by Mj Fields
When she says nothing, I replay the conversation in my head.
“You gonna say something?”
“Nope.” She piles the postcards up, straightens out the stack, and then puts it in her bag.
I pull up next to the house and put the car in park. “Wasn’t trying to be harsh, just—”
“I’ve fought with you for days, Ranger. I’m not going to fight with you now, not when my little dirty biker fantasies are being fulfilled.”
“You’re pissed; why?”
“Because I don’t like feeling your regret.” She opens the door, hops out, and somehow manages to grab four heaping reusable canvas bags full of groceries. “Grab the water?”
“Yeah.”
She smiles. It’s fake.
Shit.
I all but fall out of the damn car, grabbing the water and the six pack of beer, and hurry toward her. “Let me take that.”
“Oh no, you don’t …” She shakes her head, a slight smile on her face.
“I don’t what?”
She stops and looks over her shoulder. I nearly run into her.
“Don’t get all PC on me.”
“Maybe what I said came out wrong. You got quiet, so—”
“So if I had a problem, I’d tell you. I appreciate you doing the same.”
“Wasn’t a problem, exactly. It was—”
“You in this still or is it too much for you?” she asks, serious as shit.
“I’m good.”
“Perfect.” She nods then heads around to the deck on the opposite side of the house.
Standing there, case of water in one hand, six pack of beer in the other, it’s clear to me I messed up. Felt intimate, me putting my hands on her at the market. It was wrong. She’s not mine. Me being in a vehicle with her, even though it was only five kilometers on the way back, felt like a fucking date. So, I did what I do. I pushed her away like I do every damn time so they don’t get any fucked-up idea that I’ll ever be theirs.
This one’s not the same.
Not at all.
It never was.
Brisa makes dinner, leaving a bowl of pasta, shrimp, and vegetables on the table for me and taking two bowls up to Tris and Matteo, who have yet to leave the room. Then she takes her dinner outside, along with her camera, and goes to work.
Between pictures, moving around to get different angles of what truly is an amazing sunset, she’ll take a bite of her dinner. When she finally sets her camera down, she looks in the bowl and looks to be cursing herself. Then she shovels cold food in her mouth, looking disgusted.
I open the window in front of where I’m finishing up washing dishes, doing my part. “Set the damn spoon down, bring that in here, and let me warm it up.”
“It’s no big deal.” She shovels another spoonful in her mouth and shoots me a sarcastic grin.
I throw the dish towel over my shoulder as I walk to the French doors and step out. “Hand it over.”
“I said—”
“It was damn good an hour ago.” I snatch it from her. “No need to eat it cold.”
“Oh my God, Dad, it’s fine.”
Her calling me Dad grates on my nerves, but I let it slide. That’s a me issue.
“Daddy, huh?”
“Messing with you. But seriously, I’m good.”
I drag a chair out from the island. “Sit and chill.”
“If you insist,” she says, sitting down.
I grab the leftovers out of the fridge and dump her food in the trash.
“Um, wasting food?” she tsks.
“Is it wasting food or saving you from getting food poisoning? Because seafood has been sitting out for too damn long.” I finish rinsing the bowl.
“You were wrong about that fantasy. It wasn’t my little dirty biker fantasy.”
And here we go.
“It was the confidence, the mischievous smile that lit your eyes under the streetlamp, and most of all because, as intimidating as you looked, I felt safer around you than I did those other guys.”
Scooping some food into a pan, I laugh. “Good intuition. They don’t give a damn about anyone but themselves.”
“I’ve heard a lot about Frank. The others?”
“Part of my old man’s crew.” I turn on the stove top.
“Cool.”
“No, not cool. Not cool at all. But he’s my old man, and I ride with them once in a while.”
“Respect,” she says as I stir.
“Not so much of that either, but after …” I shake my head.
“The military.” She fills in the blank I had no intention of filling in.
“Yeah, so”—I stir up the pasta—“let’s talk about you.”
“Well, my name’s Brisa Josephina Steel. I’m nineteen years old, but not a child. My father’s name …” She stops and laughs as I scoop food from the pan and into a clean bowl. “Oh, wait, you know all this. Hell, you probably know my social security number, so let’s talk about you.”
I turn around and set her food in front of her. “Gonna guess you know all sorts of shit about me, too.” I nod to the food. “Eat.”
“All I know is that you were in the Army. Guessing based on your name, you were a Ranger.”
“Jesus, I didn’t see genius in your file.” I laugh as I take a beer out of the fridge.
“Gonna ask that you fix that.” She giggles.
“Will do.” I twist off the top and take a drink as she swallows her food.
Pointing her fork at me, she says, “You were the best on Convicted Ink and got boned at the end.”
“I assure you I didn’t get boned. Neo did good and, more importantly, the win gave him some hope.”
“You’re a good guy, Wyatt Dalton.” She takes another bite. “Now, spill the beans.” She chews and swallows, grabs my beer and takes a drink, sets it down, and then sits back. “Your dick’s been in my mouth, your DNA doing the backstroke in my belly.”
“Brisa, that’s—”
“Not a relationship. It’s getting to know a friend.”
“So, we’re friends?”
“I’d hope you consider me that.”
It takes me aback a bit.
“What?” she asks.
I take a drink and lean back against the counter. “You’re talking friends with benefits.”
“I guess.” She smiles, shaking her head as she twirls her fork around in the bowl. “But I was also thinking, maybe you not avoid me even after this is all done. Like when I’m around and you’re around, we could have conversations. Say hey.”
“Hey.” I nod and shrug. “That could work.”
She takes a bite of her pasta, covers her mouth, chews, and swallows. “So, tell me about your family.”
She clearly heard a bunch of shit Marcello was spewing the other night. “My old man did time for beating a man half to death because of some shit one of his brothers got into, leaving behind a wife and two kids. She got wrapped up in her own shit, brought dealers and junkies in and out of the house, eventually lost the house.”
“I’m sorry.”
When I look up at her, she is shaking her head. “Not sorry for you. Sorry you had a hard life. But look at you now.”
Sweetheart, you don’t know the half of it.
“The stuff Marcello said?”
“Don’t wanna go there.” Not with you.
“I respect that.”
Our eyes stay locked for a minute; hers searching for emotion, mine searching for her to look at me like one does a pound puppy.
She holds her hand out across the island. “Mind if I have another sip?”
I step forward and hand it to her.
She wraps her hand around mine. “I like your hands. They’re strong.”
I nod, my eyes still glued to hers. “You wanna trade pleasantries, continue the small talk, or get some sleep?”
She takes the beer and sits back. Still looking at me, she tips the beer back and finishes it. Then she leans forward and sets it on the counter,
looking at the brown bottle as she turns it in slow circles. Finally, she asks, “Are those the only options you’re gonna give me?” When she looks up, her eyes are full of want.
I walk over and grab another beer out of the fridge, twisting the top off as I ask, “Something else you want?” Taking a drink, I turn around and look at her.
“Depends on what else you’re putting on the table.”
I set the beer on the island between us. “How dirty are you willing to get?”
A smirk curves on her lips before she licks them. “On a scale from missionary to butt plugs, I’m—”
“Go get your shoes on.”
Somehow, I manage to keep my cock from jumping out of my jeans and a straight face as she follows me outside.
“Give me a hint.”
“Be patient and quiet.”
“What’s the bucket for?”
I turn the flashlight on and point it at the ground.
“Seriously?” She half-laughs, half-scoffs.
“No better time of day to catch live bait. Gonna fish tomorrow. You wanna hold the bucket?”
“Hell no.” She hip-checks me then squats down, shoving her perfectly manicured nails in the loose sod. “I wanna get dirty.”
Take Me To Church
Brisa
“I’m filthy.” I laugh as I follow Ranger back to the house; him carrying a bucketful of nasty-ass worms and me carrying about a ton of dirt under my nails.
“You look good dirty,” he calls over his shoulder.
So, here’s the thing; he’s told me I am beautiful in a way that made me warm on the inside, but only momentarily, because he said it with a hint of annoyance about it, like he wished it weren’t true. Him telling me I look good dirty makes me want to roll around in pig shit for funsies.
He looks back. “Keep up, would ya?”
“I’m literally right here,” I huff with fake annoyance.
“It’s dark; stay close.”
“We’re also literally ten feet from the back deck.”
“Which means we’re about fifteen from the water. Keep sassing me, and you’ll—”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” I laugh as I kick off my sneakers and haul ass to the water.
Mid-jump, I hear him say, “The fuck?”
As soon as my body hits the water, my breath is immediately lost to the freezing, near paralyzing temperature.
Forcing myself with sheer will, I kick my feet to get to the surface and feel two strong arms push under mine from behind and yank me up.
Gasping as soon as my head is above water, shaking like a leaf, I try to stay calm, act cool, which should be easy right now, since I’m fucking freezing, yet … total opposite effect on all fronts.
“And they say I’m the crazy one,” Tris calls from somewhere and a light flips on.
“Is everything okay?” Matteo asks.
My body is lifted in the air.
“Grab her.”
Before I can object, say I can do it myself, turn back fucking time, I’m being pulled up a four-foot rock wall.
“Ranger,” I cough out his name, along with the eighteen gallons of water I swallowed.
“Aquaman,” Tris whisper-giggles.
I look up from my crouched over position and about die.
My lungs are burning, my body shaking, yet he still manages to light the soaked pilot light in Ladyville by simply existing.
“What the hell were you thinking? Nice night for a swim?” Tris laughs, grabbing my hand and pulling me inside.
“Sorry if I woke you.”
“You didn’t wake us. We were coming downstairs for nourishment.” She shrugs. “I mean, I get your love of long-haired, inked guys, but have you seen my husband?”
I look behind me, worried he heard her, and see him outside, peeling off his drenched Henley. “Yeah, he looks like Dad,” I say, only half-joking.
“He does not!” she gasps.
“I love you, Tris, but seriously”—I pull the soaked hoodie over my head, my eyes still on him as he toes off his boots—“he totally does. Tall, dark, brown eyes, minus the ink and the attitude, he could pass for Dad in his younger years.”
“I’m not even going to allow that thought to fleet in my mind, or we’ll never have sex again.”
“Whatever.” I laugh, tearing my eyes off Ranger’s amazing body, the beautiful ink, and finally look back at her. “You have a type, just like I do.”
“Like I said, not even a fleeting thought. Now, go shower in our room. We have plans, and you can’t get sick.” She’s being sincere, and then, then she looks at me oddly. “How did you fall in the water?”
I shrug. “I jumped.”
“In that water? It’s like fifty degrees.”
Running up the stairs, I hear Ranger say, “More like sixty.”
“So, you what? Jumped in to save her? She can swim. Is that missing from her file?” Tris laughs.
I stop at the top of the stairs to hear what he says, and not only because I need to know to keep our story straight, but because I love the way he says my name.
“You know, Trouble, I think Brisa’s a bigger pain in the ass than you,” he jokes.
“Yeah, well …” She pauses then laughs. “I got nothing.”
“Good. I’m going to hit the shower so maybe my balls will drop down from where they’re lodged in my chest.”
“That cold, huh?”
His voice trails off as he heads to the back of the house. “Been in colder water. I’ll survive. Might want to get Sassy some warm clothes.”
“Sassy?” Tris calls to him.
“Yep,” is all he says.
When I turn off the shower, the door to the bathroom opens.
“The clothes fairy is here,” Tris announces as she comes in.
“How about the towel fairy first.” I reach my hand out from behind the etched glass, and she hands me one. “Thank you, favorite sister.”
“Only sister,” she huffs.
“You’d be my favorite even if there were twelve,” I say, wiping my face.
“Oh, please, you always liked Kiki and Truth more.”
Towel-drying my hair, I tell her the truth, “It was harder to understand you; that’s all. And, as you said, you didn’t really like me.”
She lifts a shoulder and looks down. “I’m still trying to figure it out myself. Dad says you’re doing better, though, right?”
“Right now, I could be rocking in a corner, throwing shit, and he’d tell me I was doing a good job.” I pull the black hoodie over my head, the words Forever Steel on the front. “And I’m gonna promise you, if you ever feel the need to do that, I’ll join you.” I point to the words Forever Steel. “That’s how we roll.”
“Supposed to roll.” She nods once.
“Everything is changing,” we both say at the exact same time.
We both start laughing, and I grab her and hug her tightly.
After a second, she pushes me away, still laughing. “Put some damn underwear on before you hug me. And when did you stop getting a full Brazilian?”
“Since I decided maybe I’d hook up with a pilot who might appreciate a landing strip.”
“Doesn’t it feel … weird?”
“No, actually, it makes me feel more my age.”
“You’re nineteen,” she points out.
“I haven’t felt nineteen in years.”
Tris and Matteo are sitting on the couch, watching TV, while I make lavender tea and fill a charcuterie board with nuts, cheeses, and strawberries. I dip those in melted chocolate.
“Are you going to come watch TV?” Tris asks.
“Yeah, in just a minute.” I wipe my hands on the kitchen towel, step back, and look at the board, basically patting myself on the back for a job well done.
I sit on the other side of Tris and rest my head on her shoulder as we munch on snacks.
I wake to Tris’s whispers.
“Bedtime, and I can’t carry you in.”
My eyes flutter open, and I scan the room for Ranger. “I can’t believe I fell asleep.”
“You’re not alone.” Tris stands. “Fishing tomorrow?”
I nod, since I know that’s what Ranger had in mind.
“Should I lock up?” I ask, stretching as I stand.
“Ranger’s on it. We’re heading up.”
“Well, goodnight, you two.” I look around for the food, intent on cleaning up.
“Already done,” Tris calls from over her shoulder as she follows behind her husband, holding his hand.
After waiting for a few minutes to see if my new undercover lover is going to “tuck me in,” I realize that’s a bit too thirsty, even for my sexually-dehydrated self. So, I hit the bathroom then go to bed.
Lying here quietly, I hear the faint sound of music from above and close my eyes, smiling as I ponder how convenient that is—them attempting to muffle their sexy sounds when it could do the same for us.
“You asleep?”
“Not yet.” I sit up.
“You sleep in panties?”
My face heats when I admit, “Not tonight.”
“Good.”
He walks in the room, kicks the door shut behind him, and says six words …
“Spread your legs for me, Brisa.”
His thick, raspy command makes my already pounding heart feel like it’s about to jump out of my chest.
I clutch the blanket beside me in one hand and the sheet in the other as he covers my pulsing flesh with his mouth and slides his tongue tantalizingly between my lips. I clench my jaw tight, trying to stay quiet so that I don’t cry out in sheer bliss at how insane it feels.
With his callused hands, the same ones that lifted me out of the water earlier, he squeezes my ass as he moves his skillful tongue in and then out of me slowly.
My core heats, and I feel my body tense, my legs shaking as his tongue acts like a detonation device, setting every little nerve ending ablaze.
“Lie back.”
I hear his voice, but I feel like I’m a million miles away from reality, soaked, wishing my release to come now.
When he nips at my inner thigh, the sting lasts but a second, and then he pushes a finger inside of me.
“You wanna come, you have to lie back.”
I practically fall into a heap at the threat and the promise it holds.
