by Anne Malcom
“He doesn’t seem to like me for some reason,” I continued, making eye contact, hoping my lie wasn’t obvious. “I’ve run into him a few times and I think he finds me...unfavorable.”
“Honey, that’s Bull. He’d pull his gun on a two-year-old child that dropped an ice cream on his motorcycle boot. But that stare—” Her eyes moved to him again. I chose not to move my gaze. “It’s got something else in it,” she mused, something working behind her eyes. “He’s into you,” she said finally in amazement.
I managed a snort. “Not likely,” I scoffed. “In order for a man to be ‘into you’ he must harbor some friendly feelings towards you. That man—” I pointed with my head, still not looking at him. “Does not harbor any friendly feelings towards me,” I declared with certainty. Amy sipped her drink, her brows furrowed.
“Wouldn’t be so sure, Mia,” she said quietly.
Thankfully, the talk moved on after that, though Amy still gave Zane some questionable looks. Gwen managed to extract herself from her scary but totally hot husband to join us, giving me a warm hug like I was an old friend. Before I knew it, our table was buzzing with people. Cade had sauntered over to claim Gwen onto his lap at one point, as did Brock with Amy. They chatted easily with me and were obviously deeply in love with their wives. Men stopped to shoot the shit and introduce themselves. Some were just as intimidating as they looked and others were surprisingly friendly, despite their gruff exteriors. I found myself having a good time and had drunk more beers than I intended. Gwen had told me she’d take me home, having declared she was the club’s sober driver for the next few months with a grin.
I stepped away from the party to call my daughter, feeling like a bad mother. I was at a biker gathering, slightly tipsy on beer. Not responsible parenting. Granted, Lexie had band practice that would most likely go into the night, but still.
“Hey, Momma,” she greeted breathlessly after a few rings.
“Why are you out of breath? Are you throwing a raging party without me?” I asked, feigning disapproval. “Please tell me you at least are throwing a good one.”
“I would never throw a rager without you Mom,” Lexie told me seriously, “Who else would pour the Jell-O shots?”
I laughed at my beautifully naïve teenager. “One does not pour Jell-O shots, Grasshopper. Much to learn, you have.”
The fact that my sixteen-year-old didn’t know the semantics of a staple party drink had me feeling mighty proud of myself. Prior to getting knocked up with her, I was a Jell-O shot queen. And that was at fifteen. I was so glad she didn’t take after me. Only in looks, at least. Kid was beautiful, like her stunning mother, of course.
“I’ve just finished up band practice—boys are just having dinner. That cool?” she asked.
“We have food?” I asked back, screwing up my nose.
“No, we’re ordering pizza,” she replied lightly. “We really need to go grocery shopping.”
“Yes, one day we shall. You okay if I’m out another hour or so?” I asked hesitantly. “I can totally come home at any moment if you need me. And also to break up any ragers you decide to throw between now and then,” I added quickly.
“No, Mom, I don’t mind at all,” she paused. “I’m happy, actually. You’ve never gone out, had fun. I’m glad you are,” she said quietly. “I’m good. We’re going to write some songs after dinner I think, so take your time.”
I chewed my lip. I was torn. I actually was having a good time. And despite how ridiculous it sounded, I trusted Lexie and her bandmates. If she said they were eating pizza and writing songs, that’s exactly what they were doing. Also, Lexie was a terrible liar. Thank God.
“Okay, Dollface. I won’t be late. Be sure to let me know if you’ve got any number ones brewing. As your Momager, it’s my duty to know,” I told her with mock seriousness.
“Will do, Mom. Love you,” she called.
“Love you to the moon,” I said softly.
I hung up the phone, slipping it in my pocket. I had intended on heading back to the party, realizing I had moved into a dark corner close to the entrance of the clubhouse.
A hand clutched my hip and yanked me into a sweaty body.
“Well, hello there, darlin,’” a voice drawled. “Hanging out in dark corners, dangerous for such a sweet piece like you. Lucky I found you.” The voice reeked of alcohol, his words slightly slurred.
I couldn’t make him out in the dull light, but I could feel his hands running up my sides. Anxiety nipped at me. I wasn’t afraid enough to cry out...yet. I wasn’t even sure if anyone would hear me over the sounds of the music.
I tried to push the groper away. “I was just heading back to the party.” I tried to sound strong but I was unable to extract myself from his fumbling arms.
Suddenly, the sweaty body and the stench was gone. There was an unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh, and a body fell to the ground. I flinched slightly when a huge black form stood in front of me. I couldn’t see his face but I knew it was him.
“Zane?” I asked in a small voice.
He didn’t answer me. He merely snatched my hand and dragged me up the porch steps and inside. We entered into a sort of lounge and bar area. The music was pumping and bodies moved everywhere. People were dancing while women straddled men in vests who sat on leather couches. I tried not to focus too hard on that. I didn’t really have time as Zane pulled me through it all at an alarming speed. When we reached a hallway the sounds died down slightly and there seemed to be no one. Various doors were closed with unmistakable sounds coming from them.
“Zane,” I tried again.
He stayed silent and his grip tightened when I tried to yank out of it. I wasn’t scared exactly, but he seemed like he was dragging me though a rabbit warren hallway, and I prayed he wasn’t taking me to some torture chamber like his expression suggested.
We turned into yet another hallway, this one utterly deserted, a dead end. The sounds of the party were well and truly distant now and no moaning lay behind the two doors on either side of the hallway.
“Zane, what are we...?”
Zane’s stormy eyes met mine. “Hands on the wall, ass out,” he clipped roughly.
Desire pooled in my stomach at his words. “Wha--”
His hand shot out, covering my mouth. “Didn’t ask you to talk. Told you. Hands on the wall, ass out,” he commanded in a rough tone.
I swallowed. His words were cold, his face blank, but his eyes flared with desire. At that moment, I didn’t care. That we were in a hallway where virtually anyone could walk up. That he was treating me like his whore yet again. I loved it. A deep, sick part of me loved every second of it.
I turned and placed my palms on the wall, ignoring the fact they were shaking slightly.
“Ass out.” His voice was gravelly.
I complied, my knees feeling weak and he hadn’t even touched me.
There was silence, and I felt his breath at the back of my neck. A finger trailed down my exposed spine. His palms moved to the sides of my ribcage, trailing up to cup my bare breasts roughly. I hissed as he tweaked my nipples. Hard.
“No fuckin’ bra,” he grunted furiously. “Strutting around here, ass and legs encased in that tight shit, not wearing a fuckin’ bra,” he growled, fingers tweaking harder. I cried out once more, my panties already soaked.
“You waltz around like that, you’re begging to be claimed,” he whispered in my ear. “Careful what you wish for, Wildcat,” he murmured. Then his mouth was gone, as were his hands.
I felt him yank my ponytail roughly, pulling my head backward to the point of pain. “You fuckin’ move, I’ll tan your ass so hard you won’t sit for a week,” he promised.
I didn’t make a sound, my body pulsating with need.
He yanked harder. “Got me?”
“Got you,” I whimpered.
He didn’t let go. “You come when I say—you say my name when you come,” he continued.
“Okay, Zane,” I whispered
hoarsely.
I felt his breath tickle my face a moment, then he was gone. His hands went to my belt and it clattered to the floor. He made quick work of my jeans and they were around my ankles in an instant. I felt the cool breeze against my bare skin. I was standing exposed in the middle of a fucking hallway. I should’ve been embarrassed, ashamed, not hugely turned on.
Zane didn’t touch me, didn’t prep me. I didn’t need it; I was soaked. Without warning, he thrust into me, filling me. One hand bit into my hip, the other spanned my collarbone. I cried out when he filled me to the hilt, in danger of coming from just that. I felt pressure on my ponytail.
“When I say,” he grunted.
I managed a strangled moan in response.
Then he went for it. He took me, relentless, hard to almost the point of pain, but never beyond. I met him thrust for thrust, desperate for release, holding on.
“Zane,” I moaned. “I can’t....”
His hand tightened at my neck. “You fuckin’ can, Wildcat,” he grunted, taking me harder.
I thought I was going to die, or at the very least collapse from the sheer amount of pleasure that needed releasing. I was even more petrified of that release, one that was in danger of shattering me. The buildup taking me to heights I had never been to before.
I struggled to stay upright. Then Zane’s hands moved. He was no longer roughly biting into the flesh at my hip and neck. His back moved to be plastered to mine, his hands laying atop of mine against the wall. His mouth tickled my neck. This position wasn’t the impersonal, erotic, and brutal one like before. This was intimate, decidedly more erotic. “You gonna explode, baby?” he murmured in my ear.
I nodded helplessly.
“Come,” he commanded.
He had barely finished the word and my world started exploding around me. I screamed out his name as he continued to pump through my shudders. I lost feeling in my knees and his hand moved to my belly to keep me upright. Through my orgasm fog, I was aware of his body tightening, him shooting his release into me, which caused me to explode all over again. I shook as I came down.
We were silent, both panting. I had no idea what that was. But it was fucking amazing.
Then I felt it, the loss of him as he moved out of me. I felt him trickle down my leg. I screwed my nose up. This was the not so glamorous part of letting someone screw you without a condom in the middle of a party.
He turned me quickly; how I didn’t fall over with my jeans around my ankles was a mystery. I was beginning to believe he had alpha man powers where laws of things like gravity and physics shriveled and did his bidding.
He unearthed a bandanna out of his back pocket and commenced cleaning between my legs. His eyes never left mine. My mind raced. Was that bandana for that purpose only? Did he just carry it around for situations such as this? Was this his sperm cleaning bandana? In that case, was it clean?
I didn’t know how to articulate my questions so I chose to stay silent. Also, since I had been well and truly fucked I wasn’t sure if my vocal chords still worked. So Zane finished in silence, tucked the bandana away and gently pulled my jeans up. He even buttoned them. I stayed silent. He’d rendered me mute from a good screwing.
He looked at me through the dim light in the hallway, his eyes searching mine as if he was going to say something. Then the shutter went down and his face hardened. And with that, he turned and walked away. I stared agape at the man on the motorcycle that decorated the back of his cut. He held no explanation either. Had Zane just seriously saved me from getting groped from a drunk biker, then dragged me into a hallway and brutally fucked me? Yes, yes, he had. And had I loved it? Yes, yes, I did. And had he just walked away without a word, making me slightly confused and feeling tawdry and used? Um, yes, he fucking had.
“Mia! Oh, thank God,” a breathless voice greeted when I answered the phone.
“Gwen?” I asked, the familiar voice sounding frazzled. “Are you okay?” I asked again, worried. I then heard a screaming child in the background.
“Yes, I’m so sorry to call you with this. There’s just no one else.” She paused and I heard her speak slightly out of the phone. “Shh, baby, please. Mummy knows it hurts.”
“Cade’s away on some biker mission, Mum’s in a different time zone, and all the other people I know are bikers and girlfriends who do not know how to deal with a screaming, teething baby, I’m sorry, I just didn’t know who else to call.” She sounded near tears herself.
“Stop apologizing,” I ordered, knowing how she was feeling far too well. “What’s your address?”
Gwen let out a sigh of relief and rattled off an address.
“Be there in five,” I told her before hanging up.
I grabbed my stuff and poked my head in Lexie’s room. Her entire wardrobe seemed to be scattered around the floor.
“I’ll be back soon, Dollybird. Got to go and take care of something,” I told her back. She was currently facing a nearly empty closet.
Upon my words she whirled, a look of horror on her face. “Mom! You can’t leave. You can’t abandon me. I have to find something to wear. I have nothing,” she declared dramatically.
“I think the clothes servicing themselves as carpet might disagree with you there, kiddo,” I told her.
She narrowed her eyes at me. She looked like she might try and tie me to a chair with a scarf at any moment.
“Relax, Medusa. I’ll be home before you know it. In the meantime, how about you go and destroy my closet and then we’ll comb the floor for outfits. Deal?”
I didn’t wait for her to agree, knowing a teenage girl in the midst of an outfit crisis was not someone you could easily deal with. Heck, an adult Mia in an outfit crisis wasn’t easy to deal with either.
Five minutes later, I pulled up to a beautiful cottage on the beach with flowers dotting around edges. A frazzled, stressed-looking Gwen opened the door two seconds after I knocked with a screaming, red-faced toddler in her arms.
She moved aside to let me in. “I’ve tried everything. She’s not hungry, doesn’t need changing. I’ve walked around with her, played her favorite TV show, given her a bottle, teething ring. Nothing’s working. She’s never screamed this much for this long, I was seriously considering calling the doctor,” she babbled over the screaming.
I totally empathized with the look of sheer worry and exhaustion on Gwen’s pretty face.
“I’ve got her.” I opened my arms and gently pulled the little girl out of Gwen’s. “It’s okay,” I cooed, rocking her as the little toddler shoved her hands in her mouth in distress. “I know it hurts, sweetie, you poor little thing.”
I looked to Gwen, who was visibly shaken. “Can you grab me a cold washcloth and then brew some chamomile tea?” I asked her while swaying Belle.
She nodded and went toward what I guessed was the kitchen.
Being held by an unfamiliar person didn’t seem to do much for Belle, but I wandered around the beautifully decorated house with her, staying calm and talking to her in a low voice. My memories of a screaming Lexie and a very freaked out teenage me seemed to fly right back in. Although I wasn’t wandering around a tastefully and expensively decorated beachfront home. I had been pacing a small rundown apartment, fielding bangs on the wall from neighbors, scared out of my wits.
Gwen rushed back in with a washcloth and an expression that mirrored one I wore fifteen years ago.
“Here.” She thrust the washcloth at me. “I’m just waiting for the jug to boil,” she said. “Belle is never like this, that’s why I’m seriously worried. Should we call a doctor?”
I took the washcloth and shook my head. “No, she’s just having a tough time with the last of those teeth coming in, aren’t you. sweetie?” I asked as I gently put the cool washcloth in her mouth.
She struggled at first, then her little mouth registered the cool relief that came with the soft cloth. She started to quiet and sucked on the cloth, her little hands clutching the edges.
Gwen lo
oked at me with wide eyes. “Seriously? A cold washcloth? Why didn’t I think of that? Oh my gosh, I’m a terrible mother,” she groaned with a hand on her head, the other cupping her small bump.
I shifted my grip so I could pat Gwen’s arm. “You are far from a terrible mother. You are a tired, caring and very worried mother,” I told her. I gazed at the beautiful little girl, who seemed a lot more placid.
I moved to a seat, which I nodded toward. “Sit down. Relax,” I instructed, my tone firm. If she didn’t sit she looked like she might collapse. Watching your child scream pretty much drained the life out of you.
She sank into the sofa and her face softened at the way the baby was happily suckling on the washcloth, the pain and screaming forgotten.
“Thank you so much, Mia. I seriously felt like I was at my wit’s end,” she declared laying back.
I smiled in understanding, sitting across from her. “I’m glad I could help.”
We sat there for a while, chatting and generally hanging out. I gave Gwen a couple more little secrets that got me through teething and the terrible twos without checking myself into a mental institution. Like soaking the cold washcloth in the cooled down tea, which made Belle drift off to sleep in my arms. When Belle was safely asleep, Gwen looked at me with a serious glint in her eye. “Can I ask you something?”
I sensed this question was not baby related. “Sure,” I replied easily.
Her question was silenced by a familiar rumble, one which made us both turn our heads the window.
“Well, looks like the menfolk are home, just in time to miss the tears and drama...typical,” Gwen declared on a grin.
