Chapter 3:

There's something every woman should know about a Harley: when you're straddling the seat, pressed-even slightly-against the gas tank, and there's a gorgeous guy behind you, all of a sudden every bounce, every vibration, every bump in the damn road becomes erotic. For the record, every move of my hips against his legs seems to cause some arousal from behind as well. I can feel his cock hardening. Holy hell, I'm hyper-aware of his manhood pressing into my backside. I'm distracted, to say the least, and he's not wearing a helmet.

As if he knows what I'm thinking, he points up ahead, although I don't see what he's pointing at, and I sure as hell can't hear him over the noise of the bike and the wind. As we approach an intersection, and I use that term very loosely, he motions for me to take a left. I figure what the hell, I don't have a destination in mind anyhow, so I go left.

I follow his directions until we are in front of a small cabin perched on the upper end of Lake Keowee. He dismounts after I cut off the bike, leaving me sitting there, staring at someone's home.

I pull off my helmet, pull the tie from my hair, giving it a solid shake to put some life back into it, and see his hand outstretched, reaching for me.

"Come on. I know it's not fancy but it's home."

"Whose home? Jesus, Chris, we can't just pull up to someone's house and park to hang out at the lake."

"It's my house, Alex. Come on."

I'm speechless. In order to grasp the gravity of this situation, you have to understand a trailer hanging on a waterfront cliff on Lake Keowee could be valued at upwards of a million dollars. This is a cute cabin on relatively flat space sitting lakefront. It's worth a fortune. He takes my hand and escorts me into his home.

He gives me a quick tour of his two-bedroom, one-bath bungalow with amazing views from every room before stopping in the kitchen. I bump into him when he stops, causing him to turn into me. When he does, my nose takes an elbow to the bridge.

"Fuck, Alex, I'm sorry." He bends his knees to stand eye-level with me, moving my hand off my nose. He cups my jaw, rubbing the pad of his thumb down the side of my nose, gently easing the pain away. Looking into his eyes, all I see is pure, unadulterated lust, and I just go for it.

I lean in slowly at first, giving him the chance to push me back in case I misread his stare, but he meets me halfway. Gently tasting my mouth, allowing me to savor his. After a few swipes of our lips, his bottom one just begs to be sucked on. As the kiss deepens, I allow his tongue into my mouth where it dances alongside my own, arousing me even further, coating my pussy in natural lubricant. With each thrust of his tongue, I picture his dick pounding into me. It's possible I could have an orgasm just from his continuous exploration of my hot mouth.

His hands move to my ass, pulling it up, grinding me against his hard cock. My clit rubs against my tight jeans, awakening every remaining nerve in my pussy. He backs me against a wall, lifting my leg around his waist, repeatedly rotating his hips to keep me interested.

I fumble to find the hem of his shirt, desperate to drag it over his head. I stop to admire the stunning beauty that's beneath when I finally free him from the cotton. His chest heaves from lack of sufficient oxygen and excitement. His skin is a warm, golden brown, his pecs perfectly toned with tight brown nipples, and eight rippling abs roll down his stomach. There's a light dusting of blond hair trailing from his navel past his low hung jeans. When I see the V of his waist, I want to pull away and lick each inch of the lines that disappear into the denim.

My inspection of his nearly-perfect form must have lasted longer than it seemed, because he laughed-a hearty laugh, a masculine laugh. "Like what you see, sweetheart?"

I'm unable to form a coherent sentence so I simply give him a little nod of affirmation. My leg falls from his waist and I use both hands to push him back, just a little, to get the full view. He allows me to look while his hands continue to explore my back. When he reaches my bra, he releases it in one swift pinch of the clasp. Suddenly self-conscious, I cross an arm over my breasts, helping to ease the weight of my chest.

Shaking his head, he gently takes my hand and puts it by my side, maintaining eye contact, watching to see if I change my mind. He lifts my shirt over my head, then slides the straps of my bra down my arms, his hands taking them all the way to my fingertips before he allows it to fall to the ground.

I flinch when his hands hit my waist. He stops and looks for confirmation it's okay to continue, which I shyly give. He peruses my sides making his way to my tits, palming both of them in a hand. They're a heavy, full D, unnaturally perky, and aching for him to lavish attention on them.

As if he can read my mind, he bends his head, taking my nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the peak, nipping with his teeth. He pays equal attention to the other side while pinching the one being neglected by his mouth. He twirls my nipples between his fingers, causing me to toss my head back in ecstasy. I barely know this man and I'd sell my soul to the devil to have his hands on me daily. Each touch burns my skin in a way that awakens my senses, leaving me craving, desperate for more.

He kisses his way down the cleft in my stomach, straight down the middle, stopping just briefly to acknowledge my belly button before continuing to the top of my jeans. On his knees, he slips off my boots, eye level with my button fly.

Glancing up at me, he seeks my approval as I watch him. With a quick motion of his hands, he has them undone and I'm shimmying them over my ass and down my hips. I steady myself with my hands on his shoulders, slowly stepping out of each leg of the denim puddled at my feet. He rocks back on his heels, taking in the scenery.

He sucks in a deep breath between his teeth, creating a noise that's not quite a whistle, but for some reason, is erotic as hell. I grin down at him, and he returns my smile, then pushes my legs apart. With an open mouth kiss to the ankle, he proceeds to work his way up to the inside of my knee, my inner thigh, straight to my core.

With just the tip of his tongue, he traces the crease, gently opening me up like a flower as my lips begin to swell from his touch. He makes a circle around my clit, sliding his tongue back down the way he came but widening his approach. My nails dig into his shoulders.

I need more.

He's taking his time, and I need pure, unadulterated fucking. He continues his discovery of my pussy, sucking on the nub that brings so much delight as he pulls it into his hot, wet mouth. I gasp and fall back into the wall.

"Chris..." I can barely make out his name between the panting.

He doesn't respond, just continues his pilgrimage. Licking me up and down like an ice cream cone. I try to reach him again, in an attempt to communicate I need more.

"Chris." My voice is nothing more than a whisper that only seems to echo in my head. I'm just barely audible over the licking, sucking, and sounds of moisture meeting moisture.

Ignoring my continued pleas, one of his huge paws finds my ass at the same time the other joins in with his tongue. Still titillating my clit, two fingers separate my folds. As he penetrates me with one hand, he clinches my ass with the other while sucking my clit between his teeth.

"Fuck," I cry out.

He doesn't ease up; he knows what he's doing. I feel his cheeks on my thighs when he grins but he keeps going, but at his pace. With my palms flat against the wall to keep myself from falling, I lean my wet pussy into his face, into his plunging fingers, eager for more. The friction coupled with the attention directly to my clit, I'm nearing explosion, but it's not the inferno I want. I need his cock. In me. Now.

I muster all remaining brain cells and what little bit of determination that remains, and place the heel of my palm against his forehead. I give him a slight nudge. My chest heaves, my breasts firm from need.

"Not like this." I motion with my eyes down toward my crotch where his face is just inches from my desperation, his mouth glistening with my juices. He licks his lips, capturing all of it just as quickly as I noticed it.

"This is just the start, Alex. I'm nowhere near done with you. Let me take care of you my way."

I have this weird apprehension about coming while being eaten out. Don't get me wrong, it feels good, but the orgasm is different than that of penetration. It doesn't last as long, it's never as intense, and quite honestly, it's usually a guy's way of taking care of girl when he isn't going to last long through traditional methods. I'm reluctant to give in, but I remove my hand from his forehead and close my eyes.

He resumes the position and within minutes, has me writhing on the floor as my legs give out, the explosion from within effectively knocking the wind right out of my sails. I literally slide down the wall as he pulls his face from my wet center but continues to pump his thick fingers in my pulsing pussy as I ride out the orgasm.

When I finally stop clenching his fingers like a vise grip on steroids, he removes them with the tenderness of a long-term lover, not a one-time fuck. I find it sexy as hell when he puts them both in his mouth, clearly enjoying my taste.

Without a word, he picks my naked body up off the floor. I throw my almost lifeless arms over his shoulders, burying my face in his neck, taking in his glorious scent. He strolls effortlessly down the hall toward his bedroom.

The bed had been left unmade since he last slept in it, which is fine with me; it's comfortable and there's no awkward decision about whether to pull the covers back or just fuck on the comforter. My muscles are complete mush, the orgasm having been much more intense than I expected, but I'm going to have to muster up the energy to give Chris a little pleasure. I won't be that girl who gets hers, then pulls up her britches and saunters out the door.

Scooting over to the other side of the bed, allowing him room to climb in, I snuggle under the blankets while I watch him take off his jeans. He moves gracefully for a man, and he's a pretty big guy at that. He's over six feet tall, maybe six foot one, and built like a wall, yet the way he moves reminds me of a dancer, rather effortless.

He doesn't say anything as he sits naked on the bed, or as he tucks his legs under the down comforter, nor when he lies his head on the pillow. It's not until he pulls me to his side, wrapping an arm around my back and waist, he says, "Sleep, Alex. You'll need rest for round two." Then kisses the top of my head as I close my eyes. I almost make a smartass comment but fall asleep before it makes its way from my brain to my mouth.