When he slid into me slowly this time, I moaned loudly and enjoyed being filled one more time before breakfast.
Cruz Kerrington
DRIVING ALMOST SIX hours to Memphis today wasn’t a good idea. I saw Lila Kate hide a wince when she straddled the bike. We’d fucked like maniacs, and now she was tender. She would claim she wasn’t, but I saw it on her face. I shouldn’t have pushed for two rounds this morning, but she felt so damn good. It was a clawing need to get inside her again and fuck that—I didn’t like wanting someone so badly. Past experience told me a good fuck got a girl out of my system and I moved on. But with Lila Kate that had yet to happen. With her legs tucked behind mine and her body pressed into my back I was already thinking about fucking her again. Jesus, she was like crack to an addict.
I headed toward Birmingham, Alabama. We could stop halfway and rest. Find something to see or do, and then ride the rest of the way. It was just an hour closer than Memphis; she could visit her friend, and it would help control my need to have my dick inside her our entire stop. I needed to find some control.
After eighty minutes on the road she began to squirm, and I found an exit that had restaurant choices and some shopping. We’d spend time here then head on later when she was ready. Pulling into a parking lot for a barbecue place, I parked and held out my hand to help her off the bike. She made a small wince again.
“Think we might need to stop for the day,” I said feeling guilty for her discomfort.
She frowned. “Why?”
I appreciated her trying to be tough, but I had made her sore, and I wasn’t going to make her suffer for it. First time I’d ever wished I wasn’t riding my damn bike. “You’re sore,” I pointed out the obvious. “Let’s eat, walk around some. Shop. See how you feel later.”
“I will be fine,” she argued.
I ignored that. “Hungry?”
“Yes, and this place smells great.”
We headed inside and I forced myself not to put my hands on her. Touching her all the time was not good. This was temporary. No need acting like it was more than that. We were both enjoying the trip.
Her phone began ringing just before we walked in the door and she stopped to pull it out of her pocket. When she lifted her eyes to me, they were apologetic as she put the phone to her ear. “Hey, Mom.”
I’d told her to call her parents more than once. She hadn’t listened.
Her mother was talking, and Lila Kate’s face went pale before she whispered. “Oh, no. When?”
Now I was worried. She began chewing on her thumbnail. “Yes, he is.”
“I’m not sure,” she looked back at me. “Where are we?”
“About one hour south of Montgomery, Alabama,” I told her.
She repeated that to her mother. “No . . . on his motorcycle,” I could see her cringe as she said it.