#ilmsb writes

Perhaps it’s the mystery of the unknown. Being able to see what the body looks like, but not being able to see the face, drives something deep inside your bones to sizzle.

You’ve seen the videos — the girl giving her number to a mysterious biker, posing with them for a picture, kissing the helmet before running away. Each one, you whisper I wanna do that.

If ever given the chance.

But Gods work on mysterious ways…

It’s a buzzing Friday night in New York—bars are packed, taxis flying down the side streets, drunken laughter filling the air, and your feet are throbbing from walking the uneven side walks.

Your coworkers wanted to celebrate someone’s promotion, you don’t even know who, but had agreed anyways because everyone deserves a drink.

The night started fine, honestly, but then took a left turn into fuckthisvile when all your coworkers started making odd jokes.

About you.

The first few were harmless, even you giggled at. They gradually grew harsher. Meaner. Personal.

“It must be hard shopping for your style in your size.” Dani had drunkenly mocked.

“Summers have got to be hard on you.” Tiffany chimed in.

“Oh be nice to her. She just has more to love.” Frank laughed.

You felt your skin crawl and all blood rush to your ears. Your eyes stayed glued to your drink, watching the sweat droplets slide down to your fingers.

You felt mildly insecure already, being a woman with curves, but never thought of yourself as ugly.

Slamming the last of your drink, you didn’t even give them the gratification of seeing your hurt, and grabbed your purse to leave. The liquor burned your throat, momentarily taking the focus from your eyes. You glanced at each of their laughing faces, nodded once and walked away.

The humid night air refreshes your lungs, finally pulling in a deep breath since the jokes started.

Your phone sits waiting in your hand as you go to book an Uber, when loud vrooming sounds fill the street.

Lifting your eyes, you watch as three motorcycles pull up along the curb right outside the bar. The first one is hot red with white strips along the body, and the rider in all black leather but the helmet matches the bike.

The second is blue and red, a single white star on their helmet.

But it’s the middle bike that causes your breath to hitch. All black leather, helmet, and bike. A blood red star on the front.

You can’t help but stare as your breathing becomes deeper, inhaling the fumes from their exhaust. The red bike and the white star are yelling over the middle person, who—even through his helmet—looks over the conversation.

Head tilted slightly, nodding gently to whatever song must be playing in the protective gear, and your heart feels it’s going to drop out your pussy.

You take a step forward and then freeze. He’s huge, big shoulders and arms and hands and you thought you could just waltz right up and do what?

Your brain short circuits before starting back up again as one of the bikes revs loudly. Your glossy eyes focus, and the one you were staring at now has his head turned. Looking directly at you.

Your hands clam up, your throat feels tight, and your eyes widen. His head tilts in question before lifting a finger to motion you over.

You’re frozen, ready to vomit, just as the door behinds you burst open. Your eyes close in prayer when Tiffany and Dani stumble beside you.

“You’re still here? We thought you left!” Dani pokes your arm.

You snatch it out of reach, glaring, “I was getting an uber.”

Frank materializes on the other side of you, “why are you leaving? You know we were just joking! Don’t be so sensitive.” He nudges Tiffany. “Right? We weren’t trying to make fun of you.”

The two girls cackle, stumbling into each other, “yeah!”

You shift your gaze back to the man and suddenly the New York life drowns out.

He’s swinging his leg over the seat, pulling the key out of the ignition, all while keeping his head focused on you. As he approaches, your head slowly tilts back to keep your eyes on where you think his eyes are.

The giggling has stopped, Frank has taken a step back, and big mystery man is leaning down to press the helmet to the side of your face, “Need a ride?”

Your tongue feels like sand paper so all you can do is nod.

He straightens, flips his visor up, and stares piercingly blue eyes into your soul.

Your cheeks heat, your thighs twitch, and you would give your left kidney to see the rest of his face. His voice is like smooth honey, slowly dripping down your spine.

His eyes shift to the three people by you, “You know them?” His left index finger wiggles between them.

You go to answer honestly, then freeze. No, you don’t know these people. They’re just coworkers who are treating you like a street dog. Taking a deep breath, “No. I don’t know them.”

They all start to yell at you, voices stumbling over each other, trying to defend themselves.

Big Man nods once, wraps his arm around your shoulders, “She’s with me.”

You hold onto his leather jacket, willing your heart to calm the fuck down when you realize he’s leading you to his bike. The other two riders are leaning back, staring daggers at the three assholes you walked away from.

Mystery Man climbs on the bike, “I don’t have an extra helmet on me. I wasn’t expecting to pick up a beauty tonight. So here,” and his helmet is sliding up and off his head.

You’ve ascended and are now in heaven. Whatever good you’ve done in your life is paying off right now. Gods have answered your prayers.

He’s hot. Not as in oh he’s hot. No, as in he-could-fuck-you-right-there-on-the-street hot.

Salt and peppered beard, cut jaw and cheekbones, and hair you want to feel tangled in your fingers.

When you don’t take the helmet, a sharp smirk grows on his lips, “You can look at me like that all you want, Sweetheart, but i need you to put this on.”

Your limbs are jelly, hands trembling as you slide the gear over your head. You peer at him through the open visor and can’t stop the giggle crawling out your mouth.

He licks his lower lip, “How’s it fit?”

“A bit big, but feels good.” You wink.

The man groans, “Jesus Christ.”

His hand finds yours as he helps you swing your leg over the bike. You giggle again, “Actually, it’s-“ you give your name.

He turns his head to look back at you, a sparkle in his eye, “Bucky. Now hold on, sweetheart.”

And oh do you.

You’ve never held on to something so tight before.

Not even when you were younger and held your mamas hand.

Not when you tripped and reach out to grab the nearest person.

Not even your phone when the wind almost blew it away.

But Bucky, your fingers are cramping from the force of your grip on his jacket.

The bike bobs and weaves between cars, his chest rumbling from laughter when you squeak and lock your arms harder. His left hand moves to rest on your thigh, fingers drumming softly along the curve of your knee.

Your mouth is dry from panting, and your insides feel like goo. Vibrations from the bike are making it really hard for you not to moan into Bucky’s helmet and press yourself harder against his back.

This is checking off every box on your dirty biker fantasy, and dear Gods above – if he doesn’t bend you over the second the bike stops, you might fall to your knees and beg for every sin available for purchase. Dignity doesn’t exist in your vocabulary when a wall of a man like Bucky has you draped along his back. Let alone on his damn bike.

So, when he leans the bike to follow out of downtown and to the suburbs, you can only hope he’s not a murderer. Honestly, he could choke you out and you’d say thank you.

The other two had given him a thumbs up and stayed on the path in the city. Red Bike had leaned over and fist bumped Bucky, and wiggled his fingers at you before speeding to catch up to Star Spangle Banner Biker.

You take in your surroundings as the bike start to slow.

It’s a relatively quiet sub, most homes are dark – porch lights on, but all windows dark. Save for a few with soft lights in the living room from a TV playing.

The home Bucky pulls into is modest, a sweet brownstone with an already open garage awaiting your arrival.

You slowly flex your fingers, releasing your hold on him when he kicks the stand down.

Bucky gracefully stands, running a hand through his hair, “Hope you don’t mind, but I brought you to mine. I kind of forgot to ask where you wanted to go.” A sheepish grin blooms on his face.

Taking a deep breath, you slide the helmet off, “It’s okay. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with my roommate anyways.” You hand him his gear.

He places it on a shelf besides the bike, taking a moment to remove his protective gloves.

And you take that moment to very openly ogle at him.

His shoulders are wide – you literally had your face between the blades – but theres something comforting about the size of him. Wide. Tall. Arms that look they could crush watermelons. Thighs that look solid enough to hold you there for hours.

A back so muscular the muscles are seen through the thick leather jacket. His hair is on the longer side. Long enough to grab fistfuls of and curl at the nap of his neck.

You’re practically drooling when Bucky looks over his shoulder at you.

“You like what you see, sweetheart?” The fucker smirks.

Licking your bottom lip, “I’m not complaining about the view.”

He faces you fully, one hand going to rest on bike behind your seat, the other on your cheek. “You know, I’m trying very hard to be a gentleman –“

“And how’s that working out for you?” You lean into his touch.

You watch in real time as his pupils dilate, “You’re making it rather hard.”

You let your eyes wander over him. Down his torso to his jeans, “You talking about your restraint or that?”

There, as clear as the moon in the sky, is a bulged in his pants. Your thighs twitch, your fingers raising to find purchase on his waist. When he doesn’t answer, you meet his gaze.

Blue eyes nearly swallowed by black. The hand on your face slowly slides to the back of your head, fingers slightly twisting to grab your hair. Your breath hitches at a soft tug, “Both.”

His eyes track your tongue when it flicks out to lick your lower lip again, “I had a shit night, Bucky. I don’t want restraint.”

Famous last words before his mouth is on yours.

The kiss isn’t soft. It’s not sweet. And it sure has hell is not slow.

Bucky kisses like a man starved. Parched. Lost in the desert and you are the first lick of water he’s tasted in days.

It’s complete of teeth grazing lips, tongues fighting for dominance, and fingers gripping for dear life.

Bucky’s hand from the bike moves to your thigh, finger tips digging into the meaty flesh of you. A groan leaves his mouth and into yours. Your own hands unzip his jacket and shove it off him while still keeping your lips locked. Jacket makes a soft thud when it hits the floor.

His hands go back to you after shaking the gear off, turning your body to sit sideways on the bike. For a moment, you think about jumping off the bike, but then he’s shoving your thighs apart and stepping between them.

He towers over you like this, and your neck starts to hurt from how far back your head is leaning to keep kissing him. You break apart to breathe, but his lips just descend to your neck. You grip the bike for support with one hand — the other finding his hair.

You yank when his teeth find that spot below your ear. And the sound that leaves his throat is enough to send slick drooling out of you.

It’s like you unlocked Bucky because then he drops to his knee, fingers curling into your leggings and pulling them down so fast, you almost fly off the bike. You gasp, “Bucky—”

The look on his face will forever be etched into your frontal lobe. Eyes blown wide, mouth pretty pink and wet, and hair falling on his forehead. He just stares at your bare pussy for a moment before looking up at you with a lopsided grin, “Oh sweetheart. Louder for the neighbors to hear.”

The words barely reach your ears when his mouth meets your wetness. Your hand dashes to his hair as a breathy moan leaves you. And Bucky eats pussy like he’s tasty the sweet nectar of a plum.

It’s loud— his tongue against your clit, flicking and lick quick swipes. His right fingers tracing the opening of you, his left hand holding open your trembling thigh.

You watch him watch you. Your mouth hangs open, brows drawn together, and filth falling from your lips. “Bu-Bucky!” You gasp loudly when a finger sinks in, “The garage is— “, another loud moan, thighs twitching, “Open!”

Bucky has the audacity to roll his eyes and then press another finger in just to curl them.

Your back arches, head thrown back, moaning to the ceiling and praying to God someone doesn’t hear—let alone fucking see—what Bucky is doing to you.

You clench when he curls his fingers harder, pressing that soft spot he seems to have found ungodly fast. His chooses that second to also suck on your clit, harshly.

Stars burst in your eyes, the sound between you legs is sloppy, and all you can do is cry out his name as you come. On his bike.

Your biker fantasy list is headed to being completely filled if he keeps this up.

Bucky doesn’t slow his fingers, only moves his mouth to give kisses to your thighs, “Good girl. Such a good girl for me.”

Heat blooms on your face, you pussy crying around his digits, “Please.”

He licks his lips, “Please what, sweetheart?”

Your eyes start to cross as another orgasm builds embarrassingly fast. You’re not even sure what you’re begging for. Mercy? More? His cock? His mouth again?

His free hand grips yours still holding onto the bike, “Come one, sweet girl. Give me one more and I’ll give you my cock. Think you can do that for me? For yourself?” And then he slips a third in, all the way down and twists them.

For a brief moment, you think you break his hand holding yours and maybe yank a couple strands out of his head. You come again. A high cry echoes in the garage. Clenching so tight around him, he just leaves his fingers buried deep within you. Wiggling the tips to draw out your orgasm.

Tears fall form your eyes when you realize he’s lowering his mouth back down to you. “Bucky, please.” You hiccup, “You – you said – “, and his lips are making out with your clit again.

You sob loudly. Fat tears spill from your face, sweat dripping down your back, and you can’t seem to catch your breath. His mouth feels like sin and heaven and his fingers just keep playing that spot deep inside you. You pussy cries with you. Two orgasms in, a third approaching, and your poor thighs cant close around his big body.

Bucky’s shoulders keep you spread, and his eyes stay locked on your wet face. The evil bastard looks smug. Looks like he could die there and be so thankful.

“I know, sweetheart.” He pulls away, lips wet and smirking, “I promise. One more. Give me one more and I’ll fuck you right.” He licks your shaking thigh, “You look so fucking beautiful on my bike. Letting me eat your pussy.” Bites the juggle of your inner thigh, “I could do this all fucking night. You taste so good. One more, there you go.” And he wraps his lips back around your clit.

You might pass out, you’re not sure, when your third hits. It’s so wet and loud and Bucky just drinks you up. You push on his head, your feet kick at his sides, too overstimulated. Your poor pussy weeps when he pulls away and withdrawals his fingers. Not without keeping them curled the whole way out.

Your lungs aren’t filling with enough air, but your chest feels light and heart feels full. And pussy feels fucking recked and its just from his mouth and hands.

Bucky lifts you off the bike, holding you open and carrying you as if you weigh a sack of potatoes. You cant even find your brain to care, to fight him to put your down. That you’re heavy.

You just get wetter at the idea of him holding you against a wall and fucking you until the wall gives way.

When your mind catches up, he’s dropping you on his bed and his clothes are shedding. Bucky’s mouth finds yours as he climbs over you, hooking your thighs over his.

You cant help put looks down and nearly pass the fuck out because what do you mean he’s hung like a goddamn horse?

You must make a choked sound because Bucky laughs softly, hands moving to remove your shirt and snap your bra off. “It’ll fit, sweet girl. Youre a good girl, right? You can take it.”

You nod along, wide eyes watching the way his cock glides between your wet folds. You whine as the shaft slides over your clit. “I can take it.”

Bucky moans, “Fuck – “, and sinks his cock halfway in you.

You both gasp out, your hands gripping his biceps as his grip the sheets beside your shoulders. “Oh – Bucky – fuck me!” Back arches off the bed as he thrust the rest in.

“Shit, I knew you’d be perfect. Taking me so fucking good. Look at how pretty you’re taking me.” Bucky shoves a hand into your hair and angles your head down.

Your lower lip wobbles at the sight.

Your pussy stretched wide to take his girth, thighs wet from your three orgasms, and your legs spread so fucking wide you can feel a mild pinch in your hips.

Wet eyes meet piercing blue, and you clench around him “Please.” You beg again. And this time, you know what you’re begging for, “Fuck me, Bucky. I can take it.”

Bucky slowly leans back; gaze still locked with yours. He takes one hand and presses it to your thigh, lifting it up to spread you wider. You gasp when he somehow slides in deeper. His other hand moves from your hair to your right breast. “Hold on, sweetheart.”

Your hands grip his arm above your chest just as he drawls out, and slams back in.

The pace he sets is punishing. Headboard shakes against the wall, the bed creaking with each thrust of his hips. His heavy balls smack against you and the squelching between your legs is almost as loud as your sobs.

“Oh my god!” His cock drags along spots inside you never even knew where there. The head hits deep, your walls keep quivering, “Please, Bucky – don’t stop – I can – “, you blabber.

Bucky groans, hips snapping fast and harder, “Jesus Christ,” his eyes watch your breast bounce, the softness of your body jiggling with each pound, “Ima keep you tied here. Keep you all to myself and fuck you whenever you want. That sound good, sweet girl, huh?” He tilts his hips, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl.

You nod because there’s no way you’ll say no to that, “Whenever you want.” You’re crying again.

He licks his lips before lowering himself nose to nose with you. His hips not once faltering, “Yeah, sweetheart? Whenever I want?” You just nod. “Good girl, such a good. Fucking. Girl.”

Each word punctuated with a thrust harder than the last. And that’s what sends you over the edge.

You clench down, hard, and come harder than you’ve ever before. You fly off the bed, wrapping your arms around his neck as you sob his name over and over.  

Bucky lets out a deep growl, drilling one last deep thrust in before releasing inside and painting your fluttering walls.

It takes a long moment of gasping, twitching, and sharp sobs before either one of you lets the other go. Bucky slowly lowers your legs onto the bed as he pulls out.

Your eyes slip shut, his cum dribbling out, “Bucky – “, you start.

“Im right here, sweets.” A warm hand finds your cheek, “Ill be right back. Don’t worry.”

You lay there, feeling boneless and thoroughly stretched out. In all parts of your body and soul.

A deep feeling washes over you as you hear him down the hall running water. Is this when he calls you an uber to send you home? Is he just going to come back to clean you up and then go take the couch?

Your spiral pauses when he walks back in, “I hope it’s not too hot.” Bucky’s voice washes over you and he’s gently wiping you clean.

You sigh, keeping your eyes closed. Its stupid. Just met like a few hours ago and he fucked you so good now you’re going to compare everyone after him to him. But you don’t want to go. His bed is warm, his hands are gentle and soft, and he smells like comfort and desire.

Bucky must notice. Of course he does.

“You’re staying.”

Two simple words that cause your eyes to open and widen. Had you said those things out loud? Did he fuck the filter right out of you? Is your brain still on the bike?

“I’d like to take you for breakfast. Maybe get your number and see you again, if you’ll have me.” Bucky looks so open and kind and your eyes start to swell.

“I’d like to stay. And breakfast. And you can have my address and social too if you ask nice enough.”

Bucky laughs, wrapping his big arms around you and pulling you to him. A blanket joins his arms, locking in all warmth.

“Rest, my beautiful girl. I’m nowhere near finished with you yet.”

-fin-