The Bare Bones (The Bare Bones MC) by Layla Wolfe Read Free Book Online Page B

into the backyard to toss him in the pool. After taking off the black leather cut with barely any patches on it, of course.
    I tried flirting some more with Turk, but apparently his brother’s word was gold, for he barely looked at me again. Later that night, it struck me that maybe Ford was simply following Cropper’s rules when he warned his brothers away from me. Cropper wasn’t there, so maybe Ford was just echoing the same confusing thing he’d told me at the high school.
    So instead of feeling proud, I became angry and confused again. So what If Cropper liked to watch? I liked to watch, too!

CHAPTER SIX
    MADISON
    I had had a few of the watery Budweisers by that time and had dared to break into Ingrid’s schnapps. The clear liqueur was too sticky sweet for me, but I wanted to get a little trashed. I was messaging Sabrina on my laptop—of course she knew about my whole crush, the kiss in the swimming pool, everything.
    MADISON SHELLM: Now he’s just out in the garage playing with his electronics.
    SABRINA McMURTRY: I’m confused. Why can’t you and him just go to a hotel like everyone else?
    MADISON SHELLM: Exactly, my dear. Why the fcuk not?
    SABRINA McMURTRY: Yo’ure hot and he shoudl be glad you want him. He needs to learn a lessn.
    MADISON SHELLM: What sort of lesson?
    SABRINA McMURTRY: That’s you’re not gonna wait forevber.
    MADISON SHELLM: I just really want to get fducked.
    Sabrina was right! She was damned right. The booze had given me liquid courage, and I was already at my bedroom door by the time Sabrina typed:
    SABRINA McMURTRY: It’s not like Flagstff is that far from Pure and Easy, anway. He can always visit
    I didn’t want to go through the dining room where Ingrid was conducting business with some toothless wonders, so I went out front and around the side of the house where there was a separate entrance to the garage. I knew from the bikes parked out front that only Ford and Cropper were here—looked like even the “grunt” Robert had taken his white Dyna on an errand.
    I was going to confront Ford. I was going to interrogate him until he either admitted he wanted me—which he’d done at the school—or told me to get lost. If he wanted me, he was taking me to a motel to fuck the stuffing out of me. No ifs, ands, or buts. Cropper didn’t even have to know.
    Instead, I was about to encounter the most stupendous, life-changing sight of my life.
    The door was ajar so I just shoved it open. I immediately stopped short, sucking in air.
    There, by the feeble sixty-watt light of a clip-on work lamp, Ford sat back astride a work bench, sensuously jacking off.
    I went utterly numb. It was a scene I’d only dared to imagine in my most insane, most frenzied masturbating sessions.
    What. The. Fuck.
    It was better than my fantasies. Shirtless, he leaned back on one palm, bringing the glorious muscles of his chest into sharp relief. Because the garage had no air conditioning, his pecs were slicked with sweat. That infuriating, softly oily line of hair that defined the centerline between his molded abs, well, I was finally able to see where it joined the shiny bush of his pubic mound. He leaned casually back, his hips thrust forward, the shiny, greasy limb of his cock in his fist.
    I admit it—I went weak in the knees. I had to cling to the doorjamb. Luckily an iPod in the garage was playing some Led Zeppelin tune—“When The Levee Breaks,” if I recall correctly—and it had muffled my footsteps.
    Ford was taking his time. Whatever lubricant he’d used made the bulbous cockhead shine like an enormous, taut mushroom he choked in his grip. He took his time easing his fist back down his pole. When his hand met with the root of his cock, he smeared his palm over his mound to take a handful of his balls. His hips twitched and his head rolled back, displaying the fine silhouette of his powerful throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to swallow.
    It was an art form, as though he were making