Out of the Ashes

by Anne Malcom

  We were silent. I drew lines on his colorful chest absently. It was dark and the moonlight only gave me a poor vision of his beautiful chest. I would have liked to study it in the daylight. But I feared that I wouldn’t get Zane in the daylight. I would only get him under the stars, in the dark, where demons could hide.

  “Where were you tonight?” Zane asked, breaking the silence, interrupting my train of thought.

  “A bar,” I answered simply. Maybe still feeling effects of that bar. Or I could be drunk on sex. Or testosterone.

  Zane’s arms tightened. “Elaborate,” he demanded.

  I rested my chin on my hand, looking up at him. His jaw was hard.

  “I was at Laura Maye’s bar with the girls,” I told him.

  “Lexie?” he bit out weirdly.

  “Is old enough not to burn the house down or eat glue while I’m away,” I answered, feeling a slight pang over the fact my daughter was sleeping in an empty house across the street. Was I a terrible mother for going out drinking, then sneaking over to have sex with my hot neighbor? I tried to shelve that thought for when I was safely back in my own bed, inspecting every one of my decisions, including the one that landed me here. For now, I wanted to bask in this moment, prolong the feeling of strong arms around me, of Zane’s eyes being unshuttered.

  He paused as if he was going to say something else.

  I pushed myself up even farther. “Lexie’s a good kid. The best, actually,” I told him. “I trust her.”

  “She’s sixteen,” Zane declared.

  “That’s what I’m told,” I retorted with slight sarcasm.

  I felt more than saw the glower. “She’s a fuckin’ knockout,” he continued.

  I ignored the stronger pang I felt at this. Not because he was calling my teenage daughter a knockout in a pervy way, but in a protective way.

  “Well, of course, she takes after her mother,” I told him, my voice now dripping with sarcasm.

  Zane’s hand went to my jaw.

  “Her mother’s at a fuckin’ bar suckin’ cocktails, no doubt catching the eye of every fucktard in the place, ‘cause she’s more than a fuckin’ knockout,” he bit out. “And Lexie’s at home alone. She could catch the eye of any little fucktard.” His arms squeezed. “When she does, that little fucktard will come sniffin’ around,” he clipped.

  My stomach dropped at this. In a good way. He was concerned. Protective. “Lexie’s a good kid,” I repeated. “I trust her.” His eyes told me he was going to have more to say on that particular subject, so I changed it. “You do know I was with Gwen, Amy, Rosie and Lucy?” I asked him.

  “Fuckin’ gathered those would be the girls,” he answered.

  “Well then, you know that since I was with such creatures, no one was looking at a mere mortal like myself,” I joked.

  Zane froze and suddenly he was on top of me, pinning me down with his body. Totally wasn’t complaining. “We’re together, you don’t say shit like that,” he clipped, sounding pissed.

  “Like what?” I asked, genuinely confused.

  “Like shit that suggests you’re any fuckin’ less than drop dead fuckin’ gorgeous, that you shine as bright as a fuckin’ supernova, whoever you’re with,” he said, his rough, cold voice not matching the warm words.

  I jolted. I didn’t expect his rage at my offhand comment and the fact he thought I was gorgeous. He didn’t put a paper bag over my head when we had sex so I knew he didn’t think I was ugly, but the ferocity in which he just uttered that statement had me thrown.

  He stroked my cheek lightly, his hand moving to play with my hair. “Beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself.

  It was like he was some kind of werewolf. But instead of the moonlight turning him into a monster, it made the monster melt away, revealing the man underneath.

  Then there it was, the sunlight. Not literally; the moon still shone through the window. But like a switch, something turned the light back on. I knew it. Even through my residual drunkenness. His eyes hardened and he moved off me.

  “You need to go now babe,” he declared, voice flat.

  I lay there, perplexed and more than a little peeved. And the peeved part was to hide the hurt part. “Seriously?” I almost whispered. I was pissed I couldn’t inject more anger into the statement. It sounded weak, defeated.

  “You know what this is,” Zane said simply, looking at the ceiling.

  I let that sink in for a second. I nodded. “Yeah. I know what this is,” I lied, moving from the bed.

  I had no fucking clue what this was. I didn’t know what being fucked with a ferocious intensity beyond anything I’d ever imagined was. I didn’t know how a man could be so callous, yet tender in the space of minutes. How he could seem to look into the deepest broken parts of me and make me feel bare and raw? How he could make me feel safe and ashamed at the same time? I didn’t know any of it. What I did know was that I had a shred, a shred of self-respect left so I clutched it like I clutched my clothes, making to leave.

  “Babe,” he called, and to my surprise, he was close. Like right at my back. Something draped over my shoulders. “Wear this,” he ordered firmly.

  “Zane, I don’t think...” I started to protest.

  “Don’t fuckin’ argue,” he commanded, shrugging my shoulders into a shirt that smelled of tobacco and man. Of Zane.

  I relented. He turned me slightly, putting one hand on my hip, another at my jaw. His face searched mine. Then he did it again. I could barely see, but I could feel it. His eyes looking into the core of me. Our kindred spirits recognized the broken pieces in each other. Just for a moment.

  His lips touched mine. “I’ll see you,” he promised

  I stood woodenly a moment before walking out the door.

  I made it all the way to my house without thinking. I even checked on Lexie once more, then made it to my room. I then sank onto my floor, my head going to the collar of the shirt, inhaling it.

  “Fuck,” I muttered out loud.

  Fuck was right. I feared I had somehow just jumped right off the deep end. And I was a shitty swimmer.

  “It’s taken care of,” a voice told me on the other end of the phone.

  “It’s taken care of?” I repeated, my eyes bulging out in disbelief.

  I was talking to an unfamiliar voice at the garage of the Sons. This was because I was yet to receive the invoice for Betty. I had called because I didn’t want to delay in finding out how much the sting would be. I knew it would be a mint. Car repairs always were. It would hurt. We weren’t exactly punching food stamps since I was paid well and thrifty when expensive footwear wasn’t on sale. But I had bought this place in Amber, which meant I had a mortgage. I was also saving for Lexie’s college tuition. I wasn’t exactly rolling in it, but we’d manage. We always did.

  “Yep,” the bored sounding voice informed me.

  I rubbed my slightly aching head. “There must have been some kind of mix up. I haven’t paid, haven’t even received an invoice.”

  It had been over two weeks since I got Betty back, and nothing. As much as I would like to ignore that, I couldn’t. I assumed it had got lost in the mail, something. Obviously this wasn’t the case.

  “Don’t need to, club took care of it,” the voice informed me The guy sounded like he didn’t understand why I didn’t get so simple a concept.

  I chewed my lip. Lexie and her band were playing in the garage; even with the door closed I could hear the muffled sound. They were good. Way good.

  I didn’t have time to think about possible promotional activities for the new band I would be managing, I was too busy trying to figure out why on God’s green earth the club would pay for my car repairs. I wouldn’t find any answers in my head.

  “Why on earth would the club take care of my car? I hardly know them,” I repeated my sentiments to the unfamiliar voice.

  There was a pause. “Look, lady, don’t know the specifics, I just do what Bull tells me,” he said, sounding like he’d had enough
of explaining this.

  “Bull?” I repeated, more to myself than him.

  “Shit,” he muttered into the phone. This also sounded like it was meant to be to himself and not to me.

  “Thanks,” I said into the phone.

  “Yeah,” he near groaned.

  I had a feeling whoever that was wasn’t meant to disclose the fact that Zane was my car’s benefactor.

  I didn’t not what to think about this. I knew what to feel. In the time since the night of the cocktails, I had snuck over to Zane’s almost every other night. It was the same. Mind blowing, intense, brutal sex, sometimes more than once. Most of the time more than once, then an undetermined amount of silence in his arms, then I left. He would always touch my lips lightly, tenderly, right before I left, something working behind his eyes. I never got it, whatever it was. Never had time to inspect it before they shuttered again. I definitely didn’t have time to talk to him. We didn’t do that. Talk. So I had no idea how to process the information I just got. What emotion to clutch onto. Anger was the first thing that popped into my head. So I rolled with that.

  With Lexie and her band happily jamming out in my garage, I decided to text her, as not to interrupt her “flow.”

  Me: Running an errand, doll. Try not to bring the roof down with the power of rock n roll.

  My anger only seemed to increase as I drove like a slight maniac to the garage. After knocking for a good five minutes at Zane’s door, I had gone to the only other place I knew he frequented. I didn’t like my chances of finding him there late on a Saturday afternoon, but anger did not make way for much practical thinking.

  I pulled up to the garage with a purpose. If Zane wasn’t there I’d go into the little building off the bays marked office. I would not go anywhere near the building to the side which multiple bikes were parked in front of. My anger might dim my intelligence slightly, it didn’t make me stupid.

  As I got out of the car, I squinted at a figure bent over the hood of a car. I could only see his back, but I knew it was him. His coveralls were tied at the waist, so his black wife beater showed off his arms. His arms, which were corded and sinewy and beautiful with the vibrant artwork decorating it. I failed to let myself stumble on the fact he looked drool worthy, my purpose was not to perv. I lifted my shoulders and strengthened my resolve, pointing myself in his direction. I quickly scanned the other bays; they seemed deserted. My heels clicking on the concrete made him straighten, shifting his focus from the car. Surprise registered on his usually blank face, his eyes moving to my bare legs. Desire flared instantly in those dark eyes.

  I ignored that too. Or tried to.

  “Here,” I thrust my envelope at his chest, as he had risen to meet me.

  His grease-stained hands grasped the white envelope on reflex.

  “What’s this?” he grunted—yes, grunted at me.

  “It’s a check,” I snapped at him. “For my car.”

  I had done some Googling on how much the repairs on my car would be. I didn’t exactly know what they did to it, considering I kind of glazed over when Lucky explained it. It was a lot of guesswork. After inwardly flinching at my results, I bit the bullet and wrote the check. It would be a hit, but Lexie would still get her superfood crap and I would have to kiss designer shoes goodbye for a long time. Even second hand.

  Zane’s face darkened. He held the envelope back to me. “Not fuckin’ takin’ this, Mia,” he bit out.

  I crossed my arms and stepped back. “Um, I think you fuckin’ are, Zane,” I shot back, mimicking his tone. “This,” I gestured between us, “does not constitute payment for a car,” I hissed.

  Zane’s figure went solid and he regarded me darkly. Silence descended and I swallowed at the tension in the air. “You did not just say what I think you said,” he said quietly, dangerously.

  I refused to back down. “I am not a whore, Zane. Regardless of how things are between us, outside the bedroom you do not treat me like one,” I told him, trying not to yell. And also maybe trying not to cry.

  I was mighty glad that no one was around to witness this, but I still felt exposed standing in the garage in view of the parking lot, not just physically, but emotionally.

  Then everything passed in a blur. Zane grabbed me, dragging me deeper inside the bay, past the car to a tool bench, pressing my belly to it.

  “What are you doing?” I hissed through my desire. “Anyone could just walk in here,” I continued. He may have pulled me out of view of the parking lot, but the doors were still open. Any old biker could just waltz on up.

  I felt him move to touch something above his head and the sound of a garage door closing made me jump slightly.

  “You think I would let anyone see that face when my cock’s inside you?” His breath tickled the back of my neck.

  I started breathing heavily, every inch of me going wired.

  We stayed still, me pressed against the bench, Zane’s hard body pressed into me, until the sunlight left with the groan of a garage door. Darkness descended in the garage. That’s the only time we did this. In the shadows.

  “Made myself clear on what would happen if you said that shit again, Mia,” Zane growled in my ear.

  My legs tingled as I remembered something about ”tanning my ass.” I swallowed. I was finding it mighty hard to be mad at him when he was turning me on.

  “You need to let me go, Zane,” I choked out, not sounding at all convincing.

  I was not into having sex in semi-public places, namely friggin’ commercial premises connected to a biker compound. My libido didn’t seem too worried, though.

  “Yeah, Mia, I do,” he murmured, his hand skimming my hips and moving up to lightly circle my neck. “But I’m not going to,” he finished, his voice rough.

  The hand at my neck exerted pressure, pushing me down so my cheek landed on the rough wood. I didn’t even fight it.

  Zane pushed my denim skirt up to my hips. My breath was now coming in pants, his hand still at my neck. Cool air hit my bare ass as Zane pulled my panties down. I stepped out of them silently, not moving. His hand traveled up my ankle, stopping to cup between my legs.

  I heard his sharp intake of breath. “Fuckin’ sopping.”

  His hand left me. I let out a little sound of disappointment.

  Zane’s hand cupped my ass. “Your pussy doesn’t get any attention just yet. You gotta be punished for calling yourself that ugly shit,” he growled.

  Slap!

  I wasn’t even prepared; he didn’t even warn me as he brought his hand down hard on my ass. The sting radiated through my cheek and I half convulsed at the pleasure.

  “You gonna say that shit about yourself again, Wildcat?” Zane asked roughly.

  I was too distracted to answer straightaway. Too turned on. Never in my life had I thought I’d be getting off on this. But I was. In a big way.

  Slap!

  His hand came down again and I flinched, my ass feeling hot while I felt myself get wetter.

  Any thoughts about our current location whizzed out of my head. The thought of being discovered seemed to make me burn hotter.

  “Answer me,” he demanded.

  “No, Zane,” I breathed out, “I won’t do it again.”

  Rough hands moved to my pussy and I almost screamed as they reached my clit.

  “Good,” he muttered, his finger pushing into me.

  I couldn’t restrain my moan of pleasure as he moved inside me, the scream that sounded when he brought his hand down once more, finger still working me.

  And then it was gone, right when I’d been about to lose it, explode…he left me empty.

  “Wha–” I started to plead, but I was cut off when he thrust into me, filling me to the brim.

  I saw stars. Okay, that was way better than his finger. His hand went back to my neck, holding me down against the table as he plunged into me. I met him, thrust for thrust, chasing what I knew promised to be an earth-shattering orgasm. My ass stung and the pads of his fingers
were digging into me. It starkly contrasted the pleasure I felt with every stroke. It made it better.

  Then, without warning, there it was. The earth-shattering orgasm. I was barely able to stay conscious as it rocked over me, Zane not stopping his thrusts as I rode the wave. I lost it, all time and space, my focus going only to the pleasure. Somewhere vaguely I registered Zane’s grunt, the feel of him releasing himself into me.

  I was slowly lifted up from the table, feeling empty as Zane pulled out of me. He held me against his chest as I stood on shaky feet, his hands moving to cup my breasts. A feather light kiss landed on my temple.

  “Stay there, Wildcat,” he ordered quietly.

  Then he was gone. I clutched the table for support, unable to properly stand. I felt him seep out of me, down my legs. I blinked, trying to fathom what had just happened. I had stormed in here with the goal of giving him the check and giving him a piece of my mind and leaving. What I had not planned on was getting spanked, then bent over a tool bench. In the middle of the day. At his place of work. I then realized I was standing and staring at a surprisingly clean and organized tool bench with my skirt up around my waist, no panties on and cum dripping down my leg.

  Classy, Mia.

  As I was about to yank my skirt down and try to gather up some dignity, large hands grabbed mine.

  “No, babe,” a voice tickled my ear.

  I expected him to touch me again, fuck me again. My stomach dipped at the thought. I was deliciously tender and wasn’t sure if I’d survive another brutal session, but I wouldn’t say no. I was surprised—no, shocked—when soft fabric wiped me gently between my legs.

  I really hoped that was a clean cloth. What did I know? Maybe he regularly had sex with people here and had some sort of secret stash.

  I turned my head to meet Zane’s eyes; he watched me while his hands gently cleaned me up. No words were spoken. None were needed and I was afraid that any would corrupt this tender moment. The only one I’d ever had with Zane. One I’d cherish. Like the look in his eye as he branded my soul with his gaze. He cleaned himself from me with a gentleness I could have never imagined from someone as hard as him.