by Wolfe, Layla
That sobering thought didn’t stop my cunt from flowing as Sax pulled up in the side lot of a biker bar farther up Fourth Street. Reluctantly I removed my arms from around his wide chest. I realized he made me feel safe and protected, a feeling I hadn’t had since I was an ignorant kid. Or maybe when I was studying for my religious vows in Boulder, Colorado. The nuns had bought land from some monks, and overseeing the garden was where I had learned those skills. I’d felt safe there, tucked into our mountaintop hideaway with few visitors. Two years of safety that had been pulled out from under my feet didn’t create an enormous foundation upon which to build. Completely reinventing myself into a gardener who hung out with bikers hadn’t created any more security in my life. Feeling safe now was a novelty I reveled in.
I couldn’t take my eyes off him as I removed the helmet he’d loaned me. He stood with his muscular arms dangling at his sides, looking down at me critically. Was it his eyes, squinty from riding with the sun in them all the time, that made me feel under the microscope? I felt inadequate, boring in my plain outfit. I had no tattoos, no push-up bra, no makeup. Then I remembered. I was here to discuss something urgent with Sax. Not to seduce the hardened, road-weary biker.
“You’re not a sweetbutt,” he surmised.
“No, not really. Most of them are my high school friends, though. I come around to be with them, mostly, and I help out with things. Oh. I’m sorry. I’m Beatrix Hellman. Most people call me Bee.”
A flicker of a smile appeared on his sensual mouth. “All right then, Bee. I presume this is club business.”
“It is. Let’s go inside if this is where you intend to go.”
I was surprised when he ordered only a club soda. I did, too. Most bikers I knew never missed the opportunity to order a whisky or at least a beer. We sat at a table so not even the bartender could overhear us.
I started out. I wasn’t used to being listened to so intently, so carefully. “You may have heard about Cassie Hasselbeck. Yesterday she was cut up pretty bad by this one associate of Leo’s.”
He nodded curtly. “Tony Tormenta. That’s why I’m here. Harte called me in to talk some sense into Leo, but I don’t think I was very effective.”
That was disappointing to hear. “So you know all about it. Well, us sweetbutts—me and my friends—” My heart nearly froze in place telling this top secret information to this brave, free-spirited biker. It was a pact between us women, and we hadn’t even told Harte, unsure of his loyalties. I was going outside our circle, telling Sax about it. I gulped my soda, wiped my nose on the back of my hand, anything to avoid what I eventually had to tell him. “We’ve gotten together a bounty—”
Sax leaned closer. “A what? You’re mumbling.”
Was I? I had been trained to enunciate so clearly! “We have a bounty for the head of Tony Tormenta.”
When I finally did speak the truth, it was like I had a frigging bullhorn and was blaring the details to the entire room. Really, only Sax was paying attention. Everyone else continued their conversations, yammering at each other and lifting their beer mugs. I only had eyes for Sax, holding my breath and waiting for his reaction as he studied my face. He was making sure of my veracity.
He nodded. “You girls got together some money? How much? Five grand?”
A person’s reaction had never meant so much to me. “Thirty large.”
Sax’s eyes widened. He nodded with respect. “Thirty large. You do know you could get anyone off the street, any number of enemies of Tormenta, to do the same job for about one-tenth that price? Maybe you shouldn’t run around mentioning how much you’re offering.”
That was true. “But you’re not just ‘anyone,’ Sax. Brenda mentioned you as someone who might be on our side.”
“I am. I think that motherfucker needs to be buried. That’s all there is to it. He’s been strutting around thinking he owns the world for a decade now, and the only serious reality check he’s going to get is the inside of a large caliber barrel.”
I squirmed with pleasure. I’d made the right choice, for once, telling Sax our plans. He was the right man for the job. “I’m glad you agree with us. I got the impression you weren’t on the same page as Leo.”
Rolling his eyes, Sax laughed from one side of his mouth. “That’s an understatement. Leo and I haven’t seen eye to eye since I taught him how to ride a bike by pushing him down the hill on mine.” Putting his forearms on the table, he again leaned closer. When he examined me in detail like that, I felt like I was being caressed. The warmth emanating from his body hit me like a solid wall. I became conscious of the wet spot between my thighs, and I squirmed in my chair. That only made it worse, the seam in my shorts directly massaging my bulging clit. My panties were damp and miserable, almost itchy. I longed for a nice, deep session with my battery-operated boyfriend.
His hands were so close to mine, my heart accelerated to think he might take one of mine into his. “But listen, Beatrix. These are dangerous waters you’re treading. You took a huge chance just now even mentioning this to me. You women have to make abso-fucking-lutely sure you don’t have any leaks, and this doesn’t get out. In fact, I’d advise you to relocate, to go into a safe house, until you’re sure he’s in the ground. Even after.”
Stupidly, that actually hadn’t occurred to me. “Yes, Cassie is staying in Pure and Easy with Madison Illuminati right now. But how is word going to get out? Hitmen—sicarios—need to know the bounty is there, or why would they come to us offering their services?”
Fisting one hand, Sax beat the table once. “You leave that to me, Bee. I’ll get the word out.”
I sat up straighter. “But no, Sax. I wanted you to…do the job. Personally. You’re the one I trust. The other girls have some ideas about men they want. But you’re the one I want.” In more ways than one, I thought, like a schoolgirl.
His laugh was genuine. He looked handsomer than ever when he threw his head back and let loose. “Bee, you’re something else. What rock have you been living under? I’m a mild-mannered geologist, a gem salesman. I still know a lot of guys from the old school days, but I myself haven’t…done a job like that in a decade.”
“But you could, if you wanted,” I pointed out.
He stopped laughing. “Yes. I could, theoretically.” He seemed to take it more seriously now. He said again, “I could.”
I slammed my palms against the table. “Then it’s decided! You track down Tormenta—I’ve heard he’s got a giant spread in Prescott—off him, then come back and tell us.”
Sax grinned and held up a palm. “Now wait, wait. I’ve got rocks to sell, Bee. I’ve got a life to live. I might still be a Boner, but I’m a nomad, see? I’ve got a show in Toronto to attend, then a show in New Hampshire, then down to Tennessee.”
I pouted. “But it should only take you a week or so, knowing your skills.”
I’d suspected that flattery would get me everywhere, and it did. He appeared to consider it. “True. How hard can it be to find a guy who’s afraid to leave the state? Listen, Bee. Quid pro quo. Tell me about yourself. You seem to know all about me.”
I blinked. “Actually, I know nothing about you. I just heard about you yesterday. I didn’t know Leo had a brother.”
He frowned. “That’s always nice to hear how memorable I am. Now, where do you come from? You’re not dressed like the others.”
I couldn’t tell him the truth about my abbey upbringing, so I left that part out. “Well, as I said, I went to high school with most of them. Then we…lost track of each other for a few years. About a year ago we reconnected. I own a nursery just south of town. That’s why there are so many nice potted plants in your clubhouse courtyard, and out front.”
“I noticed those. So we’re both in the earth sciences. I also noticed you’re collared.”
My hand automatically flew to my studded collar. My heart thudded. Not many people figured out my collar. Most assumed it was just another sort of necklace. How the fuck did he… “I am,” I
admitted, standoffish now. “My Sir is very interested in the dynamics of the power exchange. He likes to push limits, to explore boundaries.” I wanted to see if he understood this terminology, and he did.
“I see. For some reason you don’t strike me as the perfectly meek and dutiful submissive. I just can’t picture you going under willingly. You’ve maybe got a bit of the Force-me Queen in you.”
I gasped. “How do you know—”
“All these terms? I’m in the life too, as you might’ve gathered from—oh. You can’t see my ink.”
He seemed to have forgotten he was wearing a hoodie under his cut. Of course he couldn’t remove his cut in public, but he shoved up the hoodie sleeve, baring his powerful forearm to me. I didn’t expect that such an innocent move would result in such strong erotic stimulation. But with his hand fisted, the green veins lacing his forearm bulged, and when he tugged the sleeve up past his massive bicep, I was a goner. I didn’t remember ever feeling this way about Roscoe. Roscoe was thin, a David Bowie wannabe. Roscoe didn’t evoke these powerful, carnal feelings that stirred unknown and potent forces in me. What the fuck was happening to me? I was a good sub! I belonged to Roscoe and Roscoe alone! Why were these sudden new, fresh ideas coming to me out of left field?
The tat decorating Sax’s bulging bicep was a WWII bomber girl, a Rosie the Riveter type cartoon gal with a twist. She was bound so tightly by a sort of kinbaku rope binding that her tits jutted forth between the bindings, the nipples large and protuberant. She looked happy to be bound like this in her nurse’s uniform. Her skirt was hiked to her hips, revealing her perfect V of a bush. I wondered, as the juice trickled between my thighs, if Sax was into uniforms.
“That’s nice,” I breathed. Now that was the understatement of the century. A throbbing vein ran right between the bomber girl’s legs, a vein the color of the sky before a storm. “So you’re into the lifestyle too? What a strange coincidence. But you travel all the time.”
He shrugged. What a shame he was sliding his hoodie sleeve back down, but he left his forearm bared for my pleasure. “Doesn’t stop me. There are clubs in every town, and I’m familiar with most of them.”
“But you don’t look—”
“Like a Dom? Hey. I don’t need to wear leather gauntlets or latex caps to know what I am. I don’t even wear that crap in the clubs. I’m secure with who I am inside. I don’t need accessories to prove to the world I like to dominate women. But I like a woman who’s a bit of a switch, to push back on me. A woman with a mind of her own.”
Now that hit home in a hundred ways with me. “My Sir won’t tolerate any of that bullshit. I tried to push back a couple of times. No fucking way. He’s strictly by the book. High protocol, he calls it.”
He raised one eyebrow. “He makes you kiss his boot, stuff like that?”
“Exactly. Makes me crawl around on all fours.” I couldn’t fucking believe I was talking to someone else about this. I could talk to Cassie about it in vague, roundabout terms, but I’d never gotten into specifics with anyone like this. It was comforting, again, to know that Sax was also in the lifestyle. I thought maybe that’s why I’d felt so comfortable with him from the start.
He seemed skeptical of this, as though he would never make a woman do that. I knew there were many, many different kinds of Doms in the world. It seemed nearly impossible to meet your match, the one who would balance out your requirements to be dominated, but not too dominating. It did irritate me sometimes, Roscoe’s high protocol. Kissing his damned boot pissed me off sometimes, but I thought that was the intention. If being submissive didn’t irritate you, what was the point? It was meant to push all your buttons.
“You’re into that? Well, safe, sane, consensual.” He shrugged. “Whatever works for you. Does he make you unzip his trousers with your teeth?”
I actually became a little bit proud of my D/s relationship now. “No, but he makes me cook meals wearing nothing but an apron and high heels.”
Now Sax seemed interested, sitting forward on his chair. “Oh, yeah?” He looked me boldly up and down. I wasn’t the most voluptuous woman on the planet, not the shapeliest, with sort of an up and down board figure. I knew my face was pretty in a dark Irish way, but I was never confident of my body. And suddenly I wanted to turn Sax on. The fact that he was twenty years older than me was flipping all my sensual switches, too. His brazen machismo, the way he assessed me boldly with his eyes, the sex he oozed—I was alive in every one of my senses. It had been a secret desire of mine for years to play out some Daddy Dom issues. “Now there’s a sight I’d pay good money to see.”
When I dropped my eyes out of modesty, I was face to face with the enormous bulge in the crotch of his jeans. The jeans were so worn, so threadbare, the shape of his cock was blatantly displayed. The fabric had actually worn around what appeared to be his frequent erection. It was whitewashed in the shape of a long, thick penis, nestled up against the threadbare pocket. I quickly shifted my gaze to a lit beer sign behind the bar.
“Speaking of paying,” Sax continued in that warm, syrupy voice. “I’ll take your Tormenta job. But I don’t want the sweetbutt money. I’ve got enough money of my own. I’ll do it for personal reasons, because I hate that motherfucker Tormenta, because it’s good to keep my hand in the game, to keep my skills up, to stay a member ‘in good’ with The Bare Bones. I’ll do it to protect future sweetbutts and to spare my brothers from the backstabbing human trafficking business Tormenta deals in.”
I was so happy I actually did cover both his hands with mine. “You will? Oh, I’m so fucking glad! Listen, I’m going to Madison’s tonight in P and E. Will you follow my cage and talk to Cassie and Maddy? It’s on the way to Prescott anyway.”
He removed one of his hands from under mine and placed it on top, a tiny show of dominance. “Sure. I wanted to go visit The Citadel again anyway, talk to Ford, see where he lands on this issue. Don’t worry, I won’t spill your secret. I’m not convinced Tormenta is in Prescott—that’d be too obvious—but leave all that up to me.”
“Oh, this is so exciting!” You’d think we were embarking on a trip to a wild animal park, not setting out to off some cartel kingpin.
He squeezed my hand. “Just one thing I want, Bee.”
“What? Anything!”
“You.”
What? Had I just heard correctly? He couldn’t mean what he seemed to mean. “Me doing…what? What do I need to do?”
“I said I’d pay money to see you cooking, wearing nothing but an apron and high heels. I meant it.”
“Oh.” My heart skipped a beat. I stumbled over my words. “Well, I don’t really look all that, ah, sexy when I do that. Besides, I don’t think Roscoe would approve. I don’t think he’d…let me.” The truth was, I wanted to cook for Sax wearing nothing but an apron and heels! Oh Lord, I wanted nothing more out of life! Just by riding one up behind this buff, virile man, I’d suddenly become some sort of slut. Already I was fantasizing about tightly wrapping a cock ring around his prick, then getting to my knees to inhale the throbbing, beautiful thing into my mouth. I was a good deep throater, I knew. I was stretched. But Sax’s penis appeared much larger than Roscoe’s…
He lifted a hand to my chin, stroked my bottom lip with his callused thumb. His eyes were dreamy, mesmerizing. Is this what he did to all his subs? If so, it worked. “I understand, lady, although I beg to differ that you wouldn’t look sexy doing that. You don’t want to earn your Dom’s disapproval. You’re a good little sub. I just want you to know the opportunity will always be there, if you choose. If you want to make payment for some of my services, you know what you can do.”
I sat up straighter. Blackmail! “Well, I would if I could, Sax. You’re a…a very attractive man.” No, that was the understatement of the century—of the millennia. “But I’m pretty sure that Roscoe would—”
I was disappointed when he withdrew his thumb from my lips. “Are you absolutely certain, Bee? Are you certain your Dom would disapprove
? Or have you ever discussed those parameters?”
How the fuck did he know? Sax seemed to be all-seeing, all-knowing about things he couldn’t possibly know. It was unnerving. “Well, I’m collared,” I said, fingering the leather around my neck. “Isn’t that what collaring means? No stepping outside the relationship? I took it to mean I am owned by him.”
He shrugged. When he folded his arms in front of his chest, he appeared buffer, wider, more formidable. “Sometimes it’s just a fashion accessory. Traditional Dom/sub relationships have been changing. It can mean anything you want it to, as long as it’s discussed beforehand. Did you discuss fidelity with your Dom?”
“Well, not really, as far as I can recall. He told me it’s a ‘collar of consideration,’ that he owns me, and…that’s about it.”
“Aha. A training collar is like a pre-engagement ring. It can be removed at any time by you with no harm, no foul. It’s the least serious of all collars.”
I was shocked. “Really? Then does that mean that Roscoe can…” I faded out. I didn’t want this relative stranger to know I was questioning my relationship. Could Roscoe go and, well, collar other girls behind my back?
“Just something to consider,” said Sax, signaling the bartender for two more sodas.
The front door opened, making a rectangle of sunshine on the dark, shiny floor. Several black silhouettes entered the bar. They conglomerated by the door for a few seconds as the people scanned the room. Once I could make them out, I saw Brenda, Missy, and Rhetta among the women, and I waved wildly.
“Over here!”
When Brenda got a load of Sax, she broke into a run. “Sax!” she squealed, flinging her arms around his neck and burying her face there. I was envious. I wished my face could rub against the warmth of his neck.
But another character with their party piqued my interest. This guy was soap opera handsome, and almost dressed as though starring in one. His white-toothed smile was ingratiating, his perfectly coiffed black and silver hair curly and shiny, as though molded with hairspray, or worse. He was clad in a flashy chartreuse patterned polyester shirt with a jacket that was probably polyester too, the airplane collar sticking out just so. Still, as flamboyant as he was, he struck me as good-hearted and well intentioned. He flapped the lapels of his jacket and looked down at me as though I were a photographer. I half expected one of his teeth to twinkle.
