spending more than five minutes here, so I can’t see how you could get one of them to stay.”
“Believe me,” I said with a smirk, “it takes a lot longer than five minutes. But you know that already.”
“Yeah, and you had to pay me to get me to stay the night. Again, I see how the place doesn’t get cleaned.”
I had to bite my tongue to keep from calling her a bitch, and worse than that. So I took her out to get cleaning stuff, and food, and clothes. That was another thing. She couldn’t walk around the house in a tight dress all the time, even though I kinda wanted to see what she would look like, scrubbing a floor with her ass in the air with that dress riding up.
She was right, though, and she picked out sweats and socks and underwear, plus a pair of running shoes. We must have looked ridiculous, her in a dress and heels, me in my leather kutte and jeans, at Walmart on a Saturday morning. I could see people making up stories in their heads. I thought it was funny.
She didn’t. I noticed the way she let her dark hair hide her face sometimes, especially when we stood in line at the register. “What, afraid to be seen with me?” I tried not to let the hurt into my voice. I wasn’t even hurt, I was pissed. She was so like all the other people in town, the ones who thought they were better than the MC. It didn’t usually bother me. I could laugh it off, maybe even fuck with them by standing too close or staring at them from across the aisle. I usually loved watching them turn pale and run off—even the bigger guys. For some reason it bothered the shit out of me when she did it.
When we got back to the house, she got to work. She went upstairs to change and when she came down it was like a totally different person was in the house with me. She had put her hair in a bun on top of her head, wiped off all her makeup, and changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt. She was even wearing a sports bra underneath—I could see the outline through the thin cotton. She really went over-the-top trying to unsex herself.
It didn’t matter. I wanted her more than ever. Without the makeup, she was still beautiful, maybe even gorgeous. She sort of glowed, like those girls in the soap commercials. I didn’t think people like her existed in real life. I never knew anybody like her. And she couldn’t hide that body underneath a pair of sweatpants. I knew what she had going on, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The little thong panties she bought, which of course I took a look at as she put them on the conveyor belt for the cashier, left the outline of her ass perfect in the pants she wore. I could have watched her walk away all day.
I sat on the couch with my feet on the coffee table and let her get to work. I couldn’t wait to see how long she held out before she got tired and gave up. I wouldn’t blame her if she did, but I would give her shit for it—if only to get her back for giving me shit over the way the house looked, which she mentioned every other minute or so.
She put on a pair of rubber gloves, which I thought was a little much but kept my mouth shut, and walked around with a giant trash bag. She emptied all the takeout containers and pizza boxes into it. Her head was turned to the side so she wouldn’t have to see what was inside the containers. Like she’d find a severed head or something.
I sighed loudly. “Jesus Christ, it’s not that bad.”
“It smells like a garbage dump in here. I can’t believe you don’t smell it.” She opened a window and fanned her arms dramatically up and down. I shook my head and bit back a smile.
I didn’t care. She was cleaning it up. I didn’t know I’d be getting maid service for my thirty grand.
She washed the insides of the windows, and I couldn’t keep myself from watching her. Her ass jiggled a little as her arm moved in circles on the glass. Every once in a while I’d see her tits from
“Believe me,” I said with a smirk, “it takes a lot longer than five minutes. But you know that already.”
“Yeah, and you had to pay me to get me to stay the night. Again, I see how the place doesn’t get cleaned.”
I had to bite my tongue to keep from calling her a bitch, and worse than that. So I took her out to get cleaning stuff, and food, and clothes. That was another thing. She couldn’t walk around the house in a tight dress all the time, even though I kinda wanted to see what she would look like, scrubbing a floor with her ass in the air with that dress riding up.
She was right, though, and she picked out sweats and socks and underwear, plus a pair of running shoes. We must have looked ridiculous, her in a dress and heels, me in my leather kutte and jeans, at Walmart on a Saturday morning. I could see people making up stories in their heads. I thought it was funny.
She didn’t. I noticed the way she let her dark hair hide her face sometimes, especially when we stood in line at the register. “What, afraid to be seen with me?” I tried not to let the hurt into my voice. I wasn’t even hurt, I was pissed. She was so like all the other people in town, the ones who thought they were better than the MC. It didn’t usually bother me. I could laugh it off, maybe even fuck with them by standing too close or staring at them from across the aisle. I usually loved watching them turn pale and run off—even the bigger guys. For some reason it bothered the shit out of me when she did it.
When we got back to the house, she got to work. She went upstairs to change and when she came down it was like a totally different person was in the house with me. She had put her hair in a bun on top of her head, wiped off all her makeup, and changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt. She was even wearing a sports bra underneath—I could see the outline through the thin cotton. She really went over-the-top trying to unsex herself.
It didn’t matter. I wanted her more than ever. Without the makeup, she was still beautiful, maybe even gorgeous. She sort of glowed, like those girls in the soap commercials. I didn’t think people like her existed in real life. I never knew anybody like her. And she couldn’t hide that body underneath a pair of sweatpants. I knew what she had going on, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The little thong panties she bought, which of course I took a look at as she put them on the conveyor belt for the cashier, left the outline of her ass perfect in the pants she wore. I could have watched her walk away all day.
I sat on the couch with my feet on the coffee table and let her get to work. I couldn’t wait to see how long she held out before she got tired and gave up. I wouldn’t blame her if she did, but I would give her shit for it—if only to get her back for giving me shit over the way the house looked, which she mentioned every other minute or so.
She put on a pair of rubber gloves, which I thought was a little much but kept my mouth shut, and walked around with a giant trash bag. She emptied all the takeout containers and pizza boxes into it. Her head was turned to the side so she wouldn’t have to see what was inside the containers. Like she’d find a severed head or something.
I sighed loudly. “Jesus Christ, it’s not that bad.”
“It smells like a garbage dump in here. I can’t believe you don’t smell it.” She opened a window and fanned her arms dramatically up and down. I shook my head and bit back a smile.
I didn’t care. She was cleaning it up. I didn’t know I’d be getting maid service for my thirty grand.
She washed the insides of the windows, and I couldn’t keep myself from watching her. Her ass jiggled a little as her arm moved in circles on the glass. Every once in a while I’d see her tits from
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