Page 23 of Misadventures of a Biker

I made note that she was a compassionate driver. It did little to dissolve the frustration that remained from how disrespectful she’d been in the meeting. While she gripped the steering wheel with such force that it turned her knuckles white, I took another look at her magnificent tits.

Traffic cleared just as the signal changed from green to yellow. Teddi turned the steering wheel to the right and punched the gas. My road bag slid from my lap, revealing my current state of arousal. As I fumbled to slide the leather satchel back into place, Teddi glanced in my direction.

Not wanting her to think I was interested in her sexually, I slid the worn leather bag over my rigid dick.

I looked at her like she’d purposefully backed over my motorcycle in the parking lot. “You should warn a guy before you do something like that.”

“What’s in that bag, anyway?”

“Just a few things we might need.”

“Tools?”

“More or less.”

She gave the bag a quick look and then shifted her eyes to the road. Ten minutes of silence followed, which had been the norm for most of the trip. I wondered if she was reserved or if her dislike for tattooed bikers was something I should truly be concerned with.

We pulled into the home’s gated drive and rolled to a stop. Teddi programmed the code into the keypad and waited for the gate to open. “Where are your friends?”

“I’m sure they’ll be here soon.”

She proceeded up the long drive, seeming slightly uneasy about something.

“What’s with the apprehension?” I asked.

“Apprehension?” she stammered. “I’m not apprehensive.”

“You seem like it.”

“Well, I’m not,” she snapped back. She parked in front of the guesthouse and left the vehicle running. “I guess we’ll just wait for them to get here.”

“Can we go inside and look around?” I asked.

She looked at me like I’d asked her to behead a goat. “What?”

“Inside,” I said, gesturing toward the home. “Can we go inside?”

She swallowed heavily. “Do we need to?”

The driving force was apparent. She didn’t want to be alone with me. Realizing it fueled me to press the issue even harder. I opened the car door and stepped outside.

“C’mon,” I said, shouldering my bag. “Let’s look this place over.”

She got out of the car and tugged the wrinkles from her slinky dress. “Follow me,” she said over the car’s hood. “I’ll give you a quick tour.”

She conquered a pair of four-inch heels with an elegance I’d never witnessed. Each calculated step was placed perfectly in front of the other, almost as if she were walking a tightrope.

Following a ten-second-long session of being captivated by her purposeful stride, my gaze shifted to her magnificent ass. It was as wonderful as her tits. Small but more than ample for her petite frame, it complemented her small waist. Hypnotized by the rhythmic rise and fall of both ass cheeks, I watched her strut across the handlaid brick drive until she reached the door. Even though I detested her abrasive attitude, she made me hornier than a three-dicked rabbit.

She unlocked the door and stepped inside. “Well, here it is,” she said with a wave of her hand. “In all its Mediterranean glory.”

I stepped around her, hoping the home’s unsightly interior would diffuse my state of arousal. A trace of her perfume tickled my nostrils as I walked past. She smelled better than she looked, and her looks would warrant being arrested in a handful of Middle Eastern countries. Barring an intervention, things were going to take a sexual turn. That much I was sure of.

I brushed past her. “I’ll be right back,” I said over my shoulder.

“Where are you going?”

“To the kitchen,” I replied. “Keep an eye out for them. I’ll be right back.”