Claimed by the Biker Giant (Maxine and Tank) novel Chapter 146

Fixer POV

My dream was of Tank, and his gorgeous body, good dreams, erotic dreams. When I woke, I was horny as hell.

He was lying on his back, one arm over his head, the other around my waist; he was always touching in some small way. Lifting the blanket, I smiled. He had a morning wood, perfect. I can soon change that to mean something else.

Moving down the bed and grasping his shaft, I started to play with him. I loved making his shaft jump and pulse. I used everything I had: my teeth, nails, and mouth, hoping he would enjoy what I was doing. His groans say he does, but was he awake or dreaming I am doing this to him? I didn’t care; I loved making him groan with pleasure.

He woke up fully when I climbed on, but I was in my zone and didn’t want him to touch me. He worked it out, and the only participation was thrusting his hips up, and that was more than enough for me to reach where I am chasing. His warning before he released was a big turn on, bringing me to the peak and exploding as I felt him pulsing inside of me.

I love this man; he gets me.

He pouted when I said I needed to pee, but in the bathroom, he shocked me. I would never in my wildest dreams even think he would do such a thing. It must have been awkward for him to squat down and pee into the bowl between my legs, but it was a huge turn-on. Go figure. Never know what will turn you on, till you try. I know watching others go at it does nothing for me; I fall asleep during that kind of movie and get up to leave. If I walk in and they’re busy in the bed, or on my lounge, yuck, I must scrub it clean before I can sit on it again. Better not knowing what they been up to, or I would never sit on a lounge chair ever again.

Tank let me wash him and left when I asked. Part of why I love him: he won’t push it. I could tell how much he wanted to stay, but he allowed me to push him out and let me comb his beard. I have a fetish for his beard. Didn’t know I liked them till I met Tank. His beard was always so soft, not scratchy at all. I guess if he had it short, that would be different, but he has a nice length. I think I could put it in a plait if he let me.

I checked my phone once we were dressed and ready to head down from breakfast, and I had six messages.

“How many messages do you have?” I asked, as I started to check mine out.

“Fifteen.” He made coffee, and we sat on the balcony to drink it and check our messages.

I have three from my Grandparents, one from the lawyer advising me that he had sent the list to my sss address, and one from Jenny, giving me the thumbs up for her new job and saying she will be home tomorrow. Lastly, one from Bruiser, whom I didn’t know, still had my phone number.

“Did you get messages from Bruiser?” I asked, my finger hovering over the button to read it, unsure if I wanted to.

“Yes, three of them haven’t read them yet, will leave them to last.” He said bitterly. He didn’t want to look at them any more than I did.

I opened mine and burst out laughing.

“What’s funny?” Tank asked, looking at his phone.

“My text from Bruiser,” I replied, still chuckling.

“You received one? Read it out.” Tank pushed, and so I did.

‘Fixer, dear. I have made one huge mistake. Can you talk to Prez? Or Tank or both, I need to discuss this split with him, with no violence, but no one’s answering my text, you are my last hope.’

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