Page 14 of Goose

He crossed his arms and looked down his nose at me. “A gay dork?”

I nodded toward the mirror. “Take a look.”

He looked in the mirror. After a few unsuccessful attempts to adjust his glasses, he crumpled them into a ball and lobbed them toward a trash can that was beside the entrance, thirty feet away.

With his mangled Aviators in mid-arc, he faced me. “You going to sit out here and bake in the sun, or are we going inside to eat?”

The glasses fell into the center of the can.

I would have expected nothing less.

“Oh,” I said with a smile. “I thought we were going to do the bend me over the seat thing. Sorry.”

He stepped to my side in one long stride, pressing the front of his hip against my bare thigh. He locked eyes with me. “Grab my cock.”

His tone was punctual and flat, yet demanding, like that of Rooster Cogburn in True Grit, when he told Ned, ‘Fill your hand, you son-of-a-bitch.’

So far, we’d joked about things. One thing the tone of his voice made clear was the fact that he was no longer joking. He wanted me to grab his cock on the sidewalk in front of a packed beachside restaurant in broad daylight.

A lump rose into my throat.

I swallowed against it. “Huh?”

He grinded his hip against my thigh. “Grab. My. Cock.”

Still donning my helmet and sunglasses, I glanced in the direction of his lower extremities. One upside was that I wasn’t going to have to search for it to fulfil his desire. It was big, bulging, and its outline in his jeans was undeniably pronounced.

“Now?” I squeaked.

“Here.” He reached for his zipper. “I’ll make it easy for you.”

He unzipped his jeans. After a considerable struggle, he pulled an extremely large cock through the opening.

Still seated in the comfort of the motorcycle’s seat and hiding behind the lenses of my trusty Ray-Bans, I gawked at the sight.

I’d seen several cocks, but never in the sunshine. It wasn’t as much of an improvement as I would have thought. Nonetheless, seeing his raging cock out in the California sun was pretty fucking impressive.

He gestured toward it with a nod of his head. “Squeeze it.”

I checked over each shoulder. With the same reluctance I’d use while petting a live alligator, I extended my hand in its direction.

“That’s what I thought.” He laughed and reached for his zipper. “Scared-ass little girl. All talk and no—”

It was all the encouragement I needed. I grabbed it like it owed me money. “I’m not scared of your dick, Mister.”

It was a lie. After wrapping my hand around it—or at least trying to—I was scared of it. Not deathly afraid. His cock and an upside-down rollercoaster had a lot in common.

“Does that feel like the dick of a man who lacks interest?” he asked.

“Uhhm.” It was impressive that he could achieve a full erection in a sunny parking lot. I swallowed heavily. “No.”

“Gay?” He cocked his hip and raised both brows. “Does that feel like a gay man’s cock?”

I wanted to let him know that gay men’s dicks got just as hard, but I understood his point. Or, at least I thought I did.

“No,” I murmured. “Not at all.”

He pulled away. Slightly disappointed and a little relieved, I watched as he stuffed the rock-hard beast into his jeans and zipped his fly. After convincing himself that he was situated in a satisfactory manner, he met my wide-eyed gaze.