I’m far less careful. I just slop that shit on and rub it around. Monroe doesn’t help by moving her head to the song’s beat as if she’s not sober enough to stay still.
An hour later, Amity ditches us to play ping pong with Roni. Meanwhile, I enjoy a naked brunette bouncing on my dick to a Metallica song.
“I think Amity knew I was rocking a boner after seeing you in the shower,” I tell Monroe, who grinds her hot, wet pussy down on my cock.
“How can fucking feel this incredible?” she asks, tugging at my hair as she moves faster.
My hands grip her waist as she rocks her hips to the point of no return. I come so hard that my ears ring. Sex has never been this mind-blowingly hot before. And it’s not as if we’re doing any Kama Sutra shit either. We’re just fucking and sucking like God intended.
“I’ve been with two other guys, and they had decent-sized dicks,” Monroe shares later as she stretches out naked on the couch.
Getting a beer from the fridge, I mutter, “Thanks for that visual.”
“I have pictures of them on my phone if you want to see.”
“No, I’m good. I don’t want to know about the hearts you’ve broken before.”
“No hearts involved. No oral either. All pussy-dick stuff. But it was only okay. Of course, they weren’t as hot as you. Apparently, visuals are a very vital part of a good fuck. Looking at a well-toned sex machine,” she says, waving at my naked body walking toward her, “supercharges my pussy.”
“Let me see that pussy you keep talking about,” I say and twirl my finger. Monroe flips over on the couch, displaying herself for my inspection. “Yeah, I can see what you mean.”
My fingers slide inside her, finding her pussy already wet. “You got it bad, Monroe. How can I deny such begging?”
Glancing at me over her shoulder, she sneers dramatically before squeezing her pussy around my fingers.
My dick feels right inside Monroe. Everything about us just clicks—from shopping for groceries to watching a shitty old action flick while she traces the lines of my shoulder tattoo. I can’t get enough of Monroe, and she keeps applauding me. I even got a standing ovation after eating her out one night.
“I’ll save my encore for later,” I promised before tackling her back onto the bed where my dick could find relief.
For weeks, I’d been so fucking terrified of Monroe failing to live up to my expectations that I wasn’t really prepared for how she might exceed them. Despite her secrets and rough edges, she’s fun and strong. And unlike most women, Monroe isn’t intimidated by my mother.
This proves fortunate since Mom makes her feelings clear when she finds me out back in the pool with Monroe.
“I don’t believe you’re my son’s honey,” Mom announces while frowning down at us from the patio. “I think you’re the whore he uses for his last wild fuck before he finds his honey. That’s why I have no interest in knowing you.”
“Very interesting, Beekeeper Barbie,” Monroe says, tightening the straps on her bikini top. “Well, I happen to believe you’re not Conor’s real mother. In fact, I suspect you’re one of those pod people. Since I don’t mingle with aliens, I have no interest in knowing you, either.”
“Smartass,” Mom growls.
“Our children will be able to snark people to death from across the room,” I brag to Barbie while snuggling up behind Monroe and giving her ass a little underwater slap.
“People today have no respect.”
“Said the lady who spit at a pastor.”
“He started it.”
“They always do.”
Barbie flips me off and hustles into the house. Leaning her head back against my chest, Monroe grins up at me.
“Pod people are the worst. I wonder what your real mom was like.”
“Probably highly emotional, not like my fake robotic mother.”
Monroe smiles wider. “Pod person or not, she’s beautiful.”
As first meetings go, I thought that one went well. Mom didn’t go apeshit, and Monroe didn’t take the “whore” thing personally.
They’ll have more opportunities to get on each other’s nerves at tomorrow’s Woodlands party. I usually stand back during those events and keep an eye on my mom, just in case something sets her off.
This time, though, I’ll be front and center. Might even fucking do a few “Saturday Night Fever” moves to show off my ass and the sexy woman who owns it.
PART 5: AIN’T NO PARTY... REDUX
MONROE
The community party at the Woodlands’ clubhouse is supposed to freak me out. I’m repeatedly warned about how badly the introduction of Pixie Yabo—honey to the club’s giant Sergeant at Arms—went years ago. Ambushed by Taryn and DeAnna, Anders’s honey got slapped around and shoved in a toilet while Wyatt’s idiot wife ended up with a broken nose. Meanwhile, Taryn suffered the sort of scratches and bruises only a whiner would whine about, and I heard she whined plenty.
“No fighting,” I promise Conor.
“Damn. Well, maybe I can get Barbie and Bambi to throw down. These things are boring otherwise.”
“Won’t there be free food and booze?” I ask as I shove my boobs into my bra. “There’ll also be music and a dance floor, too, right?”
Conor leans back on the bed and smirks. “You’re going to dance? Now, I’m interested.”
“Oh, I’ll be getting down and funky. I mean, why not? The next few months will be life and death, hit or miss for me. Why not have fun while I can?”
“Don’t speak negatively about the future. It’ll be so fucking bright that you’ll need to wear shades.”
When I frown, he explains the shades thing is from a song. Nodding, I slide my low-cut, chocolate brown dress over my head and wiggle it downward until the bottom seam reaches my knees.
“McNamee family parties are boring as fuck,” I explain while rubbing lotion on my bare legs to make them shine. “They served heavy beer and sour wine. The music was only Flogging Molly, and the food was all potato-and-beef-based. I’d be bored, angry-drunk, and on my way to constipation.”
Looking sexy as fuck in his black buttoned shirt and jeans, Conor admires me spinning in my flowy dress.
“Fun story, bro,” he murmurs. “Now, get naked and ride my dick.”
“No fucking way. Once stuffed into this dress, I’m not breaking free until you pry me out later. However, I will turn around and drop my panties for a quickie. Just promise to keep your sticky squirts off the dress.”
Conor proceeds to screw any concerns right out of me. Well fucked is the best way to show up to a party. People aren’t as obnoxious when you’re riding the wave of a powerful orgasm. Hell, I don’t think I even notice anyone’s side-glares or snide comments for the first hour.
The Woodlands’ clubhouse is swanky with a damn chandelier. Who would think bikers could go so glam? I assume their wives designed the contemporary-style décor. Gray walls, black wood floors, and so many windows. And in the middle of the room is a large table overflowing with catered food. Pixie insists I try the dumplings.