by Golland, KM
‘Baby, you seriously can’t go aga—’
‘Try me,’ I challenged, a heated promise in my eyes.
Derek took in my determined expression and gestured me to enter his room. ‘Just so you know, you will tire before I do.’
I stopped before I entered the room and poked my finger into the knot of his towel, unravelling it and setting his semi-hard cock free. ‘Don’t be so sure. I’m only just beginning to get warmed up.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
After spending the weekend with Derek, holed up in his house and fucking like rabbits, I was thoroughly and deliciously tender in all the right places. He hadn’t been lying when he said that I’d tire before him, although I did put up one hell of a fight. He even admitted to finally finding someone who could match his stamina.
Hearing him say that made me proud, honoured in fact, for my sexual skills and prowess were something I prided myself on. Between the sheets, I considered myself to be the female version of James Bond; the non-slutty Debbie from Debbie Does Dallas. I was a fornicating-fiend, a porn-professional, a sex-shark. I was fucking Jaws.
‘Miss Henkley?’ a small child of the female variety said as she climbed up on the step in front of my counter.
Looking up, I found Rani De Silva — aged six — standing before me. ‘Yes, Rani.’
‘What do I do with this?’ she asked as she thrust her open hand at my face.
Her sudden movement and perplexed expression had me jumping back for fear of not knowing what the hell it was she planned on presenting me. One time, Simon Bains — aged nine — practically tossed a dead mouse on my desk. A. Dead. Fucking. Mouse.
Cautiously, I peered at her hand to find a small white tooth. Eww.
‘It just fell out. What do I do with it?’ she asked. I don’t fucking know. Who do I look like? The friggin’ tooth fairy?
Trying desperately not to appear completely grossed out, I grabbed a tissue and laid it out on the reception area. ‘Place it in here,’ I instructed her. ‘Is this your first tooth to have fallen out, Rani?’
‘Yes,’ she explained with a pout. Rani then tipped her hand over the tissue and, you guessed it, the tooth rolled over the edge of the counter and onto my computer keyboard. No! No, no, no, no, no! Eww! Yuck!
I stared at the little white calcified nugget with disbelief then back at Rani who was trying to peer over the edge to see where it had landed. ‘Where’d it go? Can you see it?’ she asked, anxiously.
‘Yes, it’s just here.’ Shit! How am I going to do this?
Spotting my tin of fancy pens from out the corner of my eye, I came up with the idea of using two of them like chopsticks. Fucking genius. ‘Right, hang on a second,’ I explained, psyching myself up for the challenge and selecting two of my funkiest fluorescent feather pens.
Positioning them in my fingers, I tapped the pen tips together — a little pre-testing exercise — then meticulously grasped the tooth as if I were playing a game of Operation.
Slowly, I swivelled and raised my arm, concentrating deeply on the task at hand and, just as I was about to lean forward and set the tooth down on the opened tissue, Lib appeared at my side. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
‘Crap,’ I exclaimed, jolting and flinging the tooth at her head.
She flinched in defence as it bounced off her cheek. ‘Carly!’
‘My tooth!’ Rani cried.
Both Lib and I froze, not wanting to move in fear of stepping on the tooth and breaking it.
‘Where’d it go?’ I asked, twisting to look on the floor behind me.
‘Over there,’ Rani said, pointing to a white spot on the floor near the photocopier.
Libby walked over, bent down and picked it up. With. Her. Bare. Hands. She then placed it down on the tissue and wrapped it up tightly in the shape of a little square. I watched with curiosity as she tore off a piece of sticky tape and secured it, followed by a small piece of curling ribbon from the spindle on my shelf.
Lib secured the tooth in what turned out to look like a present, and then stuck a sticker on it. ‘There you go, Rani. You can take that home and give it to the tooth fairy. She loves presents.’
Rani smiled brightly as she admired the tiny tissue-wrapped gift which was now in the palm of her hand. ‘Thank you, Miss Hanson.’
‘You’re welcome. Make sure you put it in your pocket so that you don’t lose it,’ she called out as Rani skipped off. Lib then turned back to face me. ‘What on earth were you doing?’
‘You are disgusting,’ I stated definitively, ignoring her question.
‘Why?’
‘Because you just picked it up ... with your fingers.’
‘So!’
‘So ... that is just disgusting. It’s been in her mouth.’
‘Um ... yeah,’ Libby countered, pulling a ‘der’ face. ‘I don’t know what planet you are from, but here on Earth, teeth are normally found in one’s mouth. And anyway, since when have you had an issue with anything oral?’
I hit her on the arm.
‘Ouch! That hurt,’ she whined.
‘I don’t have a problem with oral or oral-related things. I just don’t like holding someone else’s body parts in my hand,’ I explained.
Libby raised her eyebrow questioningly at me. ‘Really?’
‘Okay, so some body parts are an exception, especially if they belong to Derek,’ I explained, blushing.
‘Did someone mention firefighter Derek’s body parts?’ Brooke asked as she walked into my office.
Before I could answer her, my phone sounded an incoming message. I fished it out of my bag to find it was from Derek. I swear the man is psychic.
I’m picking you up on the bike at 6 p.m. Wear something warm ~ Derek
The bike? His motorcycle? A passenger? Oh no. No, no, no. I quickly typed him a response.
No can do. I don’t ride bitch ~ Carly
As always, his reply was instantaneous.
Are you fuckin’ shittin’ me? Why not? ~ Derek
Screwing up my face in vexation, I sighed, not wanting to answer him.
‘Is that Derek?’ Libby asked.
I looked up from my phone. ‘Yeah.’
‘What now? Why are you whining?’ she questioned angrily.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I protested. ‘I’m not whining. I didn’t even say anything?’
‘That,’ she pointed to me, ‘that is whining.’
I turned around, thinking she was pointing to someone or something behind me. ‘What?’
‘Your slumped position and sissy little sigh. What’s that about?’
Letting out a breath in surrender, I squeezed my eyes shut and placed my phone on my desk. ‘He wants me to ride bitch.’
‘What?’ Brooke asked.
‘You know, ride bitch ... take me for a ride on his motorcycle,’ I explained. ‘I can’t be a passenger. That’s putting a lot of faith in the person driving.’
‘How’s that different from being a passenger in a car then?’ Libby asked.
‘Because a car has a roof, sides and a floor, you idiot,’ I scowled.
She glared at me as my phone beeped again:
Do I need to ring you? ~ Derek
‘Grrr,’ I groaned and typed a message back.
No ~ Carly
Then answer me. Why not? Why can’t I pick you up? ~ Derek
Before I could stall him any longer, my phone rang. Brooke giggled and grabbed the spare seat to sit on and get cosy. Lib just leaned back against my desk and crossed her arms in front of her.
Taking a deep breath and then exhaling, I pressed accept. ‘Hi.’
‘What the fuck, baby?’ Derek asked, his voice calm, but questioning.
‘I can’t do it.’
‘What?’ he chuckled. ‘Sit on the back of my bike? Are you for real?’
I placed my head in my hand and gritted my teeth. ‘There’s too much trust involved. I’m not ready.’
‘You trusted me enough to go bare wh
ile we fucked all weekend, yet you can’t trust me to ride my bike?’
My head shot up knowing that the girls would’ve heard that, but copped a whack from Lib in the process. Bitch! I glared at her and mouthed, ‘What?’
She either mouthed ‘No condom’, or performed a fish impersonation. Either way, I ignored her.
‘I can’t talk about this right now,’ I whispered into the phone.
‘Fine, we’ll talk about it after I’ve picked you up. Remember, wear something warm.’
‘But Derek, I —’
Pulling the phone away from my ear, I confirmed what I’d suspected. ‘He hung up on me,’ I said, glancing up at Brooke and Libby with astonishment.
Brooke just shrugged her shoulders.
Libby performed her fish face again.
Jet Bradley walked in, sporting a bloody nose.
And I inwardly cursed every living male.
***
At six o’clock on the dot, I heard the roaring sound of a motorbike as it pulled up outside my house. I ran to the lounge room and jumped on the couch, leaning over the back of it to get a decent view out of the window.
Lib, too, jumped on it beside me. ‘Oh, now that is hot! He is hot! Firefighter Derek and his motorcycle are scorchin’ bloody hot!’
She was right. The sight of him swinging his leg over the back of the bike and taking his helmet off was akin to the hotness I would experience had someone struck a match and physically set my vagina alight.
‘I suck his cock,’ I blurted out, a salacious grin covering my face.
Lib burst out laughing and shoved my shoulder. ‘Carly!’
‘Well, I do, and I’m proud of it. Look at him. I get to drag my tongue all over that,’ I said, pointing to Derek.
‘Oh, I’d like to drag my tongue over that too,’ Libby purred, practically drooling.
We were both perched on our funky turquoise suede couch, arms slumped over the backrest, gazing out the window while Derek began to undo his jacket.
Watching with gratification as the zip unfastened and the leather slid off his bicep-happy arms, I was unable to help myself and started humming the tune to ‘You Can Leave Your Hat On’ by Joe Cocker. Lib giggled and joined in, and we both perved appreciatively.
Before making his way to the door, he hung his jacket over his shoulder with his finger and secured his helmet under the other arm.
The rapping of his knuckles against solid wood sounded, prompting me to turn around and slump in my seat.
‘Aren’t you going to answer it?’ Lib asked with a teasing smile.
‘No. Probably not,’ I answered stubbornly.
Lib turned around also and slumped next to me. ‘Carly, I know you like to be in control of everything, but sometimes you just have to let go.’
‘What are you talking about?’ I asked with a shake of the head, although knowing exactly where she was headed.
‘This has nothing to do with riding on his bike, does it?’ she explained with a soft show of sincerity. ‘You’re scared of letting go of some of the control you have held for such a long time.’
‘Letting go renders you vulnerable,’ I said while fidgeting with the ruby ring that my aunty gave me. ‘I don’t do vulnerable.’
‘Nobody wants to do vulnerable. But without vulnerable, we wouldn’t have trust. And believe it or not, trust is a beautiful thing.’
‘Not if it’s broken,’ I said, tears welling in my eyes.
She stood up, pulling me up with her. ‘Well, that’s the beauty of broken. Broken can be fixed.’
‘Can it?’ I asked as she gently pushed me toward the door. ‘Not all things can be fixed.’
‘Yes, they can. Some things just need more effort.’
Standing toe-to-toe with Lib, I gave her a grateful smile. She knew me well. Too well, if I was to be honest. Yes, I built walls around myself in order to protect my emotions, but she, along with Lexi, saw right through them. They were both immune to my barriers. I may not have openly admitted it, but I was so thankful that they knew how to break through.
‘Carly, open the door, I know you’re in there. I saw you through the window,’ Derek called out from his position on the other side of the door.
I giggled and made my way to the door, squinting through the peephole. Oh man, he is fine, even when distorted.
‘No. Go away,’ I answered. ‘I’ll let you in when you return with the Ranger.’
‘You’ve got two choices, baby. One: open the door and I’ll reward you. Or two: force me to open it and get punished. Either way, I’m happy.’
‘You wouldn’t force my door open. And anyway, you can’t. I have a deadlock.’ Ha, take that, you cocky cockfuck.
‘You seem to forget what I do for a living,’ he retorted.
‘Oh no, I don’t. You douse fires with your big hose,’ I said, trying not to laugh. Lib, however, snorted behind me. I turned to face her and poked out my tongue.
‘I also break down doors in order to douse those fires.’ Oh, well shit! That’s true.
‘If you force your way into my house, Bucko, I guarantee you’ll have to force your way between my legs as well, because I won’t be letting you go there freely,’ I stated, practically stomping my foot.
Derek laughed sadistically. ‘That can be arranged.’
‘I’m serious. Go home and come back with the truck, then I’ll let you in.’
‘Baby, I’m not leaving. I want to take you for a ride on my bike. Trust me, you’ll enjoy it.’
There was that word again. Trust.
‘Trust is varied, Derek. I trust that you will sing wonderfully when on stage. I trust that you will douse a fire with your hose. But I cannot trust you to keep me safe on the back of your bike. So, yes, while I trust you ... I don’t. Now go and get your truck. And bring me back a peanut butter frappe from Max Brenner’s while you are at it.’
I went to turn and high-five Lib when he spoke again. ‘Are you finished?’
‘Yes,’ I giggled.
‘So what are you saying ... you don’t want to sit on my saddle?’
I scoffed with a smile and answered. ‘No.’
Silence ensued for the smallest of seconds, so, in order to see what he was doing, I curiously stood on tiptoe and peered through the peephole again.
Derek was pacing back and forth across the front doorstep, when suddenly he stopped and lifted his head as though a light bulb switched on. It was overly adorable.
‘Come on, come check out my big unit.’
I laughed. ‘How big is it?’
‘You tell me.’ Derek stepped up to the peephole and peered into it from his end. His magnified face had me laughing again. ‘Baby, I want you to ride my bike. I want to feel you behind me, wrapped around me and clenching me tight. I promise I’ll keep you safe.’
‘Just ride his bike, Carly. Fuck! If you don’t, then I will,’ Lib groaned, then walked off to the kitchen.
Letting out a defeated breath, I grabbed the handle of the door and opened it. Derek took a second to look me up and down and then smiled, taking in my skinny jeans, black knee-high leather boots, thick cashmere sweater, scarf and leather jacket.
‘You were always going to ride with me, weren’t you?’ he asked with a smile.
I grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him to me. ‘No.’
‘Sure. Whatever you say.’
Leaning forward, I brushed my lips to his. ‘When it comes to riding, I’m always in charge. I ride how I want and when I want. And don’t you forget it.’
***
I’m not submissive. I don’t conform. I do what I want, not what someone else wants. I’m always in control.
‘Oh, shit! Wait!’ I said in a panic before Derek put my helmet on.
He ignored me, pushed it onto my head and opened the visor. ‘What?’
‘How will you hear me if I need to talk to you?’
‘I won’t. You will need to tap my leg three times if you want me to pull over.’
/> I nodded. ‘Oh, okay.’
‘Carly, don’t nod. I’m trying to do your bloody helmet up,’ he explained with a smidgen of frustration.
‘Sorry.’
Derek placed his hands on the sides of my helmet and held my gaze. ‘Hey, don’t be nervous. Just remember what I told you: wait until I’m ready for you to get on the bike; never pull on my arms or shoulders; try not to bump my helmet with yours; lean into the corners with me; press your tits into my back; and hold the fuck on.’
‘Okay,’ I nodded again.
His face lit up with excitement. ‘Good. You’re gonna love it.’
‘Don’t bet on it,’ I grumbled.
Winking before smacking my visor down, he added, ‘We’ll see.’
Derek mounted the bike and positioned himself before indicating I get on behind him. Placing my hand on his shoulder, I stepped up onto the peg and swung my leg over the bike, settling into his back and bear-hugging him tightly. Tits in the back. Tits in the back. Hold the fuck on.
I tapped his abdomen twice — like he’d told me to — to indicate I was ready and, revving the engine a couple of times, he put the red Ducati Superbike into gear and took off.
Oh my god, I’m gonna die.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Willpower is having the strength of will and determination to refrain from doing something difficult. It’s the art of restraint, self-discipline and control. It’s also the art form I had to draw upon in order to avoid shitting my pants as I endured moments of terror while riding bitch on Derek’s bike.
If it weren’t for the delectable fact that I could squeeze the sexy fucker with not only my arms but also my legs, I sure as hell would not be getting back on that two-wheeled machine of death. There was nothing super about a superbike.
Derek took me bowling, where I proved to him that I was just as dangerous with a ten-pound weighted ball containing three fingerholes as I was with a pot of boiling rice. And already, after just one game, I’d managed to break a nail, start the process of a nice purple bruise on my arse and fail in my attempt to rock a pair of hideous bowling shoes. I also knocked more pins down in the aisles beside me than I had in my own.
