Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
I smile to myself as I start typing, and my heart beats faster. He is gonna lose his mind.
Chapter 24
Road
I’m on fire.
I hate driving cars, and I did have plans for the evening—an action movie night with a few of my buddies, but when Clyde told me he has the night off and can meet me in a motel two hours away, I canceled the watch party, showered, and borrowed a vehicle from Luna. He also insisted I remain inconspicuous.
No colors. No bikes. And as per our usual joke, no knives. Nothing that could let people put two and two together and find out who we might be. Prophet seemed disappointed with my sudden change of plans, but when I told him I’m spending the night with the girl I’ve been seeing, he gave me his blessing.
This way, the guys will leave me be unless the whole settlement is on fire.
Driving down the highway is boring, and I keep getting distracted by thoughts of Clyde stretching in the sheets, of my cum on his back, of the way his cock tasted and how much I enjoyed laving it with my tongue. But I managed to avoid crashing on the way, and by the time I reach the roadside bar he’s picked as our meeting spot, I’m so hungry for him I could spend the next hour calming down by smelling his hair.
It’s a little place that calls itself a tavern and has neon signs advertising alcohol brands in its windows. The building’s wide, covered with yellow wooden panels, and while they apparently serve ribs, it’s not barbecue I’m here for.
I hear footsteps speeding up on the gravel behind me, and just as I turn around, Clyde jumps on my back. He hangs off me for a short enough time for it to seem like two good friends being idiots. When he slides off me, grinning like a maniac, I forget all about the war brewing between our clubs and see him as he is.
Long, dirty blond hair, a band T-shirt that fits him snugly and shows off his tattooed forearms, and blue eyes that in the light of the neon seem to glow. He smells good enough to eat, and I wish we were fucking in my car already.
“Hey,” he says, his gaze focused on me as if I’m the only thing that matters.
Heavy metal buzzes in the background, and a car drives by, but my senses are so very blind to anything but the man I’m holding. It’s not really a hug, there is still space left between us, but one of my hands rests on his arm, the other on my shoulder, and my fingertips touch his bare nape.
I’ve missed him.
“There you are, creeping like a coyote,” I say, smiling, because if I don’t do something with my lips, they’ll end up pressed against Clyde’s warm mouth. I see no rainbows on this bar, and I don’t want any problems when we could be having fun instead.
Clyde pulls away from me, even if slowly. “Says the Vulture.” He seems so… happy, which in turn fills my stomach with butterflies. I’d drive two days to see him. Two hours was nothing. “Our motel is a few miles down this road, but the room won’t be ready for an hour or so. I thought we could grab a drink before…?”
Before we fuck. I’m impressed by his self-control as I’d gladly dry hump him on the side of the road, given half the chance. Then again, after waiting two weeks, maybe it will be nicer to have a place where we can be together in peace, without the worry that someone might see us and report back to one of our clubs.
So I give his cheek a playful pat, which could be mistaken for a bit of teasing between friends, and nudge his back. “Good idea. It’s been a tough two weeks,” I admit, but when he takes a step toward the door, I grab his wrist. As my fingers lock around it, we both look at one another, time standing still. For a moment, I can’t remember why I stopped him in the first place, because I’m drowning in his pretty blue eyes. I can’t remember ever feeling this kind of longing, and somehow despite him standing right in front of me, that weird ache inside is still there.
My hand is overstaying its welcome—we’re in public after all—so I let go before he can pull away, and show him the little gift I made for him. We might not always be able to see each other, or send messages, but nobody will suspect anything if he pulls out his keys and holds the wooden cockerel attached to it.
It’s not my best work, as I tried to make it quite small, but what I really want is for him to have this little wooden figure to remember me by. Made instead of the stag I’d initially whittled for him, it shows I know his secrets. That I’m more than an acquaintance. “For you,” I say as I place it in his palm.