The Perfect Autumn Ride
By Harper Jewel
Tucker “Tank” Rhodes rose from his bed, the crisp, autumn air sneaking in beneath the cracked window in his bedroom, caressing his muscular six-four frame. Looking out the slightly open pane of glass, the colorful leaves, dappled rays of sun, and dew-kissed grass met his deep brown eyes. It had been too long since he’d taken a day for himself. This damn mechanic’s shop he’d recently opened had consumed his every waking moment. The day was perfect for a morning ride on his Harley, and some personal time was a necessity, but coffee was a must first.
Less than an hour later, Tank was fueled, showered, and dressed, his sizeable junk tucked beneath the zipper of his skin-hugging riding leathers; his usual black t-shirt stretched over his bulging pecs. Tossing his matching black leather jacket over his shoulders, he secured his long, sandy brown hair back with a leather tie. Grabbing his helmet, he strode outside to the curb and ran a soothing hand over his Amber Whiskey, Harley Softail Fat Boy. Once astride the bike, he revved the engine and pulled away.
As he suspected, the morning was perfect. The sun’s rays were already lending warmth, and the fire-topped trees offered majestic beauty, indicating the peak of the season was just around the corner. Miles sped by, and he had the back roads to himself. Peace and tranquility his companions, he rode on until he spotted something along the side of the road up ahead.
Giving a quick scan, he realized it was a kindred spirit, a curvy female with her own Silver Pearl Fat Boy. She looked like she was having trouble with her bike, so he slowed down and pulled over.
“You could say that. I’m beginning to think I should have stayed in bed this morning.” She waved a hand toward her bike. “The engine crapped out on me. I’ve checked her out from top to bottom. Nada.” Her auburn locks glinted in the sun as she shook her head. “To make matters worse…my fucking cell is dead. No way to call for roadside assistance.”
His cell in hand, he smiled as he held it up. “I own a mechanic’s shop; we specialize in bikes, especially Harleys. I’ll call a tow for you, sweetheart. Name’s Tucker, but friends call me Tank.” He made the necessary call and slipped his cell back into its holster at his side. “It’ll be at least an hour before they get here. In the meantime, we’ll just chit-chat.”
The look the slender beauty in a one-piece leather riding outfit gave him awakened the ravenous beast between his legs. “My hero, and he rode in on a Harley no less. Thanks, Tank. I’m Heather. He took her offered hand, his large palm enclosing her smaller one as her tongue swept across her lower lip. “I owe you for the save, and I’m pretty sure I have the perfect way to show you my gratitude, stud.”
As his thick stalk grew beneath the constriction of his zipper, he widened his stance and clenched his fists at his sides. Heather sank to her knees, reaching for the closure of his pants and lowering it snick by snick. Reaching into the opening, she pulled his erection out between the jagged teeth and licked the bulbous head. Her words were punctuated by wet lashes of her tongue. “Thank…you…so…much…Tank. My day…would have gone…to hell in a hand basket…if you hadn’t shown up…”
This sexy siren’s mouth was pure bliss, her tongue a talented tease. He looked down to watch her head bob and dip over his engorged shaft. Very few women he’d ever been with were able to take all of his substantial length to the back of their throats, but this bewitching beauty had his tip touching her tonsils in no time. She hollowed her cheeks, practically dragging his essence from the slit as her tongue swirled and laved over every pulsing vein. When was the last time he’d been treated to such oral ecstasy? He couldn’t remember and didn’t give a fuck at the moment. Instead, he just relaxed and let the sensual heat overwhelm him.
“Damn, Heather. You sure know one hell of way to say thanks. Please…don’t stop.” He threaded his hands through her shiny auburn strands and gave them a soft yank. Her moaning response echoed up his stiff rod and settled in his heavy sac.
When the voluptuous, green-eyed vixen began to lower the zipper nestled between her perfectly shaped breasts, he nearly lost his load. The flawless globes spilled forth, begging for his touch. Unable to deny the yearning call, Tank’s hands shifted from her head to her chest, tweaking and twisting the beaded tips until they were a lovely shade of dark pink.
“You like, Tank?” Her voice was like a purr, a tigress on the hunt.
“I like very much, Heather. So much in fact, I want to see how they’ll look with my seed coating them.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged, stud. But first let me get back to prepping this lethal snake of yours.” The words barely left her mouth before she’d turned it back to his raging hard-on.
Once more, she engulfed the entire stretch of his arousal, taking him in from tip to base and swallowing, her throat squeezing him like a vise. The second her tiny hand reached for his tightening nuts, he felt the eruption begin at the base of his spine. With skilled dexterity, she popped him from her moist confines and let his blistering release spray across her breasts and drip down her alabaster skin. Her sharp hiss combined with the look of satisfaction on her face let him know she’d fallen over the edge along with him.
A truck’s horn blared through his ear drums—and his eyes flew open—his spent member lay between his thighs, the damp sheets twisted about his naked body. “Fuck me! A wet dream?! Man, I need to get laid!”
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