Page 48 of The Biker and the Baker

When we break, he gazes down at me and playfully pinches my chin. “Told you I want you to be my girl, yeah? That includes morning breath.”

“You’re crazy,” I say through a giggle.

“Did you just…”—his eyebrows shot up dramatically—“giggle?’’

“Shut up.” I shove him, trying to get out from under him.

“You’ve got the fluffiest pussy I’ve ever been in, you know that?”

Huh? I make a face. “What does that even mean?”

“It means…” He trails off and closes his eyes with a reverent expression. “Heaven.”

“Oh, for the love of—”

BamBamBam!“Uncle Nyx!”BamBamBam!“Uncle Nyx, can you turn the TV on? We wanna watch Phineas and Ferb.”

Onyx drops his forehead to mine and groans.

“The twins?”

“Annoying little shits,” he confirms. “They live in a goddamn mansion, for crying out loud. With a big ass home cinema. But they’re here every Saturday and Sunday morning like clockwork, ‘cause it’s ‘so cool’to watch TV outdoors.”

“Outdoors?”

“Yeah.” He rolls off me and sits up at the side of the bed. “There’s a built-in entertainment center on the side. Just need to activate it from the inside, ‘cause I’m betting they’ve already opened the compartment. Be right back.”

Biting my lip, I watch him pull his sweatpants up over his bare ass as he goes. I’m yet to see him nude, but if that firm, sculpted ass is any indication, I’m missing outbig time.

Feeling sweaty and sticky from our early morning romp, I roll out of bed and yank the discarded towel from among the tangled sheets, wrapping it around me as I pad to the bathroom. Down the RV, I can hear Onyx talking to the boys out the window.

While I brush my teeth, I let the shower run hot. Some minutes later, when I’m lathering up with his cinnamon-scented body wash—who even wants to smell like cinnamon?—Onyx walks in.

He peers at me through the clear glass for a few seconds, before hauling off his wifebeater. And I’m distracted.Whoo boy. Defined pecs, taut abs, freckled skin colored in tats. His sweatpants are dragged down and off next.

I lick my lips. An unconscious act.

"W-what are you doing?" I ask, eyes glued to his dick. It’s two-toned—the upper half a lighter shade than the lower half. Long and beautiful. Semi-hard. Clean shaven.

My stomach unfurls with something delicious.

Instead of answering me, he comes toward the shower.

"There isn't enough space!"

I reach out to grab the shower door handle, to keep it locked, but he's quicker than me. He yanks the door open and steps inside. Crowding me.

He snatches the loofah from my hands. "Isn't there?"

"How are we going to—"

I’m cut off when he grips my slippery shoulders and spins me around, then proceeds to lather my back with the loofah. It feels damn good, so I stop bitching.

Am I reacting because somewhere in my mind I secretly think I'm too big to fit in this small shower with him? Hedoesn't seem to think so. He bathes with ease and freeness. No awkwardness. And the longer we're in here together, the more space there seems to be for both of us to move around. He reaches all the areas, all the crevices, with intermittent fondling and teasing here and there.

When he's done, he slaps my ass and tells me, "Get out."

I glare up at him. "Seriously? You're hard as a rock."