Free The Sweetest Revenge by Lucy Felthouse Page A

gladly be, if her presence was requested by the goddess Mackenzie. All she would have to do was click her fingers and Abigail would come running. And not just for a parcel. For whatever reason she damn well felt like giving.
    She sighed. The woman had her completely and utterly under the thumb, and she had absolutely no idea. Abigail was sure Mackenzie didn’t even know she existed. It was a shame, really. Aside from fancying the pants — or leathers, in this case — off her, they had a lot in common. They were both lesbians, for one. She had no idea how she knew Mackenzie was a lesbian; she just did. Or perhaps her constant wishful thinking had made her believe it was true.
    They also both shared a love of motorcycles. Okay, so it was only the appearance of Mackenzie and her bike a couple of months ago that had sparked Abigail’s sudden interest, but her obsession was such that every time she heard the roar of an engine — particularly a Ducati — she felt wetness trickle from her pussy. She was like Pavlov’s dog, only with motorcycles.
    Abigail shrugged. All right, so maybe they only had two things in common — however tenuous — three, if you counted the fact they were both female, but she didn’t care. The woman was hot, and one day Abigail was going to work up the courage to speak to her. And saying ‘hello’ and ‘thank you’ in relation to receiving a parcel did not count.
    Movement from the corner of her eye alerted Abigail to the fact that Mackenzie was leaving the building. She sauntered back across the tarmac towards the Ducati, her gaze fixed firmly on it. She clearly had no idea that anyone was watching her, because as she drew closer to the bike, she smiled. By the time she reached the vehicle and stroked a hand across its matt green petrol tank cover, she was grinning from ear to ear.
    It was infectious. The more Mackenzie beamed at the Khaki Green Mean Machine, the more Abigail smiled at the scene unfolding in front of her. The courier either wasn’t in a particular rush to get to her next drop off, or didn’t care, because after stroking the main body of the bike, she ran her hand along the leather seat and across the storage box. She crouched, squeezing each tyre in turn — as though checking them for air — and stood up again, hands on hips.
    Unfortunately, she now had her back to the offices, so Abigail could no longer see her facial expression, but it didn’t matter too much. From this angle, she could see the jut of Mackenzie’s ass in the tight leather trousers and her mouth went dry. During Mackenzie’s deliveries, Abigail’d perved on her more times than she could remember in the past couple of months, but the reaction she garnered didn’t lessen. If anything, the more she saw the hot biker chick, the more she wanted her.
    She’d even started dreaming about her. The filthiest, kinkiest, most erotic dreams, some of which forced her awake with the raging horn and made her reach immediately down her pyjama bottoms to relieve the tension. Others were even more intense, and on a handful of occasions, Abigail had actually climaxed in her sleep. The first time it happened, she could scarcely believe it, thinking that she’d merely cum in her dream and it had been so vivid that she thought she’d really done it. But as her cunt continued to quiver with the aftershocks of orgasm, she was forced to accept that she was now having a more active sex life in her sleep than she was in her waking life.
    The hot courier chick was to blame for her overactive sex drive and pornographic dreams, and as the woman in question finished looking at her bike — which was clearly her pride and joy — pulled on her gloves and helmet, and started the engine, Abigail decided that the ‘one day’ she’d elected to speak to Mackenzie would be one day soon. The only way she’d get that damn woman out of her