Page 5

Dylan

I lick my lips and smile. It feels good. In fact, it feels great .

The diner hums with a cheerful buzz as Clay and I finish our breakfast, the clatter of plates and the murmur of voices filling the air.

Sunlight streams through the big windows, painting the checkered floor in warm gold, and the smell of coffee and bacon lingers, mingling with the faint sweetness of syrup.

It’s busy this morning—families crammed into booths with kids scribbling on placemats, old-timers at the counter swapping gossip over their third refills, a couple of truckers hunched over hashbrowns in the corner.

Jenny weaves through it all, her tray loaded with steaming mugs and plates of pancakes, flashing smiles like she’s the unofficial mayor of Willow Creek.

There’s a good vibe here, a small-town rhythm that’s easy and familiar, the kind of morning where everyone’s just happy to be awake and fed.

I sip the last of my coffee, the mug warm against my palms, and glance across the table at Clay. He’s scraping the last bite of eggs off his plate, his broad shoulders relaxed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he catches me watching.

It’s been… nice. Really nice.

We’ve talked about nothing and everything—how the hardware store’s still got that same rusty sign out front, how the river’s running high this spring, how Mrs. Carter still yells at kids cutting through her yard.

It’s light, easy, like slipping back into an old pair of jeans that still fit just right.

For a little while, it feels like the good old days—back when we were nineteen and twenty-one, stealing moments between his shifts at the garage and my summer job at the library, when the world was ours and nothing could touch us.

“More coffee?” Clay asks, nodding at my empty mug, his voice low and rough in that way that sends a shiver down my spine.

I shake my head, smiling. “Nah, I’m good. Three’s my limit, or I’ll be bouncing off the walls.”

Clay chuckles, a sound that’s warm and deep, and leans back in the booth, stretching his arms along the top of the seat. His leather jacket creaks, and I can’t help but notice how it hugs his frame, how the years have filled him out in all the right ways.

He’s still Clay—messy hair, sharp green eyes, that cocky edge—but there’s a weight to him now, a hardness I didn’t see back then. It’s not just prison, though that’s part of it. It’s the life he’s chosen, the Wolf Riders MC, the kind of world I only glimpsed before he went away.

And that’s where my mind snags.

As good as this feels—sitting here, laughing over dumb stories—this isn’t just a cute breakfast date.

Clay isn’t some guy with a nine-to-five and a picket fence in his future. He’s a biker, a member of a club that lives on the edge, where fights and shady deals are as normal as breathing.

I saw the bruise on his jaw, the way his knuckles are scuffed, and I know it’s not from some barroom scuffle over a spilled drink. He’s in deep, and I don’t know if that’s something I can handle.

I left the city to get away from chaos, to find peace and write my novel, not to dive into a life that’s all adrenaline and risk.

Could I ever get on board with that? Be the boy waiting at home while he’s out doing God-knows-what with the Riders?

It’s a dilemma, a knot I can’t untangle, and it sits heavy in my chest even as I smile at him across the table.

Jenny swings by with the check, and we split it—Clay tries to pay, but I shove a ten at him, insisting. “I’m not broke yet,” I say, and he responds with a grin that reminds me of how it used to be between us back in the day.

Clay was my Daddy then, and always knew when to let his boy have his way.

We slide out of the booth, weaving through the crowd, and step outside into the crisp morning air.

The parking lot’s alive with the crunch of gravel and the rumble of engines as people come and go, and then I see it—his Harley, parked near the edge, all black and chrome, gleaming in the sunlight like it’s daring me to look away.

A surge of adrenaline hits me, sharp and sudden, stealing my breath.

That bike—it’s not just a machine.

It’s a memory, a thousand nights of tearing through the backroads with my arms around his waist, the wind screaming past us, the world a blur of freedom and danger.

I loved it back then, the thrill of it, the way it made me feel alive in a way nothing else ever did. And standing here now, staring at it, I want it again. I want that rush, that reckless edge, even if just for a moment.

Clay catches my gaze, and his eyes darken, reading me like he always could.

“You miss it,” Clay says, stepping closer, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me. It’s not a question.

“Yeah,” I admit, my pulse kicking up. “I do.”

He tilts his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Come on, then. I’ll take you for a ride—to the forest and back, just like we used to. I’m older, but this Daddy is still more than capable of handling the speed. But what about you, boy? Are you game?”

I hesitate, weighing it in my mind. Clay saying the D-word is one thing, and him calling me boy out loud is the icing on the cake. It still feels so natural, like we fit together perfectly.

But…

The sensible part of me—the one that’s been burned before, the one trying to build a quiet life—screams to say no, to walk away, to keep my distance from him and his world. The other part, the part that remembers how it felt to fly with him, to trust him completely, is louder.

What harm can it do?

One ride, a taste of the past, a chance to feel that spark again. I can handle that, right?

“Okay, Daddy,” I say, and his smile widens, a flash of teeth that’s all triumph and promise.

Clay grabs his helmet from the bike—offers it to me, but I shake my head, grinning. “No way. I want the full deal.”

Clay laughs, tossing it back, and swings a leg over the Harley, the engine roaring to life as he kicks it into gear.

I climb on behind him, my thighs bracketing his hips, my hands sliding around his waist. His body’s warm and solid under my touch, all muscle and leather, and I feel that spark flare brighter, a current running straight through me.

I can feel my cock hardening as it pressed up against the bottom of Clay’s back and I’m pretty sure that it’s going to bring back a whole ton of memories for Clay when he realizes what’s pressing on him.

“Hold on tight,” Clay says over his shoulder, and then we’re off, peeling out of the lot with a growl that turns heads. “And try not to get too excited…”

I blush, but there’s no time to wallow in my embarrassment.

The wind hits me hard, whipping my hair back, stinging my cheeks, and I laugh—a wild, free sound I haven’t heard from myself in years.

The town blurs past—houses, trees, the river glinting in the distance—and then we’re on the backroads, the forest rising up ahead, all green and gold in the morning light.

He takes the curves fast, leaning into them, and I move with him, our bodies in sync like no time’s passed at all.

My hands tighten on his waist, fingers brushing the hard plane of his stomach through his shirt, and the heat of him seeps into me, waking up every nerve.

The trees close in, the air turning cool and sharp with pine, and he slows, pulling off onto a dirt path that winds deeper into the woods.

The engine cuts out, and it’s just us, the quiet hum of nature settling around us.

I slide off the bike, my legs shaky from the ride, my blood singing with adrenaline. He’s off too, turning to face me, and the look in his eyes—dark, hungry, alive—mirrors what’s burning in me.

We’re alone here, hidden by the trees, and the air between us thickens, charged with everything we’ve been dancing around.

“Dylan,” he says, stepping closer, his voice rough and low, and that’s all it takes. “You’re a naughty boy. You need that butt of yours warmed up, don’t you?”

I swallow hard. I nod my head. I know what’s coming next.

“Drop your trousers, briefs too,” Clay growls, his eyes piercing through me and seeing inside my soul. He knows what I want. Of course he does, he’s my Daddy…

I nervously unbuckle and then drop my trousers, taking my briefs down too. Just like the old days, I turn and present my ass for inspection.

The cool breeze on my exposed cheeks makes me shiver. But I know that feeling won’t last long…

“Over the motorcycle,” Clay instructs, watching as I waddle toward the motorcycle and obediently bend over the seat, my ass an easy target now, fixed in place and ready to take what’s coming. “Same safeword?”

“Same safeword,” I reply, closing my eyes and not having to wait longer than ten seconds before the first spank lands on my naked, fleshy cheeks. “ Owwwww !”

“Six of the best,” Clay says, delivering another five quick and hard spanks to my cheeks, each one as accurate and sharp as the previous. “And remember to say thank you, Daddy.”

“T-t-t-thank you, Daddy,” I say, the last of the spanks making my left buttock wobble for what feels like an eternity. “Damn. Damn. Damn. I… missed that feeling.”

“Stand up, come to Daddy,” Clay says, his voice full of lust as he watches me follow his instructions, my red butt like a shiny apple amongst the greenery around us.

I close the distance, and soon enough we’re right in one another’s space.

Our lips crash together, hot and desperate, and it’s like the diner kiss but more—wilder, deeper. He pushes his tongue into my mouth, his hands sliding to my hips, yanking me against him. I can feel every inch of him—hard, insistent, wanting—and it lights me up, a fire spreading fast.

I’m hard. And I feel it on Clay too, his big, thick cock pressing up against me. I want him. I want… it .

My back hits the bike, the heat from the metal making me gasp, his mouth trailing down my neck, teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp. My fingers dig into his shoulders, tugging at his shirt, needing more, and he obliges, hands slipping under my sweater, rough palms skimming my bare skin.

It’s fast, messy, all heat and need, and I’m lost in it—lost in him, in the way he makes me feel like nothing else matters.

“Let me please you,” I say, my submissive streak kicking in as I feel Clay’s thick, hard cock pressed up against my leg. “I want to get on my knees for you, Daddy. Just like I used to.”

Clay grunts and steps back from me. It’s like we’re back in the groove once more as I fall to my knees and watch him unzip his trousers and pull them down over his powerful thighs.

Moments later, Clay’s hard, long, and thick cock is bobbing freely in the air, and my wet mouth is locking onto it. The tip at first, then the width of the head, and then all the way down to the base.

I know what Clay likes, and it’s what I like to.

Soon enough, Clay is gripping my hair and working his cock in time with my sucks and slurps, and I can reach underneath to feel his heavy balls as they tighten ahead of his climax.

“Fuck. Jesus, Dylan,’ Reece groans in pure carnal pleasure as my tongue flicks and swirls and pushes him beyond the point of no return. “Make yourself cum too. Fucking do it.”

I don’t need telling twice and grip my cock with my spare hand and bring myself off hard and fast, my rock-hard manhood needing little stimulation to cum in synchronicity with Clay as we both shoot our loads.

As I feel Clay’s hot seed blast inside my mouth, wave after wave of it, I feel every inch the submissive biker boy to my possessive motorcycle club Daddy - and I like it so much that I know I’m going to need it more and more, no matter what danger that might bring…