Taylor's Ride Sparks Biker Sex

Its usually the quiet nights that explode into something you never forget -- you know the ones, where you're supposed to be getting hammered for cheap in a basement bar until something happens and you end up living out the type of wild fantasy that leaves a mark on you for the rest of your life. I'm 28 now and still feel the consequences of that night during my junior year of college -- just barely 21 -- and a total scene bitch in a small college town which meant I thought I was an absolute rock star. Back then, I was usually in black skirts and band tees, ripped fishnets, and just the right amount of piercings. My hair was kept in a messy shoulder length bob, dyed black with edgy purple streaks. And of course, a free state-of-the-art gym on campus meant I was hitting the gym often enough to have a toned definition to my waist and legs.

On one of those nights drenched in quiet anticipation, I walked down the main street of our small town, past the thumping bass and shouts from the more popular bars. I'd been in my dorm an hour ago ignoring homework and the part of me that said to stay in and study. One roommate was already sound asleep and the other just wasn't in the mood to find an adventure. I'd tried cajoling her with a free round of drinks and she simply shrugged from behind her laptop, face illuminated by the glow of an essay.

I almost think the walk to the bar is as fun as the bar itself, though its all part of a night out I suppose. On this particular night, I'd jammed my earbuds in and blasted The Misfits, letting the drums and wails drown out my second thoughts about heading out for drinks -- I did have homework due tomorrow, after all. The air was just starting to lose its summer warmth for the autumn chill. It was cool, but not so cold I needed a hoodie.

Streetlights flickered as I headed past the strip of college-aged nightlife, past a few blocks of strip malls and fast food, to a squat brick building with a neon Pabst sign in the window. A row of shining motorcycles was parked in front of the bar. Polished finishes and custom finishes seemed to glow in the mix of neon and streetlamps. A few haggard guys were clustered around the nearest one, talking and chuckling as they took long, heavy drags from cigarettes. Their smoky exhales curled upwards, almost like a mystical haze. I could smell them, even from here -- the mix of oil, leather, and smoke that was like a promise of excitement. I felt a chill run down my spine that had nothing to do with the fall air. Biker Night at Rusty's meant the place would be packed with the Thursday regulars -- grizzled, leather and denim clad, grungy, blue-collar men. Just the way I liked it.

Inside, the smoke-tinged lights gave everything a yellow, gritty glow. The air was so thick with cigarette smoke that it almost felt like I could chew on it. It was the sort of heavy fog that clings to your clothes, skin, and soul, until you become a part of the haze itself. It rolled through the air like a living thing, waving around the crowd as puffs of smoke would blow up into the air from amidst the patrons. It was busier than usual tonight and I had to push my way past a few people as I made my way to the bar.

I wedged myself between a couple of construction worker looking fellows and waved the grizzled bartender over. His ponytail shook when he laughed at my order -- a tall PBR.

"You sure about that?" He asked, and I nodded like I knew how I'd look to everyone else, a skinny chick with a giant drink that wasn't brightly colored. I turned and leaned against the bar, looking around the room. This was the type of bar most of the other students avoided -- it was too rough, too alive, too... authentic? But that's exactly what drew me here when everyone else was holed up studying or getting sloppy at house parties. I took a long sip from my glass, eyes drifting over the sea of leather and denim. The swirl of the occasional black and blue patch flashed through the haze.

I noticed him first, I think. Sarge. I'd learn his name later but tonight he was just the biggest guy in a room of big guys. He had an air of confidence about him as he sat with his group near the back. It was a mix of grizzled bikers and younger ones who I'd later learn were prospects. Sarge's beard was scruffy, a salt and pepper mix that hung down to his chest. A black bandana was tied around his head with the kind of carelessness that looks intentional. He turned toward me and it was like something shifted in the room, like a spotlight shone on me from Sarge's corner.

"Hey, kid," he called out, waving me over to him. I hesitated for a second, the part of me that should know better shouting something I couldn't hear over the Skynyrd blaring from the stereo and the hum of curiosity. A few heads turned as I weaved through the crowd but I didn't stop until I was right there, dropping smoothly into an empty chair as if this was my regular seat.

I definitely stuck out with my black skirt and purple-streaked hair but they didn't seem to mind. They seemed to enjoy it, actually. Sarge cracked a smile, a knowing grin that made me feel like I was the night's main event. He nudged the guy next to him -- a burly, tattooed wall of a man -- who pushed another beer in front of me.

"Drink up," Sarge said, his voice a gravelly rumble that cut under the noise of the bar. I raised the can to him and the rest followed suit. The talk was a jumble of engines and gears and local gossip but they soon pulled me into their conversation with surprising ease. They asked about me hair, my piercings, my favorite bands, and I played along by laughing at their cheesy jokes and let myself sink into the well of their attention. Sarge kept his eyes on me with a steady gaze like he was measuring something only he understood. After a few rounds of drinks, he leaned in close enough to me that I could smell the whisky and smoke on his rough skin, a scent that blended into the haze surrounding us.

"You throw?" he asked, gesturing to the dartboard hanging crooked on the far wall.

"Oh yeah, all the time," I lied, shrugging like it didn't matter at all to me.

"Great... let's see it," he chuckled, standing up and pulling me by the wrist. His hands were strong and calloused, his grip firm like a vise. The others followed, dragging their chairs across the sticky floor until their circle had reformed near the dartboard.

The first round was sloppy and fully of laughter and misses. Darts clattered to the floor as much as the hit the board, at least when I was throwing. Sarge was better than the rest, nailing a bullseye and holding his arms up in mocking victory. Of course, he ended up winning that game, not that I even know how the scores were kept.

"Time to celebrate!" he announced to the group, waving over the ponytailed bartender and ordering a round of bourbon for everyone. I downed my shot after Sarge's short toast and it sent a burn down my throat into my stomach. The bikers watched me grimace and cheered like I'd done something impressive.

"This one's a fuckin' sport, boys," Sarge announced, slapping my back with a roughness that sent a strange jolt through me. I felt a sly grin spread across my lips, the heat of the bourbon mixing with the high of the bikers' attentions and making me recklessly giddy -- exactly the headspace I wanted to be in.

They pulled me back over to their table for more shots, more beer, more tall tales of their bar fights and long rides with wide open throttles. The din of the busy bar grew deafening after a while as the room started to spin with the dizzying energy of alcohol. The younger bikers watched me with a strange mix of amusement and awe, like I was a strange creature from another realm. Sarge was close, his presence a comforting, unyielding thing that I found myself leaning into more and more as the night went on. The round kept coming, the glasses kept tipping back, and the edges of everything continued to blur until time didn't really seem to matter.

***

"Snake."

I didn't know his name yet, only that he was a bit younger than the rest of the patch-wearing members and had a snake tattoo curling around his arm. He'd been watching me since I first joined the group. When sarge was busy talking with the other in their crew, he leaned in close to me -- close enough I could feel his breath tickle my earlobe.

"You ever been on a bike, darlin'?" he asked, a smug grin across his face. He flicked a glance at Sarge as if to check with the old man. Sarge didn't miss a beat -- with a quick nod and a smirk behind his grizzled beard, he gave me a look before he turned back to the others.

"Just don't kill 'er, Tommy."

Snake -- or Tommy, I guess -- shot me another daring smirk, the kind that dares you to back down. Obviously, I wasn't going to. Sarge didn't seem worried, after all, so why should I? Though I did catch a playful gleam in his eye as we headed for the door.

I followed Snake outside, the fresh air hitting my nostrils with a crispness distinct from the smog inside the bar. The air felt clean and charged with the energy of adventure. I took a deep breath to steady my head and kept walking beside Snake, hand in his, as we passed the row of shining choppers. Snake led me straight to one of the biggest ones -- a black Harley with green flames licking down its sides. He settled into its saddle like he was born on it and held out a hand to me.

"Hop on, darlin'," he said, revving the bike into life as I took his hand and slid onto the bike behind him. The bikes engine chopped with a deep thunder as I settled into the seat, pressing my boots nervously into the footpegs and wrapping my arms tightly around his waist. A hint of nervousness washed over me as he started to let out the clutch, but it was quickly washed away with the cool night air as we took off into the night.

Buildings and streetlights stretched into a blur as he twisted the throttle down the street. The night blurred into a tunnel of light and color through my drunken eyes. My grip on his waist tightened, his abs tight under his leather vest, and so did my grin. The thrill of the ride was quickly outpacing any trace of fear I'd initially felt. The wind lashed out with a fierce gust that fought to push me off the bike, but I just tightened my grip, my heart pounding in sync with the thundering engine. I gasped as he took a sharp turn and the bike leaned low to the ground. The vibrations in the seat beneath me seemed to intensify as I clung to him like a backpack, my body starting to buzz inside and out. We tore past the edge of town where the streetlights faded until there was just the moon dangling above us in the dark night sky. It was pale, full, and seemed to watch as I threw back my head and laughed, the wind whipping the sound away, lost to the night like a secret only Snake and I knew.

When we finally stopped, coasting to a halt in front of another dilapidated brick building, my heart was still pounding from the rush. This must be their clubhouse, I guessed to myself. Its weathered fascia was lit by a single hanging edison bulb that swing gently in the night's breeze. My hair was wild from the wind and my cheeks were flush from the thrill.

"Not bad for a first ride, huh?" Snake asked, helping me off the bike the same way he'd helped me on, his hand lingering at my waist as we started to walk towards the door.

"Not bad at all," I replied breathlessly, like I'd just been flung through a whirlwind. My legs were trembling slightly, but in a good way, the remnants of the speed and danger.

***

The clubhouse loomed in front of us, half-hidden by overgrown bushes in its front flower bed that swayed gently in the cool breeze. It wasn't quite remote, necessarily, but definitely past the edge of town. It was the fortress of the Night Ravens. Snake took my hand again and lead me inside with a strange air of pride.

As we pushed through the heavy door, we were greeted with an air that was even heavier with smoke than Rusty's. Mismatched old couches were scattered around the room, flanked by battered end tables. A bar ran down one side of the room, the shelves behind it filled with more liquor than any frat party I'd been to.

Snake let go of my hand just long enough to grab a bottle of whisky and a couple of red plastic cups. He poured two heavy shots and handed one to me with a grin full of bravado.

"To new experiences," he said, his hoarse voice rising above the noise. I matched his grin and swallowed the whisky in one fiery gulp. It was strong, rough, and burned, but I didn't flinch -- I didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

The room was full of filthy bikers. Some of them I recognized from Rusty's but others were new -- their eyes kept landing on me with a mix of curiosity and something more menacing. A couple of women were there too, arms wrapped around some of the bikers with an air of familiarity as they laughed and tossed their hair. They wore tight jeans and tighter tube tops with the Night Ravens' logo emblazoned on the back.

I could feel these eyes on me, the men and women, all sizing up this newcomer who didn't look like she quite knew what she was in for. I wondered if they saw a difference between me and the women that were already here, or if we were all just meat in the eyes of these brothers or if I was just another brief piece of entertainment.

Snake kept me tight to his side, arm around my waist, acting like he has me all to himself. He took me around the room, holding me close as he showed me around. We drifted between groups, downing shots and introducing names I knew I'd never remember. All of the bikers were tough looking, though some were quite a bit rougher that others with chapped, leathery skin that suggested a lifetime spent under the sun.

"Quite the catch, Tommy," someone called out, making Snake's chest puff up with pride. He pulled me onto one of the dilapidated couches, arm sliding around my shoulders as he pressed close. I caught a quick glimpse of Sarge across the room, his eyes lingering on me with an appraising look that made my pulse quicken. He was sizing me up, I decided, he must be trying to see if I'm actually tough enough to hang with them. I met his gaze with a cocky grin, sure that I was capable of overcoming whatever came my way.

He beckoned me over and I slid out of Snake's grip, escaping his tightening grasp as he tried to pull me back. I gave him a sly smirk as I slipped off through the crowd.

"I got somethin' for ya, take a look," Sarge said, gesturing to a small mirror on the coffee table in front of him with a razor blade in his hand. He wasn't even trying to hide it. Lines of white powder streaked across the mirror like an interstate of temptation. I bent low, inhaling in a quick, practiced motion and immediately felt a familiar, sharp tang, like a punch of clarity reverberating around the inside of my skull.

"Damn," I muttered to myself as I felt it start to heighten everything around me -- music, noise, the electric sense of endless possibility -- and Sarge chuckled with a low rumble from deep in his chest, his eyes still holding the same measuring look.

***

The air felt charged, vibrating around me as I straightened up from the coffee table. The room swayed slightly with an energetic rhythm. Everything was becoming sharper, brighter, and more alive than it was just a moment ago. The intensity thrilled me and suddenly, nothing seemed impossible. The voices and laughter faded into a vibrant background hum.

Sarge offered me the mirror again, but I waved him off with a small wave, not wanting to seem to eager, especially with the measuring looks he'd been giving me. He shrugged indifferently and leaned back into the couch as if he had all the time and the world, utterly unconcerned. His presence was like a magnet in the room, drawing me to him.

"Keep hanging around and you might get used to the good shit," he chucked.

I leaned forward, hovering over the mirror again, raising his eyebrow. The second rush hit almost immediately, same as the first, cutting through the alcohol's buzz and sending everything into fast forward. The room was brighter, the music louder, and my mind was racing alongside my heart.

***

Sarge handed me a bottle of beer, but it just felt like something to hold rather than drink. It kept my hands busy picking at its label while the rest of me spun with a new intensity. He watched me with an approving amusement like I was living up to his wildest expectations.

"See, I told y'all she'd be a sport," Sarge called out to the room. I pretended not to notice the way it grabbed the attention of the other club members. Snake was on his feet again now, stomping towards us like he'd lost something precious. I sunk deeper into the couch, trying to hide in Sarge's presence.

Snake approached with a quiet swagger, grabbing another cup from the table filled to the brim with bourbon. He drained half the cup in a single gulp before passing it to me. I took it like a challenge, pouring another shot of whiskey down my throat. I stood to hand it back when the cup slipped from my hand, crashing to the floor and splashing my boots. Snake moved to grab me, as if I was about to fall, but Sarge was faster, his burly arms pulling my body into his.

"Looks like she's had about enough of that," Sarge said, a tinge of possession in his voice. He pulled me into his lap as he settled back into the couch, my back against his chest. His hands were already starting to explore me, already claiming me. I didn't resist him, letting his calloused fingers slide up and down my thighs, slowly pushing my skirt higher. The room faded away, everything other than the feel Sarge's touch on my soft skin and the power of his presence.

"Show her what you've got, old man," Snake sneered with tension in his voice. It was a strain that suggested he wasn't really as confident as he let on.

"You just watch, boy," Sarge chuckled -- a low, rumbling sound I could feel as our bodies pressed together on the couch. His hands slid to my hips, a possessive grip surely meant to intimidate Snake. His hands started to slide under my skirt, his fingers hooking under the waistband of my panties and yanking them down my legs. The black fabric stretched before catching and ripping on my boots, leaving me bare and exposed to the crowd. I gasped, half surprise and half invitation, as I felt the rooms collective gaze burn into my skin.

The other bikers started to close in, circling like a pack waiting for the signal to pounce, but Sarge kept them at bay with nothing more than a stern look. His touch was firm and confident as he spread my pale legs wide over his lap, giving the club a show that was as much for his pleasure as theirs. I was on display in front of all of their focused eyes as he pushed two thick fingers inside my, stretching me open, fingers slowly sliding in and out as he rubbed my g spot with a ruthless precision that left me gasping. I arched my back against his solid frame, the rough denim of his jeans scratching against my bare thighs, every sensation amplified by the drugs and alcohol coursing through my veins. The pressure built fast and I quickly found myself crying out, voice raw and wanting, sending a ripple through the hazy room.

"Holy fuck, is she into it," a voice called out, the words jolting me like a bolt of excitement that pushed me closer to the edge. Sarge added another finger to the two that were already inside of me, stretching my pussy even further, finger-fucking my cunt with a single-minded intensity that made the world around me blur. My body tensed as each thrust of his fingers dragged me closer and closer until I was right on the edge, an unbearable tension running through my blood. My eyes shut hard as I came, my entire body quivering, my breath catching a load groan. It was like a shockwave that left me limp, legs spread open across Sarge's lap, more exposed than I had ever been before.

Sarge didn't stop there. His fingers continued with a relentless passion, drawing out my orgasm until I was trembling and raw. The room continued to sway around me, the bikers' laughter sounding a mile away as I struggled to catch my breath.

***

Snake had stepped closer while I came on Sarge's fingers. His face showed a gross mix of frustration and hunger -- it was clear he wanted to be the next one in line.

"Your turn's comin', kid," Sarge taunted him as he slowly pulled his fingers out of my pussy, wet and glistening with my juices. He held them up for the room to see.

I was still panting and dizzy from the overwhelming pleasure I'd been subjected to, but every part of me was ready now, primed for more. Sarge shifted me and I heard the creak of a zipper. His cock was thick and hard as it popped out of his jeans to smack against my ass. It pressed insistently into my soft skin, the round head slick with his precum as he slid it between my legs. He teased me, rubbing it against my swollen clit, making me gasp and shudder, desperate for him to be inside of me properly.

"Sarge... please...." I breathed, my words a desperate plea. I could feel the room hanging onto my words, their cocks tenting against their trousers as they all watched Sarge give me what I was begging for.

He gripped my waist, lifting my body just enough to point his cock at the entrance to my pussy before thrusting his hips up, hard. He buried his cock to the balls in a single, rough stroke. I cried out, the impact of his cock driving the air from my lungs. He was huge, stretching my cunt wide, each solid thrust claiming more and more of me as his. My back arched helplessly, taking it, wanting it, needing it. The slip of his cock against my pulsating walls drove me wild. Heat crept up my spine until I was lost in the intensity of him fucking me raw in front of the entire biker club. Each of his brutal strokes sent shockwaves through me. I was crying out loudly, uninhibited, the sound of my moans drawing the others closer and closer. Sarge kept pounding me, relentlessly, his fingers digging into my hips as he kept me cumming on his thick cock with a blinding pleasure.

"Oh.... Sarge..... YES!" I cried out.

Snake was desperate now as he watched us with a mix of envy and lust. When I cam on Sarge's cock, I saw the resolve in Snake's eyes evaporate. The rest of the gang closed in, a sweaty mess each desperate for their turn, eager to be next. Sarge kept his grip tight on me even as their hands started to reach out and claimed a part of me. My skirt was pushed up around my waist and forgotten as strange hands felt every inch of me. Sarge finally let me out of his protective grasp, and the crowd pulled me up as a strange set of fingers slid into my sensitive, quivering pussy.

Snake quickly broke through with a triumphant yet desperate grin on his face. He pressed into me with the urgency of someone who'd been kept waiting for far too long. He shoved me into the couch, his mouth pressing against mine with rough desperation, his wild excitement matching my own. His cock was hard and ready, though not quite as thick as Sarge's. He grunted loudly as he pushed his cock into my used pussy. The others kept crowding around with a chorus of excitement, hands reaching out to touch whatever parts of me weren't covered by Snake's hulking form as he thrust into me relentlessly.

It was urgent and savage, raw and relentless. Our bodies collided with a desperate need, my hips bucking up to meet each of his thrusts as he pounded me into the soft cushions of the couch. I let myself be lost to the chaos and everything that came with it.

"She's fuckin' lovin' it," someone called out.

"Hell yeah, brother, she can't get enough!" another yelled back.

Their words pushed me closer to another orgasm. Snake's breath was hot on his ear as he nibbled at my earlobe before licking his way down to my neck where he planted sloppy, wet kisses. The pace of his hips picked up and he started to pound me even faster, putting me right on the brink of another explosion. The pressure inside me built and built and built until I shuddered around him, arms and legs pulling him close and squeezing him tightly. It was a raw, ecstatic release that left me gasping and fighting for air.

"Fuuck," Snake groaned as I felt him lose control, his legs trembling this time as he reached a fierce climax with his cock pumping his hot, sticky seed deep inside of my womb. He slowed right down, easing in and out of me for a few more strokes as his orgasm subsided before pulling out. He stepped aside, leaving me to the mercy of the crowd that quickly closed in around me.

The bikers surrounded me like a hungry pack of wolves. I was swept up in the urgency of them all wanting more and taking as much as they could get. Someone pushed me down onto my knees where my palms flattened on the cheap carpet. Rough hands grabbed my hair as a new cock entered me from behind, thicker than Sarge yet shorter than both he and Snake. The hand in my hair pulled my head back so that my gaze ended up on the ceiling as the cock inside me started to pound with a relentless ferocity. I moaned again, the sound ragged and raw.

They took turns with me in a hungry blur of desire. Snake again, greedy and panting, eager for a second go. Then an older guy -- Prez -- with a long, silver beard and a half-burnt cigarette clenched between stained teeth. His hips moved with slow and precise, yet brutal, thrusts. One after one they fucked me, dragging me into a lap before pushing me facedown on the floor, before finally flopping me onto my back on their gritty pool table.

I was used again and again by what must have been every cock in the room. My body was nothing but a vessel for their pleasure and my own reckless decisions. The adrenaline and other things coursing through my veins made every sensation electric. Every touch felt like a shock trying to make me explode. I let myself be lost to it -- lost to the swirling chaos of pleasure that filled the room. They marked me as theirs with their hands, their cocks, and their mouths as cock after cock ran its way through me. I came over and over, my moans quickly turning to screams of ecstasy that echoed off the smoke-stained walls of the grimy clubhouse. My body shook with pleasure and exhaustion as I was made the center of attention.

Eventually, Sarge must have decided that I'd had enough. He came back for me just as I felt like my vision would soon fade to black -- his timing was perfect. I felt his hands on me, somehow already familiar and comforting. He pulled me out of the blur and brought the world back into focus as the gang parted for him like the Red Sea. A mix of reluctance and respect was shown across their faces. He picked me up, strong arms lifting me from the now sticky pool table where I'd just been pounded like a public whore and held me across his arms. My body remained limp as I weakly reached my arms up to wrap around his shoulders while he carried me back through the crowd. The air around us began to change, the sweaty haze fading into the background as Sarge filled my vision. His tangled beard gently scratched against my sweat-slicked arms as he pushed through a doorway and into a musty hallway. His heavy footsteps echoed on the hard linoleum of the hallway as I drifted off to sleep in the strong, quiet comfort of his arms.

***

I woke up on a mattress on the floor, cradled in Sarge's arms like a ragged teddy bear. The room was quiet and still except for the low pulse of his breathing, his chest slowly rising and falling with a mesmerizing rhythm. It was a stark contrast to the chaos of the night before. I blinked the sleep from my eyes, feeling the grit of sleep slowly clear as I do so. I shifted, stretching, and felt his arm tighten around my naked body, trapping me with a possessive tenderness.

He was already awake and watching me with a gaze that felt new, like there was an unspoken question hanging between the two of us. I kind of wondered if he'd slept at all or just spent the entire night staring at me and pondering. His hand slowly slid up my sleepy body, cupping a breast before stroking the tangled mess of my hair like he was trying to soothe a wild animal.

"Hey, girl," he said, his gravelly voice tinged with sweetness. "That was some night you had. How ya holdin' up?" I hesitated for a moment as I tried to piece together the fragmented memories of the previous night.

"Well... I'm alive," I reply with a shaky, nervous laugh. I'm too sore and hungover to put together more words than that.

"Fuck yeah, ya are," he chuckles back, pulling me tighter to him with an ease that quickly reminds me of how strong he was, how easily he'd lifted me up and carried me out of the chaos last night. I was wrapped in him, the heat of his body, the scent of his cigarettes, the entire sensation of his being pressed against me dulling the edges of my hangover.

He grabbed a pack of Camels from the floor next to his mattress, shakes one loose and lights it with an easy flight of his lighter. The tip of the white stick glowed cherry red between us before the curling smoke of his exhale wafted up into the air.

"You're a helluva sport, kiddo," he said as he passed me the cig with an amused look in his eyes. "Ride back home's gonna be a lot quieter."

"You sure you want to be seen with me?" I took a drag of his cigarette, the nicotine sharply reminding me of my sins.

"Why would I give a fuck about that?" He laughed, a rumble that sent a thrill through me. "C'mon, lets get you home."

I found my clothes in a pile in a corner of the room, my skirt and tee wrinkled and stained but otherwise intact. Sarge watched me dress with amusement, his grey hair a rumpled halo as he took the final drag of his cigarette. His presence was magnetic to me -- impossible to ignore, drawing my gaze to him even as I struggled to lace up my boots. He stood up from his mattress and stretched with a loud groan, the outline of his fat cock pressing through his jeans. I could barely walk straight and I didn't try to hide it from him, stumbling through the door to the hall. He chuckled again, wrapping a firm arm around my waist as he led me outside to his bike.

The dawn was just beginning to break. The pale light washed over the parking lot of chromed monsters, casting long shadows across the rough asphalt. The silence of the morning air was thick, wrapping around us as we moved towards his steed. I ran my fingers over the gleaming paint, feeling the cool metal beneath my skin. A sly grin slowly spread across my face -- I was in for another wild ride, and there was not use pretending I didn't want it.