Cuffed For Love

“Oh my God, they almost ran us over.” Joy’s cone is about to fall out of her hand. I tip it upright and glare after the bike. The caked-on mud obscures the license plate. I do register that it’s a black Harley low-rider with a one-percenter logo on the gas tank. Something bothers me, but I can’t figure it out. It’s probably a coincidence and nothing to be concerned about. Still, as we eat our cones, I keep a careful eye out for any suspicious activity.

“So you’re my boyfriend now, huh?” murmurs Joy, her pink tongue scooping the vanilla bean into her mouth.

I force my eyes to the road. “I was the minute I had my mouth on you, sweets.”

Cece nearly chokes on her ice cream while Joy turns bright red.

“You blushing is cute. You wearing that bathing suit is also cute. You wearing that bathing suit out in public is not so cute.” I tug the front of the jacket closed. “Someone like the frisbee nerd could make a mistake, and then I’d have to hurt him.”

“You couldn’t control yourself?” Joy says.

I don’t know what to answer because she takes another long lick of her cone, and all the blood disappears from my big head and drains into my groin. Beyond thinking of what I’d like to do to her tongue—namely having it curled around my cock—I can’t form actual sentences.

“I think you broke him,” Cece jokes.

“He’s probably trying to figure out all the lingo that the surfer was spilling. FOTD is fit of the day. RTW is ready to wear. Air Force Ones are a popular kicks, and cop a drop means to buy something that is only sold in sort of like a capsule collection and is only available for a short time,” Joy says.

I should pay attention, but again, her mouth is moving, and it’s so pretty and so full and the ice cream has made it wet, and all I can really think about is her on her knees with those plump lips parted as she takes my dick into her throat. I clear my throat and avert my gaze. At the end of the road, I spot the tailpipe of that Harley idling in front of a clothing store.

“We should get moving,” I say gruffly. “Storm’s coming.”

The two look up at the clear blue sky.

“I didn’t realize it was supposed to rain today,” Cece says.

“Things change. Weather’s unpredictable.” I toss my napkin into the trash and nod for the two to get into their car. “I’ll follow you home.”

They don’t argue. Our route takes us past the now empty bike. Just inside the doors of the shop, standing beside a mannequin dressed in gardening clothes, is a heavily bearded, leather cut-wearing biker. The gleam of the chrome pipes on the Harley wink at me, and I realize what I found so odd about the bike. It’s polished and gleaming everywhere but the license plate. My suspicions come roaring back. It’s a little too coincidental that a one-percenter is following my girl around right after I haul one of their women to the courthouse. The coward’s probably thinking that he’ll hurt Joy instead of coming directly for me. That won’t do at all.

When we get home, I ask Joy for a minute.

“Take at least an hour,” Cece jokes. “I don’t want Joy to come back home feeling unfulfilled.”

Joy throws her flip-flop at Cece’s head, but the roommate has already slipped inside the back door before contact can be made.

“What is it?” Joy asks, looking adorably lopsided as she rubs her toes against the top of her other foot. “And don’t bring up the crying.”

“The crying?” I’d forgotten she’d teared up when she came. “Why would I bring it up? It was hot as fuck.”

“It’s embarrassing, okay? I’m not a crier.”

“Sure, but it’s not like I didn’t like it.” I decide not to share with her that I have a little fantasy of making her eyes water while I shoot cum down her throat. There’s something more important that we both need to focus on. “We can talk more about that later, but for now, I need you to stop sharing your location on your socials. The motorcycle that almost ran you over when we got ice cream looks like it belongs to the guy from Club Tango.”

“Long Dong Silver?” she blurts out.

I blink. “Are you giving another guy’s cock a nickname?” Now I know why they were mad I called Cece Double C.

“Noooo,” she protests. “It’s just a stupid rhyme. Cece posted about him on Insta after we got home and someone in the comments gave him a nickname. Anyway, why is he after me? I didn’t do anything.”

“But I did. That was probably his old woman, and he’s pissed. I don’t want you to be afraid, but you need to be careful.” I tuck my fist under her chin and tilt her head up so she can see how serious I am. “If Cece has family around, she should go stay with them. You can move in with me.”