with my personality.
Rolling my eyes, because that was cheesy at best, I told him, “Your lines need some work.”
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
Doc snorted.
“Traitor,” I grouched.
“Sorry, pretty girl,” he said with a smile behind that gray beard that was anything but apologetic. “He’s got ya there.”
In reality, Daz had used not one line to get me there. Well, he’d actually used a bunch, but none of them worked. Nearly everything he’d ever said to me was the exact reason it had taken him so long to get us to the night before. It was what he had going for him when he shut his mouth—okay, maybe his mouth was open often enough, but he’d stopped speaking—that did the trick. That was probably bad, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t after some guy who would make my life complicated. I’d been down that road and learned the lesson. Men, in general, weren’t worth the headache. Some might break the mold, but they weren’t common. They also tended to be the types who weren’t partial to their women getting nearly naked in front of other men. So, whatever. If Daz could scratch the itch now and then, that was fine by me.
If that happened to come with the opportunity for more breakfasts with Doc, then that was all the better.