Scream For me

MINE.

JENNA

I’ve never been so damn happy to be getting into my car. My cousin’s wedding was a godawful, five-hour-long event that I was forced to attend because for some strange reason she wanted me to be a bridesmaid-one of eight bridesmaids.

Did I mention my cousin is a stripper?

She thought it would be adorable if all her bridesmaids looked like they’d just stepped of the damn stage. The only thing this wedding was missing is some stripper poles and dollars in our G-strings-the ones that are painfully obvious through our short, see-through dresses. I’ve never had so many male eyeballs on me at one time, and I hope to never experience it again.

With a sigh, I turn the air on, already thinking about the bubble bath and new vibrator I’m going to try out as soon as I get home. For the first time all day, I break out in a smile. I push away the voice in my head that says it’s fucking pathetic that I’m smiling about a vibrator when I should be going home to some actual, real cock. I’ve never had real cock, though, so what’s the harm in getting excited about a fake one?

That’s what I tell myself anyway as I pull out of the parking lot, leaving the last of the wedding reception guests far, far behind. I’ve got a long drive ahead of me, so I blare the playlist I made last night to destress on the drive, knowing I’d be about at the end of my rope by the time the wedding was over.

I’m about halfway through my drive, trying like hell to figure out where I’m supposed to turn and pissed because there’s no fucking cell service in whatever podunk town I’ve found myself in. Right when I don’t think this day can get any worse, I hear the sound that every driver dreads-a loud pop that has me swerving all over the damn road as I try to get my car under control.

“Fucking hell!” I yell, pulling over to the side.

The car is eerily silent with the music no longer streaming and the engine turned off. There isn’t a damn streetlight around, and this place looks like something out of a horror novel. Making sure there isn’t anyone lurking about, at least not anyone that I can see, I turn my flashlight app on and carefully get out of the car.

As soon as I see the ruined, flat tire, I let out a groan and seriously contemplate just laying down in the road and crying. Even if I knew how to change a flat tire, which I absolutely do not, I don’t even fucking have one. It’s a hand-me-down car that’s missing a lot of things, including a spare.

I check my phone again and bite back a sob when I see there still isn’t any cell service. Just when I’m about to give up all hope, I hear the unmistakable sound of music thumping in the distance. It’s faint, but it’s there, and it sounds like live music. I can hear the drums and bass guitar in a way that you just can’t when it’s coming from someone’s speakers.Property © 2024 N0(v)elDrama.Org.

I look at the dark woods surrounding me and realize I don’t really have a choice. I’m not about to just sit out here and wait for some serial killer to stumble upon me. I grab my purse and square my shoulders. I can do this, I tell myself. I can totally fucking do this. I pull down my ridiculous dress as far as it will go, making a mental note to kill my cousin as soon as I get back to civilization, and set my stripper heels on the road.

By the time I see the lights for the bar up ahead, my feet are screaming at me, and I’m covered in a light sheen of sweat. Judging by the way the music gets louder every time someone new opens the door, I’m guessing the place is pretty packed. I let out a groan when I see the long line of motorcycles in the parking lot.

Just fucking fantastic.

A biker bar.

I look down at my dress, noticing how the exercise has made my nipples rock-fucking-hard, and, thanks to the sweat, my areolas are clearly visible through the thin, see-through fabric. I look like I’m wearing a fucking nightie, and now I’m about to walk into a bar filled with a bunch of bikers.

At least the place should be dark. Maybe I can just sneak in and quietly ask the bartender for help without anyone noticing me. I take a deep breath and square my shoulders. Mustn’t let them smell fear after all. When I open the door and the loud music comes crashing to an eerily quiet halt, I see a crowd of very large men staring at me.

It’s dogs, you dumbass!, I silently scream at myself. Never let dogs smell fear!

The hungry look on these men’s faces as their eyes run over my practically naked body makes it obvious that they smell my fear, and they fucking love it. I look around the room, thinking that I’ve never seen so much leather, facial hair, and tattoos in such a small space. I try to find a friendly face, but they’re all looking at me like they want to bend me over the nearest table and fuck the living hell out of me.

Normally, I’d be pretty excited about the idea of finally getting my cherry popped, but I’ve always kind of thought of myself as a one-man kind of woman. I’m not really into sharing. When my eyes settle on the man behind the bar, all the air leaves my lungs. Holy shit! He may be just as tough looking as all the others, but he’s also dripping with sex appeal, and even though I tell my pussy that now is most definitely not the time, it sparks to life with a vengeance, wetting through my skimpy thong with a quickness.

I give the room an awkward wave, say a quick, “Hello,” and make a beeline for the bar, resting all my hopes on the sexy bartender. When I’m close enough to get a real good look at him, my heart starts racing and my palms get sweaty. God, he just keeps getting better. His arms are muscled in a way that makes my mouth water and covered in ink. I can see a glimpse of another tattoo peeking out from beneath the top of his T-shirt. I’ve never wanted to explore another person’s body so badly in my life.

He keeps his eyes on me the whole time, but there’s not so much as a hint of a friendly smile on his face. He looks like he’s carved from ice, not a hint of warmth coming off him, but I don’t let it deter me. Instead, I hop up onto a barstool at the very end of the bar and give him my sweetest smile, thankful that the band has at least started back up again.

I don’t get a smile in return. I get a grimace and a deep sigh before he tosses the bar rag over one of his very broad shoulders and walks over to me.

“What do you want?” he growls, and a shiver runs up my spine at how sexy and deep his voice sounds. His eyes are a vivid green that looks amazing against his dark hair. My smile widens when I see a bit of gray sprinkled throughout. He must be about twice my age, and why does that have me squirming a bit in my barstool?