by V. Theia
She said words like pussy now. He wouldn’t touch her until she spoke them, asked for what she wanted.
Touch me, Rider. Put your mouth on me, please.
Put my mouth where, Icy? Say it, make me harder.
My pussy, Ambrosio. Fuck my pussy.
His dirty way of speaking turned her on until she thought she might come simply from him telling her he loved how her pussy tasted.
"Can't get enough of you down my throat." He whispered against her wetness, tongue slowly lapping. Oh, sweet Cinderella. Zara lost her mind.
If anyone walked into the kitchen right then they'd see their president straddled on a tall bar stool with his girl's legs braced around his shoulders while she gripped the toaster, moaning his name and receiving the best head of her life while he groaned how fucking sopping and sweet she tasted.
She didn't care who heard her cries of pleasure as she did go over for him again. And then once more.
He was such a smug arrogant bastard licking his lips afterward, rising to his full height in a languid move then he helped her down, kissing her with the taste of herself on his lips. He sucked so long on her tongue she swayed dizzily.
This man was a sure addiction.
What did she need to think about life while she was having incredible sex with him? She was proof a woman could live on orgasms alone.
Zara's legs were jelly, she listed to the side leaning heavily into him. Managing to slip back into his long black shirt that had been tossed to the floor when he’d decided instead of eggs for breakfast that morning he was going to eat her until she cried mercy, she let the shirt fall to her thighs the same time she could hear voices in the common room, people had begun to stir though it was still relatively early.
Her eyes flared. Oh, shit. Shit!
With lightning speed, she grabbed a package of Clorox wipes from where they were kept beneath the sink, wiping the chrome counter from one end to the other with vigorous frantic motions, her head going to the door every few seconds, making sure to give it an extra scrub over by the toaster. That poor abused toaster.
Catching Rider’s wicked chuckle, she sent him a vicious glare. How was he so calm right now, like people were going to walk in any second and know they’d fucked on every counter! He was leaning up against the table, bare feet crossed, jeans zipped but not buttoned.
Sexy as a God.
A chest so wide it would take her a week to cross it with kisses. When she watched him lick the corner of his mouth her belly clenched over the dangerous sexuality of the gesture.
Smugness all over his face. He was a man who had got what he wanted.
The moment of staring went on forever.
"What the fuck you doin’, Icy?"
"What does it look like! We just had sex on this counter!" As if it explained. Duh. Her voice was hushed, desperate to finish wiping it down before anyone came in, saw her red face and guessed exactly what Rider had wanted for his breakfast
"I know. I was right there with you. And?"
My god he was dense. "People eat here. I don't want them to have my ---"
"Your sweet fuckin' juices." he supplied for her when he saw she was struggling. His lips twitched amused.
"Ugh!" she kept scrubbing as he laughed until the countertops gleamed her reflection.
Rider caught her around the waist, drawing her into his body, her arm instinctively wrapped around his waist, snuggling in, hiding her face. Shy after sex, as though the orgasms allowed her hedonistic side to be as wild and noisy as she liked, but retreated once the pleasure waned.
It made it equally frustrating when Rider never once showed the same signs. He was long and loose, his body so warm she could have burrowed there for a while, and he didn't care when his boys began piling into the kitchen seemingly not caring their president was there half naked with his half naked girl either, his eyes were just for her.
She turned her face into his chest really wanting to escape.
"Hey." he used a finger to tip up her chin. Meeting his gaze, she was punched with feelings, "you were fuckin' beautiful, Icy." He spoke for her ears only, and kissed her once, twice, and then deeper, she fell into it by opening her lips, stroking his tongue until ----
"Yo, Prez, if we're getting a show at least wait until I make my bacon and can get comfortable, I mean she got some pipes on her, we all just heard, so we gotta have snacks for this."
Rider laughed but told Preacher to shut his damn mouth. Zara used the moment to escape back to her room. Red as a cherry.
He called her beautiful. Feminists would mutiny, but she thought it was the nicest thing she'd ever heard.
Their lives might run in opposing directions, but with sex, they were on the same page, the same sentence every time.
It's the deepest of heavens
She smiled for the rest of the day.
Zara daydreamed about her morning most of the day, knowing she was getting herself in deep with the president. That wasn't what bothered her so much. But most of all she cursed how intensely aware of him she was. Wherever he is, she could feel it radiating through her skin, down to the bone, almost as if her body recognized who had touched her so intimately.
Throughout the day, working and eating lunch, she shared glances with Rider while he went about his own duties, her body thrummed each time.
She lied skilfully to herself it was the danger of the situation, some modern-day Stockholm syndrome going on. The mindfuck of him coming back into her life from out of nowhere, being her dark knight when all hope was lost. She's grateful.
But it's more than that. She knew it. Felt it. Acknowledged it.
Not only was the Souls president cocky as a man could be, he acted like a predator around her like he'd pissed a circle to ward off other animals for even daring to look at his property —of course, she'd be aware of him. The prey is always acutely aware of the predator in the wild.
Did it make Rider any different than Hades had been? No brainer. Polar opposite. She wanted Rider with a hunger she couldn’t quite put into words. Her hormones wanted him.
Her heart wanted him.
She was intensely attracted to Rider, more than she'd ever been, that’s what made it distinct between them. He didn't hurt her, that was different. He didn't bully her, or force her.
He cajoled with straight shooting talk and a sexy wink in her direction; He wanted her and wasn't afraid to tell her plainly in words she would understand. I wanna fuck you until you pass out, Icy, with my cock buried so deep and hard that when you wake you start ridin’ me even before you’re fully awake because you’re so desperate for it, so greedy for my cock you keep me goin’ even when you drain me raw. My girl is a savage for my cock, then I’ll hold you all night while you recover from the pleasure. Now that was as straight talking as it came.
Nothing about Rider said he was in any way like Hades had been. Added in he persuaded her with kindness and lust, so must lust she lost her mind a little every time he eye-fucked through her clothes, a hot caress of blue and badness.
As days had gone by he, little by little, in the subtle and not so subtle president ways continued to show her not all predators wanted to gulp you down, to overpower with their strength. Some predators simply wanted to fuck your brains out and own you as you stood right by their side.
Daaaamn. Every time she let it digest it stole her breath.
It brought comfort to her hectic brain.
If she was delusional she'd think he was sweet.
But there was nothing sweet about that bad man.
Maybe his tongue when it's inside me. She amended.
“Something’s got you smiling Z-girl. It suits you. ” Preacher announced out of nowhere. The man was huge as a tree trunk but could appear as if he’d misted from thin air.
A biker by day, phantom by night.
She flinched mechanically, noticed he caught it and frowned moving back a step, then she smiled shy and apologetically up at him when her nervous system returned to norm
al, meeting the dark twinkle in his knowing eyes. They’d all started calling her Z-girl a few days back. She’d asked Rider what it was about, he’d just smiled and told her his boys had accepted her if she had a nickname. It was a biker thing.
She was accepted by all those rough men, not because they wanted to use her body for carnal kicks or a punching bag, but because she was Rider’s. Or even that they might just like her for herself. It warmed her. She was Z-girl of the Renegade Souls now.
“Just coming to some decisions,” she answered and left it vague. He grunted and walked off. In fact, she had come to a real honest to god decision, her first one in weeks, months, years and damn, and she was feeling excited to share it. Life began here.
She was scared knowing she’d have to step out from under Rider’s wing. But it was time. She caught up with him an hour later and told him her plans.
“Say what?” his voice unnaturally quiet. Eyes probed Zara until she scowled.
What? From the scowl etched on his handsome face she’d warrant she’d told him she wanted to do the cha-cha with one of his brothers. “Run that by me again, Icy,” he demanded in a low voice.
“I think it’s time I moved out of here and found my own place. In fact, I’ve been doing some research on the computer, and there are a couple of apartments above a convenience store in town I may be able to afford now. I thought maybe----”
“You wanna leave?”
“Well. Yeah.” she blinked confused at his reaction. She'd expected enthusiasm, encouragement, not a fierce glare. “Staying at your club was never a permanent fixture, Rider. Just until I got on my feet again.”
“Why, what’s wrong with the club? I thought you were happy here.”
Ut oh. Somewhere from the door to her mouth opening Zara had stepped on a Rider minefield. She didn’t know how or why, but there it was staining his rigid face. Reaching out briefly, she touched the sleeve of his white Henley shirt.
“Rider. I’ve taken too much from the club already and----”
“Hold up, babe. Did I say you’d taken too much?”
“No, you haven’t, but----”
“No, I haven’t. So, I ask again, you wanna leave?”
Zara blinked, and left wondering where this combatant tone was coming from. Did he really think she wanted to live in a motorcycle club forever? It wasn't a practical solution long term. It didn’t even have real rooms, their bedroom was tiny with barely any furniture, and if she had to sleep on the twin bed for much longer her back was going to require a brace, most mornings Rider was sprawled on top of her crushing her into the mattress.
“It’s not like that. I love my job, Rider, it’s fun helping you guys, really. And I want to keep it. Nothing will change, only I won’t be sleeping here every single night. I thought you’d be happy.” her voice trailed off because his look could strip paint. Frowning, she inhaled slowly. “Look I…we could see those apartments together sometime today before they go…I’d like your input, Rider.”
“Fine.” his voice final. His jaw tight, a tic working the muscle.
Maybe she should have rented an apartment first before telling him. Too late now. “You wanna leave the clubhouse? Fine. Not a shitty one room place, Icy. I know somewhere, and it’s cheap. Come on.”
“Wait! Just like that? Right now? Where is it? Hold up, Rider!” he’d already strode out of the office, she jogged to keep up.
What was his problem? He had more face than a clock. Jeez.
A long bike ride later he pulled his motorcycle into a driveway, parking in front of a red bricked house with a quaint white painted porch that had five steps leading up to the front door.
She stepped down from his bike, looked around at the new surroundings. The street was quiet, with houses dotted here and there, not so close that you'd be able to peep on the neighbors. It looked like one of those gated communities in the suburbs. And excuse her but waaaaay out of her price range. She couldn't afford a damn house let alone one in a nice area. She’d budgeted for a one bedroom apartment.
“Where are we?” she asked.
Rider caught her hand, lacing her fingers through his and led her up the steps, using a key he let them in, flipping on a light as if he knew exactly where the switch was in the hallway.
“Welcome home, Icy. You want your own place. Well, here it is.” And with that he dropped the key in her palm.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“The devil is in the details and the pantry Rider was going to stock...” - Zara
“Are---are you certifiable right now? I know the checklist of symptoms, Rider.” Zara’s eyes had gone wide as saucers, first looking down the long entry hallway, to the left, into the first room, a living room, and then she flipped her disbelieving gaze to the presuming biker president stood with arms folded against his wide chest, legs in a relaxed stance but it was all business on his face. Sharp angles to his jaw masked by facial hair, and holy god, the look in his eyes. Zara swallowed. She contemplated asking him to dial back on the handsome, since it was an impossibility she let it go.
“Not since I last checked, no. It’s somewhere to live, Zara. Don’t make a big-fuckin’-deal outta it. Problem solved.”
Problem solved. How Rider. A man of few words.
She rolled her eyes. The air was stale like it hadn’t been lived in for a while but other than that it looked fine, more than fine. It was quaint and any other circumstance she would have been eager to look around, to imagine hanging cute flower curtains and buying matching knives for the kitchen. But she was confused. He could magic a house out of thin air with no notice at all.
Rider, on the other hand, looked perturbed holding onto his self-restraint as though she’d offended him by pissing in his cereal that morning.
If Zara wasn’t churning with her own irritation over him taking her one decision out of her hands she would have taken more notice of Rider for the last minute, only as he sucked around his teeth in a show of grabbing onto patience did he draw her focus, hands moved down to his lean hips, every movement clanking his wallet chain. Those vigilant eyes trained on her.
“What’s it to be? Do you wanna live here?”
“This---this is your house, Rider, isn’t it?” She wanted confirmation since he wasn’t offering it willingly.
“So? You said you wanted your own place. You can live here. It’s stood empty most of the time.”
He didn’t get it. “But it’s yours and you can’t just say I can live here like it means nothing, Rider. That’s huge and crazy. This is your house. It’s no different than being in the clubhouse. I said I wanted my own place, found and paid for by me, to stand on my own two feet again.
“It’s something I needed to do for me, to know I can be on my own, regain my independence. Not move from your one place to your other one place. That makes no sense. And don’t you think we could have discussed this before you dragged me here under a cloud of biker silence?”
He snorted and looked up to the ceiling. “Discussing it now, babe.”
She followed his hard gaze, wondering if he was searching out his bearing up there? Look for mine while you’re there. Was she making him mad? Ha. That was rich. When she’d been perfectly clear in what she wanted. Was it her fault he didn't know how to communicate, mister 'do as I say and don't ask fucking questions' Ugh, maddening.
His phone rang and he ignored it.
"It's still your house..." His. Just like the clubhouse and everything she had, including the clothes on her back, was because of him.
Without his tenor of voice rising he let his temper erupt. “Goddammit, Icy. Goddamn and fucks sake. You don’t have to look so fuckin’ thrilled that I’m offering you something. I won’t be here, you can have it all to yourself just like you want, I was barely here anyway. I won’t even step over the shittin’ doorstep if you don’t ask me to. There’s no strings, no payment. I thought you’d like the surprise considerin' you’re so desperate to leave the clubhouse. So, do you want to fuckin’ live here?�
�
She heard Desperate to leave me. She gave a little hmph. Turning her nose up and away from his burst of annoyance. The man was too used to being the one in charge giving the God complex orders he didn't know when he was overstepping his bossy steps. Ignoring him, her feet shifted under her to give better attention to the house. At least it was tidy even with the funky air smell, that she could deal with a couple of candles. Confessing quietly once her back was turned. "This has nothing to do with us, Rider. Just so you know. I want us.” Making sure he grasped that. It was a place to live, not a break up. “I need safety and order, I need to know what's coming. I don't want to be surprised, Rider. You could have used your big-boy words and told me about your house instead of expecting me to follow like a clueless puppy and let me, oh, I don’t know … allow me to weigh in on the decision.” God. Men.
He might be off the scale beautiful but boy was he lacking in consideration, she supposed it came with his job title, the buck started and ended at his feet but it didn’t justify taking the only little bit of power she was trying to scrape back out of her hands.
Even if the gesture was a nice one. And she could admit it was. Dammit. It was nice of him. Uggh. Exhaling her frustration away, she turned to face him after a long minute of silence between them. Lifting her gaze, she caught his unwavering glare, waiting for her answer. Zara mentally shrugged. It was a lovely house. She’d pictured renting a pokey little apartment above a noisy bar, now he was giving her a house. It just didn't seem right.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Rider was a fixer. She’d presented him with what he saw as a problem and now Zara was stood central of his magic solution.
He didn’t flinch, just continued to wait out her answer. If his jaw was to go by then the racing tic along his cheek was a good indication, he thought he was about to hear her tell him to fuck off.
Bossy man. Sweet man. She inhaled and agreed it was actually a great house.
