Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition Elizabeth Knox (cheapest way to read ebooks .txt) 📖

I did as well, but right now, punctuality is not high on my list. I’m ripped from a deep sleep and refused to open my eyes, but my body is awake. The type of situation where all of my senses were flying high, yet I’m still aware of everything, but I refused to fully acknowledge the world around me. The lingering odor of stale alcohol and the stench of sex is unmistakable, and the fact that I’m not alone in my bed is clear by the warm bodies that were on top of me. Yet, how I got myself into this shitstorm is a mystery to me at this point.

Fuck me! Not again! The last thing I needed is Quinn throwing this shit in my face. It isn’t that I completely cared about the situation itself because I didn’t fully. It’s more like we had finally reached somewhat of a common ground. The bitching between us had settled for a few weeks, but then I wound up in this fucking mess. Far be it from me to think I’m no victim in this whole debacle. Hell, I probably instigated the majority of it. Once I am shitfaced and my inhibitions were at an all-time low, the “True Me” seemed to come out, but straight to hell is the only place that ever got me.

The blaring continued as I swatted into the air, motioning for the dumb fuck who set fifteen fucking alarms to promptly “Kill that shit!” I groaned, immediately pissed off that someone hadn’t already taken care of the annoyance.

“Baby, wake up,” an unfamiliar voice purred against my chest, and a weight lifted from the left side of it.

“Hey, Santana! I think that we wore this old fucker out!” Another female voice giggled while she rubbed a fingertip across my hips. There was a state party last night, and only slight portions of it were blurring through my memory. I remember riding immediately from the machine shop to the clubhouse, hauling some major ass. Our dickhead of a boss called a mandatory last-minute meeting, and it took up time I didn’t have. Club time.

I geared down, slowing my bike down the curvy one-lane road to our clubhouse. When my tires found the gravel parking lot, I put a little too much lean onto my handlebars and nearly dumped my bike. A fucking rookie mistake, but thankfully only a few club skanks, who were outside smoking, saw it. If any of my brothers would have been a witness, they would never let me live that shit down, considering I’ve been in the club longer than most of the youngblood wannabes, who try to prospect, have even been on this earth.

It’s then I see the redhead and blonde. Clearly, by the way their tits bounced and their asses cried out with invitation, it surely wouldn’t be the last time that I saw either one of them.

I mentally played connect the dots as I traced the occurrences from then to now, always coming up a little short. Whatever and however it happened didn’t matter. The realization that I’m going to be fucking late for work today, a day I’m supposed to be off, blasted its importance into the air, and it’s clear that these bitches had to be gone!

“Listen, honey—” had barely passed my lips, and I’m well on my way to giving them the boot when a slick wet tongue followed the same path as the previous fingertip had, and my words stopped completely.

“You know what! Greg can go fuck himself! Fuck the bullshit job I had at his shop!” I could feel my own smile darken the room.

I might regret this shit later, but right then, as her mouth popped down my cock and the spit drip down its length, I knew that it just isn’t going to be a day for regret. My eyelids flew open when a third hand cupped my balls and stroked them as though my dick is going to grant them three wishes. Both of those bitches seemed to be on point, and if my mind hadn’t been made up before this moment, it damn sure is now. Fuck being employed. I could easily get another job, but I’ll be damned if anyone were going to stop me from getting off now. Low and behold, Good Old Mr. Cobra is primed and ready for round two, or three . . . or five? Really, I had no clue how many times we did whatever we did last night, but I knew that it’s there by the slight soreness in my sack. Both of these patch chasers rode me as hard as a catfish fighting for their life on a trotline.

A deep growl rattled out of my dry throat as the redhead’s fingers adjust around my shaft, and she gagged, only to go back in full force. Her pierced tongue swirled my tip and my fingers knotted in her auburn hair. The blonde laid spread eagle, pulling my hand to her clit. Flashes of last night bounced into my head; there isn’t foreplay. The three of us barely made it out of the common area and into my room before the blonde’s skirt was up, and her panties were around her ankles.

I worked that bitch like a marionette for about five minutes, and then I was balls deep into her as the redhead dropped her pussy onto the blonde’s mouth. Holy Fuck! It’s true that we were in some fucked up vanilla caramel latte version of a ménage à trois, but I would have almost laid money on this being the wildest shit those crazy bitches had done to date. Either that or I’m soon to be crowned the ultimate bastard who had made their fantasies into a reality. It didn’t really matter to me. It never did. Another day, another pussy, or ten, but who knew? I’d lost count years ago and sure didn’t plan on breaking out the good ole muff calculator