Free Hog Wild (An Erotic Three Pigs Twisted Fairy Tale) by Jenna Jaxon Page A

his eyes as he watched her step closer. He held his breath as she reached one long, tanned arm out—and grabbed the ratchet. He stared, mesmerized, as she walked around the bike and squatted. With small, precise rotations, she worked at the stubborn bolts.
    He started breathing again and his eyes strayed from the sensual movements of her lean fingers to the short, dark tunnel of her skirt yawning in front of his face underneath the engine of the Harley. When the woman hunkered down, the micro-mini rode clear up her thighs until Beau found himself inches away from a thatch of dark curly hair. God, that tantalizing musky smell drove him wild. He swallowed hard as his erection sent painful warnings: make good on this situation immediately or you are going to be one embarrassed boy in stained jeans.
    Before Beau could put two words together, the goddess rose with an ease and grace that screamed she was not a woman who’d just lie there in bed. This gal had to be a mover. Bet she’s one of those that likes to be on top . Though only nineteen, Beau had had his share of women, …well, girls at least. And he had tried two or three different ways, but always came back to his favorite. Doggie style—the name said it all in his opinion. But if this woman wanted to hop on him like he was Jesse’s Blue Phantom, hell, he’d love to be taken on that ride.
    Lying on the ground, aware that the crotch of his jeans strained under the pressure his cock exerted against the worn fabric, Beau couldn’t utter a word to save his soul. He watched enthralled as the goddess cleared the bike and kept walking—until she towered over him, one booted foot on either side of his hips. Her pussy was maybe two feet directly above his complaining dick. If he unzipped his fly, and she zoomed straight down—
    “Can we go inside?” She licked her blood-red lips. Her smile revealed wicked white teeth.
    He was a goner.

 
     
     
    Chapter 2
    Lula Blows Down an Obstacle
    H e’s just a kid, but he’s got a bitchin’ bike. That had been Lula’s thought when she walked up his sandy driveway. Now, standing over him, smiling down into this round, boyish face, with its snub nose and chestnut hair falling into sexy blue eyes, heat stirred between her thighs. Not that she would change her course, but perhaps she would be a bit more—gentle when the time came.
    “Can we go inside?” With studied practice, she licked her lips and curled them into a smile. And was rewarded with a look of absolute lust. More like a dog with its tongue hanging out than a pig. No matter. Lula offered her hand to the boy and pulled him to his feet. She was surprised at his height—six feet at least, may six one. Height didn’t matter, though length certainly did. The longer the better for her purposes.
    “You’re a tall one.” She let him lead her across the clumps of stubborn grass that clung to life amid a sea of sand toward a faded beige ramshackle trailer. The mobile home looked as though a good wind would blow it into Kansas.
    He turned and grinned at her, his pale blue eyes twinkling. “Yes, ma’am. Six one and a half. And more than that in my pants.”
    Lula threw back her head and laughed at his audacity. “You got a name, Mr. Six-Foot-One and then some?”
    “Beau. Beau Hogue, ma’am.”
    “You can call me Lula, Beau.” After climbing three rickety steps, they crossed the threshold and Lula surveyed the dim little den that was Beau’s home. Typical furnishings for a man, cluttered and unkempt. Thank God he took better care of his motorcycle. “Where can I wash up? I got a bit of grease on my hand.” She showed him the smudge she had deliberately smeared along her thumb. “That’s why I asked to come in.”
    His face fell seven stories at her words and Lula bit her lip to hide her laughter. She really should not play with him this way. The reckless enthusiasm in his face and certainly his audacious manner made her like him more than the others. And she was