Free White Wolves MC: A BWWM Interracial Romance by Ella Douglas

handles.
     
    “It’s hard,” Mercedes whispered. And then, after a moment, she added. “Riding, I mean.”
     
    “I know. But it’ll get easier,” I whispered back, my chin resting on her shoulder, almost in the cradle of her neck.
     
    “Will it?”
     
    “If you practice.”
     
    “Will you let me?”
     
    “If you’re good to me.”
     
    “How can I be good to you?” she asked, her voice slow and soft as she shifted her butt against my crotch. My cock was practically ready to explode.
     
    “You can ride the bike to the bodega three blocks away and pick up something for lunch,” I declared, climbing off the back.
     
    “Wait, what? I can barely get around the parking lot here.”
     
    “Well, go slow. Practice.”
     
    I watched her ride unsteadily, swaying from side to side, as she crept out of the parking lot and onto the street. As I turned, I heard a cascade of honks and yelling. But no crash, no sound of bodies hitting the pavement or car hoods, so I didn’t turn around.
     
    Instead, I went upstairs, went straight to the bathroom, dropped my jeans, and jerked off furiously into my hand, imagining her tight little ass wrapped around my cock.
     
    When I had finished, I washed my hands and found myself staring a picture on my bookshelf. It was me and Fred, back in Afghanistan.
     
    “You sure found yourself a firecracker,” I muttered to Fred’s picture. “Good god, man. How’d you ever handle her?”
     
    I stalked back downstairs just in time to meet Mercedes, returning from the store with bags hanging off of either forearm.
     
    “That was scarier than a shootout,” she said, shaking her head, her legs trembling as she climbed off the bike. “I practically caused about fourteen car accidents on my way over there.”
     
    “But you didn’t successfully cause any accidents, so you’re still doing better than I did my first time out on a bike,” I announced.
     
    We went upstairs and without my having to say anything, she started on lunch, whipping up a quick, corner-bodega meal of refried beans, cheese, tortillas, scrambled eggs, and chorizo sausage. I picked out a few hot sauces from the fridge and we settled down to eat.
     
    “You like those hot sauces,” she noted as I doused my eggs, my sausage, and my beans in a smoky dark crimson liquid that could burn rust off of iron if given the chance.
     
    “It helps me feel,” I replied, simply. “It’s one of the only things that gets the endorphins pumping anymore.”
     
    She selected a hot sauce to try, doused her beans with it, and took a bite.
     
    “Jesus Christ!” Mercedes gasped. “How do you eat that stuff?”
     
    She began shoveling grated cheese and tortillas into her mouth, gagging as I cackled.
     
    “You get used to the burn. And the pain elicits an endorphin response. So you feel good and relaxed afterwards.”
     
    “I just feel like I’ve been poisoned. There’s no way humans were meant to eat stuff like that.”
     
    “Humans are actually the only animal that will eat a chili pepper a second time,” I noted. “All other animals will steer clear of peppers once they eat them… But not humans. We love that shit.”
     
    “That’s… Almost beautiful, in a way.”
     
    “What?” I asked, going back for a second helping of the sauce that had lit Mercedes’s mouth on fire.
     
    “Humans will go back and try a painful thing a second time if they think there’s something worthwhile to it.”
     
    Our eyes met, her baby-blues searching mine.
     
    “Yeah… Yeah, I guess that’s true,” I said with a shrug, making a taco for myself. “Or maybe it’s just that we don’t learn the first time.”
     
    Mercedes smiled.
     
    “I’m pretty bad at learning my lesson the first time through. I know that, at least,” she admitted.
     
    We finished lunch and then went downstairs to the parking lot. Mercedes road my bike around the lot for the rest of the afternoon, working up a good sweat out there in the