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I peered beyond his tattooed finger and widened mine in return.
With our eyes locked, he slowly lowered his hand. The lack of space between us made doing so rather difficult, and his tattooed bicep lightly brushed against the nipple of my left breast. I shuddered as a result, quickly reminded that I hadn’t taken the time to get my bra back from his oversized body guard.
I felt the tip of his finger trace along the inside of my leg, just above my knee. Feeling his hand on my flesh did little to excite me. It was impossible.
I was already soaked.
Although I wanted desperately to look down and see just what it was he was doing, I kept my eyes fixed on his, rolled my shoulders slightly, and straightened my posture. He needed to know I wasn’t just some dumb girl who was going to be scared away easily.
I’ve got news for you, Nick Navarro, you’re not going to intimidate me.
The tip of his finger rose the length of my inner thigh for what seemed like a lifetime. He must have perceived the lack of objection on my part as an invitation to continue.
Still focused on his hypnotic eyes, I tried to refrain from showing any emotion. With him teasing me while a dozen of his brethren watched, it didn’t come easily. His hand came to rest at the frayed opening of my shorts.
His mouth twisted into a smirk.
I tried to swallow, but didn’t quite succeed.
I felt his finger slide beneath the leg of my shorts.
You’re not going to…
As he circled my clit with his tattooed digit, I considered objecting to his little game, but the words never came. Had I protested, it would have been a lie. My boss was right, I was a thrill-seeking weirdo, and having an outlaw biker come close to fingering me at noon in a remote bar in Escondido, California stood as all the proof that was needed.
Without warning, he pushed his finger inside of me.
Completely.
I gulped a breath.
So much for remaining professional.
He stared into my eyes and grinned. “You like that, do you?”
I wasn’t a whore. Hell, I wasn’t even what a person that anyone in their right mind could describe as promiscuous. But, for whatever reason, I was allowing Nick Navarro to finger fuck me while the beer guzzling members of his club eagerly watched. Be it because I desperately wanted to write the piece, or because I found tattooed bikers insanely attractive was irrelevant.
The fact remained that the president of the Filthy Fuckers MC had his middle finger shoved so deep inside of me that I could feel the palm of his hand against my clit.
And, I liked it.
A lot.
He curled the tip of his finger against my g-spot a few more times, bringing me to a shallow climax. Guilt washed over me. I made a feeble effort to writhe away from him, but failed miserably.
He gripped my neck with his free hand. “Going somewhere?”
An inaudible no puffed from my lips.
He pushed his finger deep and held his hand still.
I exhaled against his tattooed neck.
“Be at our clubhouse tomorrow at six o’clock,” he growled. “If you’re worth a fuck as a reporter, you’ll find it. Between now and then, I’ll decide if I’ll talk to you.”
As he pulled his finger from inside of me, I considered the possibility of him not wanting to talk to me after I showed up at his clubhouse.
I tugged against the legs of my shorts in an effort to situate myself. It provided no comfort whatsoever. I was way past horny and my pussy was a sopping wet mess.
I had no intention of sticking around while the other members of the club ogled me or expressed how they thought less of me for allowing their president to finger me senseless in their presence. I decided to wear the finger-fucking experience as a badge of honor. “Thanks for the talent-fingers,” I chimed. “I’ll see you at the clubhouse tomorrow at six.”
He grinned.
I grinned in return, turned away, and took a few steps toward the door. “For what it’s worth,” I said over my shoulder. “You’ve got a magnificent cock.”
And your finger’s not bad, either.
