Throttle Me(2)

By: Chelle Bliss

“Need some help, lady?” he asked, removing his helmet, running his fingers through his disheveled hair. The dark peaks stood up on the top, the sides were short and clipped, and the color matched the sky - dark. I couldn’t see his eyes; a pair of tinted glasses hid them. Could serial killers be so sexy?

“Um, do you have a cell phone I could use to call for a ride?” I asked without taking a step in his direction. Don’t get too close – leave room to run. Who the fuck was I kidding? I couldn’t make it five feet in these damn shoes.

“Sure.” As he leaned back on his bike, I studied his body as he dug in his pocket. The skin-tight jeans showed his muscles through the denim fabric. Everything clung to him. I wanted to poke him to see if he felt as hard as he looked. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I was too busy staring to notice that he was holding out for me. “Lady, you wanted my phone?”

Snapping back to reality with the sound of his deep voice, I took a step toward him, reaching for the phone. “Oh, sorry.”

My fingertips grazed his palm, a tiny shock passed between us. His fingers closed on my hand as I pulled away. My heartbeat that calmed, now began to pound feverishly in my chest. It had to be my hormones. I hadn’t had sex in God knows how long – I stopped counting after three months. The man in front of me wasn’t my type, but that didn’t stop his sex appeal from being lost on me. He looked like a whole lot of trouble that I didn’t need that in my life.

I stepped back, keeping my eyes trained on him, as I dialed the only person close enough to help - Sophia. The phone rang and his eyes traveled up and down the length of my body – with each ring, my stomach began to turn. I didn’t have anyone else to call.

Tapping the end button I sighed. “There’s no answer. Thanks.” I gave him a sheepish smile as I handed him the phone.

“Let me take a look and see if there’s anything I can do. Okay?” he asked, as he began angling the bike to shine the headlights on the hood.

“Sure.” I hit the unlock button on my car key before climbing in. I put the key in the ignition, but stayed aware of his proximity. No one will hear me scream if he tries to kill me. I couldn’t let my guard down.

He put the kickstand down, climbed off the bike, and placed the helmet on the seat. Pulling the hood latch next to my seat I watched him from the relative darkness of my car, my face hidden by shadows. He was large, larger than he looked sitting on the Harley. He had to be more than a foot taller than me and looked more solid with the bike illuminating his body. I stared at him, mouth open slightly, my breathing shallow as I looked at him like a piece of meat through the gap between the hood. He oozed masculinity and ruggedness and I tried to picture him without all the skintight clothes. The muscles in his arm rippled as he touched the parts under the hood.

What would it be like to be with a man like him? Every man I’d dated just didn’t work out. They were nice guys, but the spark I wanted was always missing. People think I’m a good girl, and I am, but my mind is filled with dirty thoughts that I could never share with a mate. I’ve shared them with Sophia, but she doesn’t count. No one had ever done anything fantasy-worthy with me. I can barely speak the words that are needed to describe the things I want done to me, or that I’d want to do to another person in this world.

“Ma’am,” he said, snapping me out of the evaluation of my sex life, or lack thereof.

“Sorry, yes?”

“Can you try and start it for me, please?” he said, leaning over the hood, his hands placed on either side of the opening. “Now,” he said. The car churned and churned. “Stop.” I heard him yell over the screeching noise. He moved methodically throughout the engine of the car. “Try it again.” I turned the key causing the engine to rattle, but not start.

He stood, rubbing the back of his neck as curses spilled from his lips. The only thing I could see was his crotch. I stared motionless. His t-shirt covered the belt loops and stopped just above his groin. Damn. He fills out those jeans. He has to be big. Everything about him is big – he couldn’t, just couldn’t, have a small cock, could he?

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