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F*CKERS (Biker MC Romance Book 7) by Scott Hildreth (65)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Pee Bee

She laughed until I thought she was going to pee her pants. After catching her breath, she looked up. “Really?”

I flipped her my middle finger. “It’s a fucking word.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You went to college, right?”

“Fuck off, kid,”

“P-I-G,” she said. “Six points.”

“A word’s a word. And six points is six points.”

“We’re playing for stakes. And, they’re high. Don’t you want to win?”

I didn’t. I really didn’t. “I’m trying babe. I really am.”

But, I wasn’t.

“Okay,” she said.

She studied the tiles on her rack, twisted her mouth to the side, and then burst out laughing.

Using an existing U, she spelled a word using all her letters. After she placed the tiles down on the board, I looked at her in disbelief. “What the fuck is that?”

“That, my dear, is a word worth enough to seal my win. And, it’s nothing short of a miracle that I had those letters. Truth be told, it sends chills down my spine to spell it.”

I stared at it. M-U-Z-J-I-K. It made no sense. “You’re making shit up, now. You’ve been challenged.”

“A muzjik,” she said “Is a Russian peasant.”

“And if it isn’t in the dictionary, you’re going to be an American peasant.”

I grabbed the dictionary, flipped through the pages, and found the word. She was right, a muzjik was a Russian peasant. Aggravated, I considered throwing the dictionary down – just to be a shit – but remembered it was fifty years old.

I placed it in the box carefully, then stood. I took a bow. “Turn relinquished, my dear.”

“Thank you, honorable sir.”

In ten minutes, the game was over. After tallying up the points, she declared the score. “502-312

“Ouch,” I said. “That bad?”

She bit her bottom lip, nodded, and then shrugged. “Sucks, huh?”

“Kind of.”

“So, what’s it gonna be?” I asked.

“Haven’t decided yet,” she said. “Let me think on it for a few minutes.”

“Okay.”

There was nothing she would assign me that I’d argue with, that was for sure. We’d been playing three nights a week for the last four weeks, and my father was right. Playing Scrabble built an incredibly solid foundation for a relationship.

If he knew we were playing for stakes, he’d probably laugh.

In the end, I was sure he’d be pleased with my idea to do it, though. The punishment for the loser was bringing us even closer yet.

“I decided,” she said.

“I can’t wait. What?”

“The upside-down thing from the first night. That’s an awesome trick.”

Licking her pussy wasn’t punishment, it was heaven. I lowered my head in false shame. “You sure?”

She nodded eagerly. “Yep.”

I stood, pulled off my shirt, and tossed it aside.

She wagged her finger toward my jeans. “Pants, too.”

I shrugged. “I’ll leave them on.”

“Afraid not, loser. Get ‘em off.”

I let out a faux sigh, and then unbuckled my belt. By the time my jeans hit the floor, she was standing in front of me, naked as the day she was born.

“Bend over the chair, so I can pick you up.”

She turned toward the chair, bent at the waist, and lowered her upper body over the breakfast table.

I stood for a moment and admired her. There was no doubt she was a beautiful woman, but it wasn’t confined to her looks alone. Who she was far exceeded what she looked like.

I stood behind her, pressed my chest against her back, and tilted her head to the side.

“I’m going to tongue fuck you until you pass out,” I whispered into her ear.

“Do it,” she breathed. “Loser.”

I pressed my mouth against hers, and kissed her. It seemed I only kissed her two ways. It was either a peck on the lips, or it was my best attempt to replicate the kiss we had in the burger joint.

And this kiss was the latter of the two.

After a few long, hard minutes of kissing, I pulled my mouth from hers.

“Holy crap,” she said.

“Holy crap is right,” I whispered into her ear.

I grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her into the air in front of me, upside-down.

She straddled my shoulders with her thighs, backed her ass against my face, and pressed her pussy against my willing mouth.

I gripped her upper thighs with my hands, spread her pussy wide with my thumbs, and shoved my tongue inside of her as deep as I could.

After a few minutes of precision pussy-licking, I pulled my mouth away and began to concentrate on her clit.

A few seconds into sucking her swollen nub, she began to moan.

“Babe, you’re killing me,” she whined.

I flicked my tongue against her clit while I massaged her pussy with both thumbs.

Rhythmically, predictably, and with the precision of a surgeon, I concentrated on circling her clit with my tongue, and then sucking it. Circling it, and then sucking it.

As she often did, she sucked my cock on and off. It seemed at times, especially when I was concentrating on her clit, that she forgot I even had one.

Don’t get me wrong, she paid plenty of attention to my cock, just not when I was sucking her pussy. It seemed when my tongue was inside of her, she simply lost focus.

Still hoisted in the air with her pussy pressed to my face, I nibbled her clit lightly while I fingered her.

Her mouth found my cock.

I closed my eyes, found my happy place, and began to circle her clit with my tongue.

She lifted her head.

“Cum in my mouth,” she said. “Before you kill me.”

She’d had multiple small orgasms, but nothing noteworthy.

I felt her mouth encompass me entirely. With her hand on my balls and my cock down her throat, she forced the tip against the back of her throat repeatedly.

In response, I fingered her and tortured her clit.

Her scent filled my nostrils, and drove me into a pussy licking frenzy.

Within seconds, her body began to quake.

I felt my balls tighten. An aching ran through me, warning me of my limited time. If she didn’t stop sucking, I was going to come down her throat. As much as I knew that was what she wanted, I wanted hers down my throat more.

I focused on her clit, fingered her with passion, and carefully sucked her clit with precision.

As she began to release herself into my willing mouth, I had every expectation of her lifting her head, but it never happened.

Instead, she buried my cock deeper in her throat.

I returned the favor, pressing my tongue into her.

As I released my orgasm into her warm mouth, she did the same for me.

Together we moaned, groaned, and reached climax like two people who were madly in love with each other.

And that was exactly what we were. Two people, madly in love.

In a relationship with a foundation formed from the results of a taped together game inside fifty-year-old cardboard box.

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