by V. Theia
Rider grinned, one of those full teeth grins that had her belly curling warmly. Her friend was making her feel things.
Bad things. Not at all friendly
“Good protein. You’re not a biker until you’ve swallowed a few critters. C’mon, let’s go.”
He caught her hand in his.
“I think I want a sweater. It’s getting cold now. Maybe it’ll snow. I should get gloves and scarf.”
“Anything you want, baby.”
“You make a good sugar-daddy.” she laughed up at him.
Noticing how many stares he got as they walked the block to a local fashion superstore. Zara was never a designer slut. She was excited to go through racks and racks worth of bargain clothes. Besides, she really didn’t have a dollar to her name, not until she sorted out her whole life again, and she was kind of hiding from that right now. And keeping track of every penny Rider had spent on her so far, she needed to get on that to pay him back.
Tomorrow. Maybe. The day after for sure. Maybe.
“I’d make a better fuck-buddy. As a sugar daddy I ain’t gettin’ any action.” dryness in his tone had her laughing again.
“People are staring…” she informed. It wasn’t so late. Stores were still lit and heavily populated, people doing their late-night spending. She saw Rider didn’t care, he gave a shrug. Were they noticing him for the leather cut he wore declaring he was in a MC or just because he was gorgeous? Definitely the latter when a blonde lady gave him the once up and down.
Zara found herself scowling. Hello, I’m stood right here with him. Blondie didn’t know she wasn’t Rider’s wife or girlfriend, yet still eyefucked him deliberately. Bottle blonde and rude.
“Maybe they’re checkin’ out your butt. It looks damn good today, baby.” to prove his point she felt him pat her a little ushering her into the store.
He’s your friend. She warned.
Nope, further South of her body disagreed, growing warm, wet.
Oh, Jesus.
Twenty minutes, three outfits and two bags later she was strolling back to where he’d parked the bike. Once again, he’d caught at her hand, in his other he carried her bags. “Thank you, Rider.” she told him.
He’d been patient if not a little growly when she hummed and deliberated over clothes. Did she get the red sweater or the blue, and what of the black pants, but then she would be better getting the beige shirt and she kind of liked the flannel shirt because it would keep her warm in the evening. “Just get them all.” he’d growled. She didn’t of course, only choose three in the end, but his gesture and flash of blue irritation warmed her deep down. She didn’t tell him she thought he looked cute stood tall as a tree among the women’s clothing department while she chose more underwear.
Cute big bad biker man.
She decided then and there, a bolt of anxious clarity, with her heart thumping and her belly doing a salsa dance as she watched him pull on his own helmet. A nondescript building with a yellow sign across the street had caught her eye and she’d known it was good timing. If she was moving forward as she wanted, then she had to leave behind everything where it belonged and she still had threads loose. “Rider…”
“If you wanna grab some food before we head back there’s a burger joint on the next block. It’s got good fried pickles.” He offered. She couldn’t eat right now.
“No, it’s not that. Do we have time to make one more stop?”
She was nervous as a rattlesnake as he stopped his long-legged stride to look down at her, his brow arched in question. Here goes. “There’s a clinic across the street.” she pointed. “One of those walk-in places from the looks. And I. Well. I.” Christ. It was harder to say it than she’d thought. And to Rider of all people. She didn’t want him to know how dirty she felt inside. Words stuck in her throat, she inhaled and blurted it out. “I need to get checked out ... tested … I should get tested.”
A streak of shame stained her face and even though it was dark now, nearing nine o’clock, with only street lamps lit, she was sure he could see it cloaking her cheeks going done to her soul, all that dirtiness on show.
Zara was so fucking glad those men were dead, she hoped they rotted in Hell forevermore.
She didn’t want to tell Rider of the agonizing abortions forced on her by the Rebel’s physician. The man was no more doctor than she was and the pain she suffered because of it said as much. It wasn’t as though she would have wanted those babies, god, the mere thought of it brought bile to her throat, to her they hadn’t been foetuses, but a disease, she was glad it was ripped from her, or she would have done it herself.
Of course, they hadn’t wanted their slave knocked up.
But now she was left with all the what ifs and---- god.
She heated with more shame, unable to look at Rider.
Why would he want a woman who had just told him she could basically be riddled with every STD known to the modern era.
Disgusted.
“Sure, baby. We can get that done for you. It's a good idea.” he said it so matter of factly, like it was no big deal.
His sweetness hurt her heart.
She didn’t deserve this life, but here it was. Glaringly real. Zara rounded her shoulders to look at Rider. Not an ounce of judgement on his face. Relief flooded her system.
She might as well go all in, she thought, since she’d told him the worst.
“And. You’re right, we’re not only friends, so. I’ll get tested, and checked out and Rider...“ she watched both of his eyebrows slide down, his eyes hooded in concentration almost as if he knew what she’d say and he wanted to hear it with his own ears, but how could he when she’d only this moment decided it against all her better judgement, fuck, she needed to know if she could be normal again. “And I want us to have sex...”
As bombshells go, it was probably the biggest of her life. Her ears were only ringing a little. Say something.
Her face flamed hotter than ever, she fidgeted from foot to foot, lost in her own mortification she’d told him she wanted to have sex with him. Well done, Zara. My god. So buried in her own thoughts she barely heard.
“Fucking hell, Zara. How can I ride us home with my dick hard as a rock? You tell me this now? You couldn’t maybe tell me it at the club where we had a bed and privacy?” He exhaled hard, puffing out his scruff covered cheeks, sending his eyes to the sky as if asking Jesus himself for the strength not to strangle her.
It broke the tension. She giggled.
“I’m sorry.”
His eyes pinned her. “You’re not sorry. You’re so far from sorry.”
“I am.” she insisted with a smile growing as they crossed the street, her hand tucked lovely and warm in his.
“You tell me you want me to fuck you, out here where I can’t get hands on you, baby. My dick is hard and we’re about to sit around this place for shit knows how long. You’re not sorry.”
“I so am sorry, Rider! I take it back.” He was doing that breathing thing again, his nostrils flaring and she laughed this time.
How did he do that just pull all the tension and fear out of her? He was a miracle worker.
“Nope. No taking it back, you said it. I heard it. You want a piece of me.” His smirk was so dirty so nasty so Rider she giggled.
And because he could and because Zara desperately wanted him to initiate some form of touch he leaned down and kissed her neck.
She sighed.
Her life was about to change again, only this time she was choosing it. God help her, she hoped she could go through with the sex.
It seemed fitting the flooring was grotty checkered linoleum inside the clinic, she was grateful her shoes didn’t stick to it. It didn’t quite smell medical but it had that skin crawling feel. A brightly lit waiting room where all diseases came to die.
Behind her, Rider placed his hand on the bottom of her spine. Tenderness from a bad man. Her hands were clammy. Shaking. Well, this was it. The rest of Zara’s life started with th
is one step over to the desk towards the middle aged overweight woman with the bright orange hair who was sat wearing headphones and reading a copy of People magazine.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“I put out for a good blowjob.” – Preacher
As sexual health tests go, the many Zara had endured last evening were about as mortifying as anyone could imagine. Rider had been wonderful, he’d taken charge seeing how nervous she was, informed the nurse he and his woman were there to get tested. She hadn’t expected him to as well just to put her at ease, but sure enough, he got swabs and blood taken right along with her. A few days they’d have the results.
Twenty-four hours later she was still enjoying the thrill of being called his woman.
"This between us, Icy, it started before this situation, but now that's there in the middle and I'm not sure how to step with you, I can only be me and habitually, if you ask anyone, I’m a pig-headed outspoken motherfucker who doesn’t care about hurtin’ feelin’s so you understand that rubs people wrong, so If I'm being too much of a dick you gotta call me on it, understand? The last person I want to hurt is you. This … this situation what you went through I'm not ignorant to think it's disappeared and it's all magically fuckin' alright again, get me? you tell me what you need to help and I'll see it's done."
"You can say the words, Rider ... the situation." She smiled tightly at him picking at the hem of her sweater, nervous fingers, awkward conversation. "Rape, abuse, mental torture, physical torture. They're just words, they don't hurt me to hear them, I lived through it, how can a string of little words touch me after that? I'm not fragile."
She heard him hiss. Even she didn't accept it when it came off her tongue, but the more she said it, thought it, it would hopefully sink it and become somewhat real. "What is it experts say ... and by-the-way, what makes them experts, do they live through the same ordeals and that's what gives them the credit or do they just spout this bullshit to look intelligent? I don't know and I'm getting off on a tangent, time heals all things, right? or so," she air-quoted with her fingers. "they say. You gave me the greatest help and got me out of there. You help by treating me normal, even when you bark at me. I'm not poor Zara to you, and I think I like that most of all, you don't see victim scrawled on my forehead, you don't watch your tongue when you tell me you want to f-- have sex with me. You are helping in all the little ways that just make you, you.
“Yes, you are a terrible degenerate and an outspoken asshole,” lips twitched, “you like your own way far too much, you say jump and expect me to ask how high biker-master, but I wouldn't change you. Time might not heal, time might not let me forget, and truthfully, I don't think I should forget. The bad and the ugly make us who we are.
“The Zara from three years ago is dead, she had a different path, a boring path I suspect, one I didn't really want to take, but pressure from my parents, I would have taken it nonetheless, you and I wouldn't have worked three years ago.
“My walking in on you with that girl ... look what I did, I turned tail and left so fast, embarrassed to hell to see you with your pants down and a girl about to suck you off, I didn't know then it was a setup.
“Me today, Rider. If I saw the same thing now. I'd drag that girl out by her hair. Maybe punch you, too.”
His grin was wicked and a little pleased, she noticed. "Really, Icy, all this praise is just gonna go right to my dick…"
"My point is, I'm not the same person you knew back when. We had one night together, not long enough to know if we would have cared for each other past an orgasm."
She flushed at saying the word orgasm. Some shy behavior was instilled. Her mother would be mortified her daughter was saying orgasms to a man. "You're not the same person either, mister big bad president, so maybe we get to know each other who we are now, see if we like each other. Dating. Rider and Zara.”
His expression darkened, it stirred within Zara's belly. A slick heat.
What an absurd conversation this had turned out to be while they ate fried chicken from Tony’s place in town.
So clinical and dry. It somehow suited them, she mused.
There was no pretense or mind-games. She'd pretty much told him she wanted to see how they fit together, not just in bed. Their mutual desire strangely was the only thing she wasn’t questioning any longer; it was a hot furnace simmering within them both.
An idea sprung to mind. "Why don't I cook us something tomorrow, you can choose one of your boy movies for us to watch. We go from there.” Three long thumps of her heart before he replied. His eyes piercing.
"You want to date me, Icy?" His smile twitched giving him a lighter edge to his usually austere face. She waited for his punchline and it didn't take even half a second. "I've never been dated before. I think I want flowers, since you did the askin' not carnations, those are death-fuckin’-weeds ... something bold, to match my excitement."
His dry humor drew her in and she found herself smiling, reaching over and punching a light fist in his belly, the motion didn't even register.
Hard, hard belly.
"You're an asshole, you know that? No flowers, either. That's date three."
"Hmm ... date three flowers. Got it. What's sex? I’m hopin’ to hear it’s the first one. I mean, I'm a cheap date and I put out, you just gotta stroke me the right way."
Her cheeks glowed. They were flirting and it felt nice.
"Date never if you keep being a smartass." Maybe pre-date sex, but she wouldn't share that with him. As he rose, he stepped between the space separating them and cupped Zara's face, using his thumbs to tip up her chin. The deliciousness of the simple gesture worked through her, warming her like silky butter straight from the stove.
There was nothing he did that didn't affect her.
She savored the feelings he evoked, after being cold inside, his warmth was becoming addictive.
Rider addicted. Yep, sounded about right.
If Rider was the storm, then she was the idiot chasing it to experience that terrifying thrill of being in the eye if only for a second. If she was going to grab at life again, to wake up finally, she was going to do it one President at a time, starting and ending with Rider.
And Jesus, he excited the hell out of her on a level she didn’t even know existed, like did all women feel this for their men? with just a look or the rust in his voice with his every baby. The punch flash of lust was very real.
The things he spoke as though he didn’t care about filters.
The liberties he took. The way he seemed attuned to her body and needs.
Maybe If she kept it purely physical, it would be okay, she believed. She could do that, because what on earth did she know about a relationship and how it functioned well?
Dates and sex.
Mostly she just wanted to get to the sex, even if she wanted to vomit on her shoes, to check if she could do it, to have someone in her body.
The dating portion was her being a chicken-shit and prolonging, because as she knew Rider was good to go on the sex.
She wouldn't allow her eyes to trail down to his jeans, feeling him hard against her hip was proof enough. Rider was unapologetically cocky like he expected the world to fall in line with his commands. He was bull-headed and spoke whatever came to his mind regardless of the subject matter and he was more than ninety percent caveman.
But he was hot, so freaking beautiful, too handsome for an outlaw, dammit.
And sweet. Did she mention hot? like seriously melt panties hot,
Man, that sucked because she felt herself turn soft whenever he smiled at her.
"Are you going to kiss me or just keep on looking?" His stare was so intent she wondered exactly what he saw when he looked this deeply at her, what was going through his mind.
Thumbs brushed her lower lip.
These times with him were the most intimate moment she'd shared in a long time. It was just like riding a bike, she told herself, grinning inwardly. Because Rider was nothing like a bike. I want to ri
de him, though. She was going to try at least.
He hummed from the back of his throat. A lovely pleasure noise she felt in her belly.
Lower.
"Was thinkin' bout it. I need to get to church, Outlaw’in’ waits for no man, baby." Zara laughed at his seriousness although a smile tugged at his mouth. What a bizarre conversation, from dating to untold biker violence, but oh, it just felt right.
"Oh well then, can't hold you up from that now can we, kiss me, Rider."
When he groaned even she felt it vibrate against her belly, a great hungry tiger noise, she leaned up on her toes meeting him halfway. Eager for his mouth.
Oh, what a kiss.
Open, wet, slow. Delicious.
All his tongue stroking hers.
He teased her lips so patiently, coaxing her to open, to join him in that erotic caress. She wasn't aware of balling her fists in the front of his shirt until it was time to draw away. She swayed a little dizzy, unclenched her fingers releasing him reluctantly. The man knew how to kiss, going to her head like a decent bottle of Casa Noble Tequila making her forget everything but his lips.
He charged her, in some primal, tangible way that another man just wouldn't successfully achieve. She was primed for one man only.
A bad biker man.
As though he guessed exactly what he did to Zara, Rider's expression softened and his neck bent again, dropping a kiss to the tip of her nose. His sharp smile was killer.
"Get ready for our date, baby. I'm ready for you to date my fuckin' brains out. " With that, and a sexy wink tossed her way, he strode out and Zara watched.
The back view of Rider wasn't bad. Wasn't bad at all.
