True North: A Wordsmith Chronicles MC Standalone

by Harlan, Christopher

  “This is us,” I tell her. She looks down at the box as I start to unpack everything. “I hope you like sandwiches.”

  “Wow,” she says. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I really wouldn’t have pegged you as the picnic kind of guy.”

  “And what kind of guy would that be? I love nature. I love food. What’s wrong with putting the two together?”

  “Nothing,” she says. “It’s just that. . . nevermind.”

  “That what? Picnics are too thoughtful of a thing for a rough guy like me?”

  “Well, you have to admit, you usually don’t see bikers having picnics.”

  I laugh, imagining all the boys in the club sitting around on the grass unpacking a lunch. “That’s fair enough,” I say. “But I’m complex, Delilah. If you’re here with me because you want some outlaw biker then I’m not your man.”

  “No, North, I didn’t mean. . .” I smile, letting her know that I’m just fucking with her. She gets it and smiles back. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

  “I just like to keep people on their toes. But I’m also being serious.”

  “Serious about what?”

  “People get me wrong all the time. The world wants you to be one thing—one thing that people can easily understand and digest. They label you, usually because of how you look. Biker, badass, tough guy. I’m all those things, Delilah. But I’m also a lot of other things on top of that.”

  “Many things, huh? Like a badass, an alpha, a tattooed biker and. . . a guy who likes the occasional picnic in the park.”

  “Exactly,” I laugh.

  “I’m into it. What kind of sandwiches?”

  “Gourmet shit,” I joke. “Peanut butter and bananas.”

  “The Elvis special,” she says. “I like it.”

  The weather is absolutely perfect for this date, but even if we were sitting in the middle of a hurricane I would be happy to be here with her. Not only is she a welcome distraction from all the business I’m trying to keep my mind off of, but she’s someone I enjoy being around. We get to talking, and the conversation gets serious real fast. Of course, I’m the one who brings it there.

  “So, why’d you agree to go out with me again?” I ask tersely.

  “You would have been happier if I’d said ‘no’?”

  “I was surprised that you said yes.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “You just don’t seem like the type, is all.”

  “The type?” she asks. “What type is that?”

  “The kind of woman who’d enjoy being with a man like me.”

  “Now, who’s doing the stereotyping? We don’t know each other, yet. If I’m here with you then I want to be. What more do you need to know?”

  I’ve been told many times that I’m not relationship material, whatever the fuck that is. But by all measures I guess I’m not. I have a criminal record for more than a few fights I’ve been involved in, I’ve ridden a bike and been the Vice President of an MC for the past decade of my life, and my longest relationships—if you even want to call them that—can be measured in weeks, not in years. Delilah isn’t like the women I’ve been around most of my life, though. There’s just something grounded and stable about her, and I’m not used to that.

  “Whatever you want to tell me,” I answer. “Hell, you’re right, we just met. We can talk about. . . shit, what do you talk about in situations like this?”

  “You don’t date a lot, do you?”

  “Delilah, I don’t even know what the fuck that word means. I saw this in a movie, once, and I thought that you might like it.”

  “Well you did a good job, because I love it. And don’t worry, I haven’t dated in a long time, either.”

  “Bullshit,” I say. “I can’t believe that. A woman as beautiful as you? You must get chased around by men all the time.”

  “Let me finish,” she says. “I haven’t dated in a long time because I’ve been married for the past few years.” I don’t expect that at all. She sees the shock in my face. The last thing I’m about is dating a married woman. “I’m not married, anymore, don’t panic. I’m divorced.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Wow, we’re getting right into it, huh?”

  “Well, personally I’ve never understood beating around the bush. We’re getting to know one another, right? You mentioned it, so let’s get to know one another. I’m all in if you are.”

  I watch her consider my proposition. I’m a direct person. I don’t like bullshit, and I say what I mean. People who aren’t used to that kind of directness usually need some time to get used to it. Some never do.

  “Fine,” she says. “I don’t know why, but I trust you, so I’m going to tell you the truth, but I don’t feel like talking about it for too long. Is that a deal?” I nod.

  “Fair enough. And you can ask me whatever you want about me. I’ll tell you the God’s honest truth, no matter what the question is.”

  She takes a deep breath. “My ex husband had another family that I didn’t know about. Some woman he met on a business trip. Had a kid with her and everything. I found out by accident one night when I was looking through his phone.”

  It’s a shocking statement. Infidelity is one thing, but a man starting a whole other family is something you don’t hear about every day. “Well, fuck. That’s about as good a reason as I’ve ever heard to get a divorce. What a fucking asshole. I thought you were going to say he cheated, or that he was abusive.”

  “I think he took cheating to a whole new level. I was devastated.”

  “Of course you were. He violated every trust between you two. He deserves to be strung up by his balls. You did the right thing leaving him. He didn’t deserve you.”

  She looks off for a second, like she’s had enough of this topic, so I let her get a free shot in. “My turn, right? That was the deal. You’ll tell me anything that I want to know.”

  “Anything,” I answer. “I’m a man of my word.”

  “Have you ever been to jail?”

  I make sure I look her right in the eye when she asks that question. I don’t want her to think I’m lying or dancing around the issue. I just hope she’s ready for the answer. “I’m not in an outlaw biker gang, I think I told you that already. I don’t traffic meth across state lines, and I’m not a hit man for hire. But I have been labeled a criminal before, yes. I’ve done some time in jail when I was a younger man. So, technically, according to the law, you could label me a criminal and be correct. But that was a long time ago.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I protected one of the guys in the Mescaleros from a man who thought he had the right to assault him. We were all at a bar together. The kid in question was a prospect at the time—that’s like someone who isn’t yet a full member.”

  “Like a pledge in a sorority?”

  “Exactly. Anyway, my friend wasn’t really that tough of a guy, he just loved to ride, like all of us did, but he was no fighter. After a few hours of drinking some guy started fucking with him, so I stepped in on his behalf to let that man know the error of his ways.”

  I sound like I’m trying to be tough right now, but I’m not. That’s just how I saw the situation, and how I’d treat any similar situation now. If you fuck with my friends, family, or club members, then you’re making a choice to fuck with me too, and I’m not a man to be fucked with. “The cops were called, and I pleaded down to a year long stint for assault. They wanted to charge me with attempted murder, but I convinced them otherwise.”

  “How’d you do that?”

  I smile. “I can be very persuasive when I need to be.”

  I have no idea if these are the kinds of things that you say on dates. I haven’t been on a proper one since high school. But she isn’t running away screaming, so I guess I’m doing something right.

  “I have to say, James North, you are an interesting man.”

  Ten—Delilah—Way Back When

  I’ve never met a guy like No
rth before. Part of me, the reasonable part, is telling me to get up and run the hell away. I mean, he’s an ex-con, a biker, covered in tattoos, and I don’t really know much about him except that he’s into creative writing and once almost killed a guy in a bar fight. But I can’t resist him.

  Being here with him is making me feel things that I haven’t felt since before I got married. I’m excited to see him, intrigued to hear all about his crazy life, and I’m really attracted to him. He’s the opposite of my ex—rugged, handsome, tattooed, and badass as fuck. But it’s not just that. It’s the bad boy, I-don’t-give-a-fuck thing that’s driving me crazy. And my instincts are telling me that he’s a really good man underneath it all. Looks can be deceiving, and I know that there are layers to this man named James North.

  “We’re a pair, huh?”

  “What do you mean?” he asks.

  “I’m a divorcee and you’re an ex-con. We seem like two peas in a pod.”

  “I like your take on our pasts,” he tells me. “I was worried I’d scare you off.”

  I like how he is with me. He’s rough around the edges, but he’s sweet, and always honest. It takes extreme confidence in yourself to be that honest with someone you just met—he’s not pulling any punches just to tell me what he thinks I want to hear.

  We finish lunch, knowing a lot more about each other than we did before. I get why he was hesitant. Most women would be scared off by him, but I’m not most women. I’m as tough as he is, and I don’t scare easily. “That lunch was really good,” I tell him. “You did a great job for someone who doesn’t date.”

  “I’m a quick study, I guess.”

  “I meant to ask you, what do you do for a living? I mean, how does it work? Is being a biker a job or a hobby?”

  “A little bit of both, I think. Right now, I’m gainfully unemployed, but I’m in a transitional phase of life.”

  “From what to what?” I ask.

  “From being a full-time biker and auto shop employee to. . . I haven’t really worked the next part out yet.”

  “You get sick of it? Being a biker, I mean.”

  “I’ll never get sick of riding a bike,” he tells me. “That’s something that will always be a part of who I am. I’d sooner die than quit riding. But the life? I’m just about done with that part.” I don’t know what he means by the life, but he says it like he’s leaving behind something that’s been weighing on him for a long time.

  “Maybe you just need a change. I understand what it’s like to leave the life you know behind, uncertain of exactly what the future holds. It’s scary, but sometimes life takes you to scary places.”

  “That’s the truth. I love your bravery.”

  “Thank you.” No one’s ever called me brave before. I’ve never given myself any credit for getting out of a toxic marriage, but I didn’t want to be one of those women who stayed in a bad relationship because they were afraid of the consequences.

  I can’t help but notice the look he’s giving me right now. We’ve done more getting-to-know-you talk than most people do over ten dates. He’s listened to every word I’ve said, but the whole time he’s had this look like there’s something else on his mind.

  “What are you thinking right now?” I ask.

  “You don’t want to know the answer to that.”

  “Try me,” I tell him, the look intriguing me even more.

  “Alright,” he says. “Just remember that you said that.”

  Alright, James North, you have my full attention.

  Eleven—North—Way Back When

  I hesitate for a moment. It’s not like me to hold my tongue, but part of me is worried that she’ll literally run away when she knows the depravity running through my head right now. But I’ve been dead honest with her so far, and I don’t see any reason to stop now.

  “Alright. About five minutes ago, when you were eating your sandwich, you had a little mayo on the side of your mouth, and all it made me think of was my cock in your mouth, and then me coming all over your face.”

  I wait.

  I hold my breath.

  I’m not sure what I’m expecting to happen. Part of me thinks she’s gonna slap me and tell me to fuck off, and the other part of me isn’t sure what to expect. She keeps looking at me and not speaking, like she’s considering what I just said. I don’t think she expected that kind of honesty from me, but if this is going to be anything, she needs to be able to handle my level of candor. Just then her mouth—the same one I was imagining fucking a minute ago—turns up into a devious little grin.

  “And then what?” she asks.

  My kind of girl.

  Fifteen minutes later we’re back at her place. I left all that shit at the park because who can remember to pack up a damn picnic when you’re about to fuck a beautiful woman? On the ride back, she does everything she can to tease me. Not only is she holding onto me tightly, but I nearly killed us both when she let her hands fall from my waist to my stiffening cock.

  Her places is tiny, but I don’t care—if there’s a bed, we’ll be okay. Even if it doesn’t, I’ll be just fine. When we get inside we’re all over each other. Kissing. Touching. Our hands do what hands are supposed to do in these situations, and I don’t miss an inch of her body. She’s full of fire, and the more she kisses me, the tighter my pants get. They need to come the fuck off right now, so when she pulls away to take her own clothes off, I get rid of all the unnecessary garments hugging my body.

  When I pull my pants down fully she stops in her tracks, half dressed, her eyes as wide as globes.

  I know that she’s never seen a cock like I have.

  Most women haven’t.

  I’ve seen that look she’s giving me before—something in between total disbelief that a man could be the size that I am, and anxious anticipation as to what it will feel like inside of her. She’s asking herself all sorts of questions: what do I do with that thing? Can I fit it in my mouth? Is it going to hurt? All will be answered soon enough.

  She’s about to experience something she’ll not soon forget. I may not be the most romantic man in the world, and I’m shitty at dating, but I can fuck like a tattooed, bike riding god, and she’s about to find that out.

  “Holy shit, North, that thing is giant.”

  “What, this old thing?” I’m being coy, of course. Even though we’re speaking right now, she isn’t looking into my eyes. She’s staring down at the giant girth that could bulldoze a building, thinking about what it’s going to feel like. I’m done with the anticipation part, it’s time to act.

  She stays in place, naked except for her bra and panties, but those are about to go away. Her hair is down, just the way I like it, and as I walk up to her I imagine having a big fist full of it in a few minutes as she struggles to understand just how deep I can go. But right now, I stand as close as I can to her, my cock pressing against her naked thighs. I take her bra off, nearly ripping it from her body, and when it slowly falls down to the floor I stare at her gorgeous tits. They’re the perfect size for her frame—not too big and not too small—but the shape of them are what catch my attention. They’re perfectly round, and they’re about to fit in the palm of my hands. I squeeze her as we kiss, her hard nipples a contrast to the softness of my palm.

  She reaches down and starts playing with my shaft. I fill up her hand with my girth, and she strokes up and down as my eyes practically start rolling around in the back of my head. I was worried that she was going to hesitate when she saw the size of me, like some women have in the past, but those fears were stupid and unfounded, because she’s diving right in with no vest on. “Fuck, that feels good,” I tell her, encouraging her to keep stoking me with that vice grip she has on my manhood.

  She takes her other hand and puts it around my neck, and pulls me down. “I’m going to need that massive thing inside me right now.”

  That’s all I need to hear. If it’s even possible to get harder than I am right now, then the sound of her whisper, coupled w
ith her warm breath against my ear does the trick, and there’s nothing that my cock wants more than to be bathing in the warm tightness of Delilah’s pussy.

  I can see her bedroom from where we are in the living room, but we don’t even make it that far. Bed fucking is for normal people, and I’m anything but. I spin her around and she puts her hands on the wall like I’m a cop about to frisk her. She doesn’t move, just holds her weight against the wall as I move my hands down her sides and grip her panties on each side of her hips. With a pull of my hands, they rip off, and she gasps at the feeling. She starts to turn her head, but I push it back gently, then put some pressure on the back of her neck. She knows what to do.

  Her hands start to lower on the wall as her beautiful round ass comes up so that our bodies are in a perfect ninety-degree angle. It’s not the hood of a car, but it’ll do just fine. The sight of her ass is a gift, and I almost come on the floor as I spread her cheeks open to see everything that I’ve ever wanted in life. Her little pink pussy is sitting there, waiting to get the fuck of her life, and I’m here to give her exactly what she needs.

  My dick is already hitting her leg, it just needs a little bit of guidance. I grab onto myself and tease her a little. I start at the top, placing the head of my massive serpent on the lowest part of her back, just above her ass. Then I start to move it down, slowly and methodically, putting just the right amount of pressure on each spot. My red, throbbing head buries itself between her butt cheeks and tickles her ass. She gasps again because she isn’t expecting it, but all I’m going for right now is a tease, and it does just that. I keep going, lowering myself until I’m gently rubbing the outside of her lips. That’s where I stay, pushing forward just a little bit until I penetrate the outside.

  My head hits her clit, and I start to make small circles as I hear her give me verbal confirmation that what I’m doing is working. “Fuck, North, that feels so fucking good.” I know it does, so I keep going, side to side, then up and down, until I’m so turned on that I can’t take it any longer. I reach down and use my fingers to gauge how wet she is, and I’m not at all disappointed. My hand comes back soaked, and I put my fingers in my mouth so that I can taste that pussy that’s about to get destroyed.