"That's good. Real good." His breathing hitched, and his ass lifted just a fraction off the seat. He was getting close.
I backed off for just a moment. "Give it to me, old man," I said, "Come in my mouth." My words made him groan. With a last heard suck, he exploded against the back of my throat. I swallowed fast as jet after jet of hot cum coated my tongue. The taste drove me a little wild - my panties were soaked, and it took all my self control not to start touching myself the minute I sat back in my seat. I tucked his now softening cock away and zipped his pants back up. All the while, he never turned his attention from the road. He still didn’t look happy, or even vaguely pleased.
"I'm sorry about your bike," I said softly, looking out the passenger side window. "I didn't know what else to do."
He grunted. "You should have stayed put, like you were told."
"It's not like I broke it," I mumbled, "It just needs a little paint."
He slammed on the brakes. My hands shot out and grabbed the dashboard before I could lurch from my seat, and the wind was knocked out of me when I bounced back. "What the fuck?"
"Idiot girl," he snarled. Finally he turned to me. I shrank away - he was pissed. "You think this is about the bike? It's just a fucking bike. I was worried about you. Your safety. They had guns. I don't care how brave you think you are or how "badass" Bill thinks your move was. It was fucking stupid."
Spitting more curses, he swung his door open and climbed out.
"Wait!" I crawled over into the driver's seat. "Don't go. I'm sorry!" It had never occurred to me that the source of his anger was anything aside from the damage to his bike. He was a biker, after all. The fact that he was so upset over the fact that I could have been hurt, though... "Please. Stay."
He glared, and for a moment I thought he would get back in the truck. Instead, he pulled a gun from the back of his pants. I instinctively cringed away. He pushed it into my hands. Oh. This gun. Mine. "Anchor found it. I don't want to see you unarmed again, understand?"
I nodded, holding the weapon in shaky hands. I hated the thing. But I knew most of the guys carried. And I knew that now, wearing the jacket, I could attract unwanted attention.
I didn't have to like it, though.
"Go on," he said, nodding towards the road. "I'm walking from here."
And that was it. I sat frozen as he aimed his feet back the way we came and strode away, shoulders stiff with stress and anger.
---
Nomad tortured me for days, but not nearly as much as I tortured myself. I knew he wanted me. I knew he was attracted to me. But I’d had no clue that he cared; not like that. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it.
He teased me at work at the diner; Bill hadn’t found a replacement for me. I’d only been gone for a day, after all, and he was happy enough to give me back my shifts. I sat Nomad at the corner booth in the back. He had me stand with my hips against the table while he reached beneath and stroked me over my panties, his hand up the skirt I’d worn that day. I was only just barely out of the other customer’s views back there, but he didn’t care. Why would he? He was wearing his leather jacket. He stroked until I was panting with need. My knees shook so badly, I had to grip the side of the table. He rubbed and circled until the thin cotton material was soaked through.
“Please,” I whined, rocking my hips as subtly as I could. “Please.”
“Please what?” He pushed the soaked cotton aside and stroked my bare sex. I bit back a gasp. I released the table and gripped his arm, feeling its strength. Trying to move him would be like trying to move a tree trunk. My pussy pulsed with heat. “Do you want to come?”
“Fuck yes.”
He chuckled. “Not yet.” Then he withdrew. He licked his finger clean with a leer, his eyes locked on mine. “Now,” he said, “I believe I ordered a coffee?”
I wanted to murder him.
He tormented me anywhere he found me. At the clubhouse bar, he followed me into the bathroom and licked my pussy until I was ready to scream. Just licked, slowly, lightly, never varying, never letting me move. His tongue never touched my clit, never probed inside my waiting hole; just grazed through my folds until I was a hot and begging mess, until there were tears in my eyes. And he just strolled out whistling some tune.
Meanwhile, I also continued running errands for the club. They all saw me as a joke, and I didn't blame them. They were hardened men, tough guys, and criminals. I was a nineteen year old girl afraid to leave my home town. If they stopped short of being cruel, it was thanks to Nomad's influence.