by Zahra Girard
I take a minute to calm my silly smile before I turn and head toward the front lobby of the financial annex of Torreon’s City Hall. I wish my secretary, Leonard, a good night and step out into the parking lot. Then that grin returns.
It’s Friday afternoon, the sun is shining, and I’m closing out my first week on a job that excites and challenges me. The work I do matters; the financial determinations I make have a real impact on the lives of everyone in the city and help shape the city budget; I’m not just some loan assessor pushing financial products for a two-branch bank, I’m an official whose work helps shape the future of her home.
When I close my car door, I roll down my window, turn up the stereo and start singing along to the Alanis Morissette that’s blasting from my speakers. Except, I’m not a Jagged Little Pill. I’m proud, ecstatic, I’ve got a great man waiting for me at home, and I have a job I love so much that, the second I leave the parking lot at work, I’m already thinking about how good it will feel coming back Monday morning.
I sing the whole way home.
Though, in this case, home is his mother’s house.
The Volvo is in the driveway, covered in soapsuds and shining in the bright afternoon sun. Blaze is right beside it, shirtless, with a hose in one hand and a wash bucket at his feet. I stop my car at the end of the driveway for a moment and just watch him work. Watch how the water glistens on his chest and back, and I laugh at the extra exaggeration he puts into arching his back as he leans over the hood of the Volvo to scrub it clean. He knows I’m watching, and he’s putting on a show just for me.
“Work it for me,” I yell to him as I get out of my car and start toward him up the driveway.
Grinning, he sprays himself with water. And, as soon as I’m in range, he turns the spray on me.
In a split second, I’m shrieking and soaked.
“You bastard,” I yell as I charge toward him.
My daring charge ends when he wraps me in his soaking-wet and sudsy arms and gives me a kiss that makes me forget about being soaked, makes me forget about how excited I am to get back to work on Monday; all I can think about is him and how I could disappear into his arms forever.
“How was work?” He says.
“The best. I went over the property valuations for nearly a whole block downtown and started work on a way we can streamline our property tax collection processes. There was so much math, you wouldn’t believe it,” I say. And then I launch into an even longer explanation, going into minute detail because I can’t help myself — I love what I do, I love the impact I have and, as foreign as it sounds, I love myself.
Blaze listens to it all with a smile on his face, even though I know he doesn’t understand much of what I’m blathering about. Then again, I don’t expect him to; I’m just so excited to have someone to brag to. And excited that I feel confident enough that I can brag about myself and the work I do.
When I finish, he gives me another kiss. And another spritz with the hose. I’m a soaking, soapy mess.
“Looks like you better change out of those wet clothes,” he says.
“Are you trying to seduce me? Isn’t your mom home?”
He shakes his head. “The home care nurse came by and picked her up an hour ago. She’s got rehab and medical checkups planned and that’ll take at least another couple hours.”
“So, are you saying there’s a good chance I could experience heaven while laying on my back and staring up at that Gwen Stefani poster you insist on keeping over your bed?”
“It’s an important part of my high school years. It stays.”
He wraps me up again, and into another joyful, sublime kiss I sink. “I didn’t say I mind. I just wanted to know if that really was on offer. I don’t mind staring up at Gwen from time to time.”
There’s a rumble in his chest that makes my heart beat faster. Then a sigh that makes my heart sink.
“Can’t. We’re running late already. We’ve got plans.”
“Plans?”
“The nurse brought her stuff with her today. She’s moving in and taking over our duties. Since mom’s recovery is going so well, and since you have just finished your first week at your job, the club is throwing us a party and we can’t be late to this one.”
“Then I’d better go get changed. I’ll see you upstairs. Have fun finishing washing the Volvo. I’ll be thinking about you as I strip down and look at Gwen,” I say, and I wink at him. I take a quick glance over my shoulder as I shut the front door and see Blaze hurrying to finish washing the car. By the time I’m halfway up the stairs, he’s at the base of the staircase and hot on my heels. When I go to shut the door to the bedroom we share, he puts his hand in the door.
“There’s not a chance in hell I’m missing this show,” he says.
He enters the room wet and shirtless, and I whoop in joy as he shoves me on the bed and leaps atop me, kissing me repeatedly and covering me with even more suds and water. We make a total mess of the bed, soaking the whole thing in soap and water while we roll around kissing each other.
After just a couple minutes, my head is swimming and my fingers are fumbling for the buttons to his jeans.
“Maybe we forget the party?” I say.
He laughs and pins my hands above my head. “Forget the party that my club president put together for us? Stone makes some damn fine barbecue — he’s got a full smoker setup in his back yard — and Trish and Adella are both awesome cooks, too. I don’t think there’s a chance in hell we could get away with it.”
“Oh,” I say, disappointed.
“But maybe we could be a little late,” he says.
Before I can answer, his lips are on mine again, and he changes his grip on my hands, pinning them both above my head with just one big hand of his own. With the other, he undoes the buttons of my work shirt. Button by button, nice and slow, and with each button he undoes, he plants a kiss on my bare skin. Soon, I’m topless, wet, and shaking with anticipation underneath him.
Then he moves down to my work slacks. Two flicks of his wrist and my buttons and zipper are undone. It’s only moments later until I’m bottomless. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than right here, right now — not even at work.
“So, there was something you asked for earlier,” he says, slowly, as he kisses his way down my torso.
I’d answer, but before I can respond, he’s between my legs, with his tongue teasingly against my pussy.
Then his gentle touch changes. Grows firmer, and it’s followed by a kiss to a part of me that makes me shiver in delight. I look down and see his eyes staring back at mine while he licks my pussy. It’s a view I’ve seen many times in the weeks we’ve been together, and it gets better every time.
His tongue teases me, tortures me, turns me into a sheet-clawing, moaning, begging mess. With him between my legs, I change, go from a woman who gets excited about numbers and taxes to a woman who screams at her man to lick her “right there” and to “use another finger” and who locks her hands behind her man’s head and pulls his face between her legs until he’s at just the right spot.
And I love it.
Even if I lock eyes for one awkward second with the Gwen Stefani poster above the bed.
“Don’t stop, Blaze. Don’t stop,” I moan.
He doesn’t stop. Can’t stop. I’ve got a death lock on his head with my hands and have my legs clamped behind his back. If he stops, he’s in for a world of hurt.
The tingling starts deep in my tummy — pressure and warmth that builds and spreads through my body like wildfire — until, like a powder keg going off, I’m shaking and thrashing and utterly helpless beneath his tongue.
My chest heaving, my body on fire, I look down and see him grinning. Then he stands. He reaches for the buckle on his jeans. Blaze doesn’t say a word as he slides his off his jeans and the boxers underneath.
“You’re too far away. Come here,” I say, and I stretch my legs out and hook them behind his back. It only takes one pull to bring
his body to mine. I can feel his heat next to me and the firmness of his cock pressing right against my pussy. “And, since we’re already going to be late…”
The words die on my lips, turning to a gasping moan of pleasure as he fills me. Thick, hard heat turns me into a twitching mess all over again. The best I can manage is to hold on while Blaze fucks me — he’s so strong, so powerful, he tosses me around like I’m weightless and fucks me with primal ferocity.
And every gasping, back-clawing second of it is bliss.
“You looked so fucking hot today,” he growls in my ear. “Coming home in your work clothes, I couldn’t stop thinking about what you looked like underneath and how dirty I could make you.”
I rock my hips against his. For a second, the world goes black as his dick hits a place deep inside me that makes my nerves explode like fireworks.
“Is that so?” I moan. I squeeze him tighter to me with my legs; I can’t get close enough to this man.
“It is. In fact,” he says. Then he stops. With one motion, he breaks the hold my legs have on him. With another, he flips me over. “How dirty do you feel like getting?”
As he speaks, I feel the touch of his tongue against my lower back. Shivers race up and down my spine and I arch and moan.
“Well, we are celebrating today…”
He chuckles, and then his lips and tongue find a different purpose. One that makes me reach across the bed for the closest pillow and bury my face in it to muffle my screams of pleasure.
Tongue, fingers, both explore me from behind with rapacious desire, setting my body aflame with lust and the desire to give everything I am to him.
And, after blissfully agonizing minutes, he takes it.
“Oh fuck, Tiffany, you are tight,” he moans.
I’d say something, if my face weren’t buried in the pillow and if my mouth were capable of doing anything else in this moment except for gasping the words ‘holy fucking shit’ into the supportive, soft Goose Down.
With his hands on my hips, my ass meets his pelvis and the sensation of him — being full with him, of wanting, somehow, more of him — takes over my body. His thrusts shake my world and every part of me — every nerve, every thought, every desire — screams out for him.
I want him.
I want his closeness.
I want to feel his pleasure.
I want to hear his pleasure.
I want him to cum.
Tightness. Heat. The heavy sounds of his moans. The strength of his fingers against the soft flesh of my hips and ass. That’s all I hear, feel, comprehend.
And then his voice.
“I am so close. Fuck, I can’t hold it.”
I toss the pillow away.
“Come for me, Blaze,” I moan.
That does it.
I feel him pull loose, release, feel him all over me. With my eyes shut, I luxuriate in it — listen to his moans, feel his twitching cock against my ass, feel the bed shake as he lays down beside me and pulls me into a sweet-tight embrace.
We breathe — our lungs and hearts working in time — while I rest my head on the best pillow I’ve ever had: his chest.
It’s a long time before we move; I could stay here forever, so close to this man who has, in so many ways, changed my life for the better. But, eventually, the weight of our commitments becomes too much to ignore.
He’s the first to break the silence.
“We should get moving,” he says.
I open my eyes. Run my hands down the mountains of muscle that comprise his chest, then further still down his abs until my fingertips brush against his cock. It stirs, hardens in my grip.
“Are you sure?” I say. “We could stay.”
“For a saint, you sure are evil,” he says.
“You love it.”
“And I love you,” he says. “But we have got to go.”
We shower together, we dress, and I slide up behind him on the back of his motorcycle. The dry desert wind caresses my face as we speed down the highway to Lone Mesa. Just before sunset, we pull into a driveway that’s already crowded with motorcycles. The air is redolent with the smell of roasting meat and rings with laughter and the sound of classic rock blasting from an old radio.
Hand in hand, we walk up the driveway and knock on the door.
First to answer is the young woman with the bright smile. Adella.
“You’re late. I wonder why?” She says, giving both of us a knowing smile. And then a hug so tight it makes me say ‘oof’.
“We got busy,” Blaze says. “Lost track of time.”
“I’m sure,” Adella says, grinning.
Right behind her is Stone’s wife, Tricia. She’s got a sheen of sweat on her forehead and a mixing spoon in hand.
“You two are just in time,” she says, pulling me into a hurried hug. “Stone’s about to take the meat out of the smoker. We have ribs and brisket, Adella’s made Caesar salad and garlic bread, and I’ve got three different kinds of pies — apple, blueberry, and cherry — cooling. I hope you’re hungry. Beers are out back in the cooler and, if you need something stronger, there’s a full bar in the living room. Just make sure to get there quick — Mack and Sophia are here and this is the first time in almost a month they’ve been able to get a babysitter. They’re already hitting it hard.”
“Thank you,” I say, giving her another hug.
At first, I was scared to meet these people; after the circumstances of my first introduction to them — charging into their clubhouse and raising hell to save Blaze from being murdered by Anna’s thugs — I’d started to associate them with crime and violence. But now, I realize that’s only a small part of who they are and what they do; so much of the club is grounded in family, in love, in doing whatever it takes to make sure the people they care about are taken care of.
And I am so proud to be a part of it.
“Move aside,” Stone says, coming up behind his wife and putting a hand on her shoulder. “Trish, you better get back there. Rusty and Crash are both making eyes at your pies. You’ve got probably a minute before they make off with them.”
“Those bastards,” Trish says, breaking her hug with Blaze and storming back into the house. From deep inside, I hear her shout, “You two get your grubby hands off those pies. They’re for after dinner. Not before. What are you, savages? I swear to God I will beat you two bloody with this spoon if you don’t back the fuck off.”
“Mom, you can’t kill our guests. It’s bad hosting,” Adella shouts, racing back into the house after her mother.
“Welcome to the party, Tiffany,” Stone says. And now it’s his turn to give out hugs. “But, more importantly: welcome to the family.”
Blaze then takes my hand and we walk inside. It’s a modest home, two stories, with a lived-in feel and family photos decorating the walls. The air smells even more like scrumptious food — ribs, brisket, and the intoxicating smell of pies. We go deeper into the house and the sound of the club — voices I recognize and voices I don’t — drifts in from the back yard.
Blaze gives my hand a squeeze and looks down at me, smiling.
“You ready to go meet the club for real this time?”
I hop on my toes and kiss him, more content, fulfilled, and proud than I’ve ever been in my life. Everything has come together — my job, my relationship, my sense of self. And now, I’m about to gain a family.
“I’m ready.”
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Want More Steamy Action?
The Twisted Devils MC
Book one: Razor
Book two: Rusty
Book
Three: Mack
The Rebel Riders MC:
Book one: Thrash
Book two: Riot
Book three: Duke
Book four: Rooster
Book five: Creole
Book six: Bull
The Wayward Kings MC Series:
Book one: Bear
Book Two: Ozzy
Book Three: Hazard
Book Four: Preacher
Other books by Zahra Girard:
His Captive
Liar
