When I try to block out all the shit with V and my parents, I forget there are other people around me who actually give a fuck. People who respect my work. People who have given me a chance after I’ve fucked up every other one.
“I’m fucking sorry. I won’t do it again.”
“I’d like to believe you, son. You know I would, but I’m not here to babysit you. You’re a professional and you’re good at your job, but over the last few months I don’t know what has gotten into you.”
My brother getting caught muling a kilo of coke is what happened.
My brother getting locked up for muling said kilo of coke and taking the heat for his fucked-up motorcycle club is what happened.
I could explain, but I won’t tell him about V. I can’t. I don’t want the pity. I don’t want people to know how much of a battle every single day is.
I nearly told Jones the other day. Sometimes I just wanna talk to someone. I trust him, but I don’t want the pity.
I stare into the eyes of the greying man in front of me. He deserves some kind of explanation, but I’m too fucking proud to say. I know that I’m responsible for myself, and I’m doing a shitty job of it. Explaining why I have no stop button when it comes to booze isn’t gonna help me. It’d just be another mark against my name.
“There’s been some shit goin’ on, but I’ll get my head back into it,” I offer as some kind of explanation.
“Show me that I made the right decision to hire you. You could be a senior team mechanic if you wanted. You’ve been here nearly two years, and you could be there; you deserve to be, but you’re not. You’re just coasting along, doing what you need to, not thinking ahead. You’re not trying to do better, and I know you have the potential. You’re a smart kid. You have a gift. Don’t waste it, because truthfully, there are mechanics I’d take on in a heartbeat. If you tell anyone I’ll deny it until I’m blue in the face, but I’ve got a soft spot for ya. Just don’t make me look like a fool.”
The muscles in my jaw clench as I grind my teeth. That’s the last thing I wanna do to Mac, after all he’s done.
“I’ll get my shit together. I will.”
As soon as V is out of jail, my world will be looking a hell of a lot brighter. I’ll have to be responsible then, because I’ll need to get him back on track. He’s the only shred of family I have left. Someone needs to be a father figure for that kid. He needs out of the MC, and I’ll do whatever I can to make that happen. Even if I have to pay the rotten bastards off. If Mac sees potential in me, it’s only a fraction of what I see in V. I’d love to get him back into motocross.
“I look forward to the day, son. So, did you get those parts sorted?”
“The freight company said they’d be here before eleven this morning, and then I’ll get moving on Stone’s bike.”
“Good. Let’s get this team meeting underway, huh?”
With a firm yet encouraging slap on my back, Mac and I head over to the guys.
Billy Boy, Jones and Stone are busy talking amongst themselves as they unpack a few boxes with some new team gear.
Brett, the senior mechanic, who started with the team before me is standing with his arms folded, his feet firmly planted shoulder-width apart. He narrows his blue eyes at me as I approach. He’s wearing a stupid, smarmy grin, and I instantly wanna punch him in the face. Stupid redheaded fuck. We’ve never gotten along. He always tries to show me up, and he’s probably just come in his pants watching Mac have a go at me. He’d better stay clear of my path today.
“Right boys. Gather ’round,” Mac announces.
Everyone pulls up a plastic chair, and step-by-step Mac goes through the schedule for the day—the rebuilds and the sponsorship stuff, as well as the training and travel schedules. I get the feeling that the emphasis on the dates is for my benefit more than anyone else’s. Rightly so.
All day, I have to push through the pain. Acid gurgles in my stomach, and I keep breaking into cold sweats. Holding down the dirty hamburger with the lot I have mid-morning is a mother of a challenge. I have the shakes something chronic, which makes it fucking hard to use some of the tools. I push on, because I made a promise to Mac. I will try. I’m on my game today, and tonight will be my sweet reward. I need to get rid of the shakes, and I need a good, hard fuck to clear my head.
Tomorrow I can spend the day doing sweet fuck all. Hopefully, that involves getting my dick sucked.
****
I shout another round of beers, eyeing off the uncracked bottle of tequila on the top shelf as I do. You’re next, sweetheart.
“You did good today, Rocco,” Jones says, as I hand him a cold schooner.
I swallow down a few large gulps. I wanna scull the whole beer, but I need to ease my way into it. The second beer took the edge off, but I’m greedy. I just wanna drink myself into oblivion.
“Didn’t have much choice. Mac chewed my arse this morning.”
“Any particular occasion for the piss-up last night?” Jones asks, and then takes a long pull of his drink.
“Nope.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for someone having a piss-up but, mate, Mac’s a pretty patient man, and it’s starting to wear thin.”
I finish off my beer, and wave at Jack behind the bar for another round. Jones has barely made a dent in his drink, but I’ll buy him one just the same. He tried to cover for me this morning. Unfortunately it’s not the first time in so many months. Buying him another beer, or however many he plans on drinking tonight, is the only way I know to show him that I appreciate him. I’m not sure how to put it into words. My old man was never one to display emotion, and as a kid he’d used to rip me apart for not being tough enough. Some role model.
“I know, and I get that. Just some shit went down, and I’m trying to get my head around it.” It’s the closest I’ve come to saying anything to him.
“Anything I can do?” he asks, and I know he’s sincere as shit. It’s why I’m proud to be his best man. I’d do anything for this guy, and I know he’d do the same for me. I just can’t talk about it.
“Nope, but thanks.”
A series of giggles come from the corner of the pub. I swing my head around to check out a glamour group of six girls crowded around a small table. I recognise a few faces from the usual chicks who follow us from round to round. My dick twitches at the sound of their playful banter, and the sight of their open body language. Settle down, boy. Soon enough. Cleavage is in abundance thanks to their tight, slutty tops. They don’t hide the fact that they’re watching us, and I don’t hide the fact that I’m watching them, of course, with a subtle flick of my tongue stud for good measure. Chicks love the stud.
I look over to Jones, who is sipping his beer, blissfully unaware of the beauties in the corner. He seems to have grown a pair of blinders since hooking up with April. It’s as if he doesn’t see them at all. Such a waste.
The girls know this is our go-to place for drinks. We can drink ourselves stupid here, and it’s not that far from home. The owner puts up with a fair bit of shit from us boys, and we rarely get kicked out. Apart from the lure of alcohol, this bar is my go-to place for pussy. It’s a tapped resource that never dries up. If I don’t wanna go home alone, I don’t. Simple. Tonight, I’m taking a honey home with me, and I’m gonna drive her into next week.
The pretty brunette on the left winks at me, and then flicks her long hair over her shoulder as she crosses her slim, jean-clad legs. Just like that, I’m in. I know that look in her eye all too well. She’s hungry for cock.
I don’t know whether I’ve had the pleasure of her pussy before. I jut my chin towards her and then motion my hand towards the bar. She presses her lips together, says something quietly to her friends, and then stands and slowly stalks in my direction, swaying her slim hips as she walks like a catwalk model in those tall fuck-me heels. Easy prey.
Bartender Jack places two beers on the bar and I pay him.
“You need to make like a tree, Jones,” I say,
handing him another beer.
“Huh? A tree?”
“You need to leave.”
He turns and his eyes widen as he watches the beauty approach. Boy, am I gonna have fun with this one. She has legs that go for miles and a spectacular rack.
“Gotcha,” he says, and takes a walk towards the end of the bar where Billy Boy is chatting with Brett. “Don’t forget to wrap it, bro.”
“Always.” I’d rather not have my cock fall off thanks to a raging STD.
When she stands toe-to-toe with me, I slip my arm around the girl’s slim waist and pull her to the space at the bar where a vacancy has now appeared thanks to Jones’s prompt exit.
“What’s your name, darlin’?” I ask her, rubbing my calloused thumb across the small strip of exposed flesh on her lower back just above the waistband of her jeans. She shudders and a soft moan whispers from her cherry red lips. That shade will look magic at the base of my cock.
“Jacinta,” she says, mischief in her tone. She’s said one word to me, and I like her already. I hope to Christ she’s not a big talker. Not that it matters, I guess, because she’ll be too busy with my cock in her mouth anyway.
“You like tequila, Jacinta?”
“Uh-huh,” she says with a slow nod, and a bat of her long lashes.
I turn side on and press my semi-hard cock against her hip. She takes in a sharp breath, drawing my eyes to the swell of her tits as they rise and fall.
“Then you’re gonna fuckin’ love how I do tequila.”
I slap my palm twice on the timber top of the bar. “Tequila with lemon and salt, my friend,” I shout out to Jack and hold up two fingers. With a deep chuckle and a shake of his head, he throws a black cloth over his shoulder and grabs two shot glasses. He sets about placing a small bowl of lemon wedges and a salt shaker beside them.
“What’s your name?” she asks playfully, turning her body to face me as the tequila is poured.
“You know it’s Rocco,” I say cockily. She may not know my name, but I reckon given her female company this evening, she does.
Jacinta smiles, and then tugs at her lower lip with her perfectly white teeth. She leans in and puts her mouth to my ear, her breath warming me. She smells sweet as fucking pie, too.
“I wanna see what you can do with that stud, Rocco,” she says, her voice sexy and sweet.
Well isn’t she in for a treat. I’m the pussy-eating grand master. I grunt with satisfaction, and then grip her hip and twist her frame to face the liquid gold in the glasses in front of us.
“All in good time, babe. Tequila comes first, then you come second.”
CHAPTER NINE
SOPHIE
After a hell of a night shift, I finally get home. I step into the bath, pull the plastic curtain across and indulge in a long shower. I’m grateful that Rocco isn’t home and that I can use every last drop of hot water without him pounding the door down.
I rinse out my delicates and hang them gently on the rail and around the edge of the bath. They should be dry by morning.
When I get out of the shower, I scan the room for a towel. Motherfucker. My shit-for-brains flatmate obviously helped himself to my towel this morning. I creep into the hallway, careful with my wet feet on the slippery floor. The jangle of keys in the front door lock has me bolting towards my room.
Slam! My arse slaps against the hardwood floor, thanks to the rogue drops of water that have brought me unstuck.
Cursing myself, and in serious pain, I flounder around. I manage to get halfway into my room before the door swings wide open, biting into the gyprock wall. Thank fuck my bare arse is out of sight.
“Who’s that?” a squeaky female voice enquires, her words accompanied by the clicking of her heels.
“Who?” Rocco slurs.
“The legs,” the girl says, as I drag my shins free of the doorway.
“None of your business,” he growls.
There’s no time to chuck on a bra, so I simply throw on a white single top and the cheeky pink Victoria’s Secret boxers I got for my last birthday. I walk out to the kitchen, head held high, in some kind of attempt to fool Rocco and his friend into thinking it’s impossible I was naked just a moment before. I fill a glass with cold water from the fridge.
The tall, dark-haired girl narrows her eyes at me as she steps farther into the apartment. She’s wearing a tank top, which is more like a second skin. Is she having trouble breathing? Her boobs are pushed up to her neck. She looks uncomfortable.
She smooths her hands down her sides, drawing my eyes to her black and white checked long nails.
Looks like Rocco dragged home a MX groupie.
Rocco pulls out a chair and literally falls into it.
“Another big night, huh?” I direct at him. He runs his hand back through his hair. It takes a good few seconds before his eyes focus on my face.
“Why the fuck not?” he says and throws his arms up, before they flop back down on the dining table.
I pick up my glass of water and take a step closer, wary that the groupie is watching me ever so closely, arms folded across her chest.
Rocco focuses on the glass and begins to chuckle. “I’m still fuckin’ pissed about your form this morning,” he mutters.
“Well you should answer your bloody phone.”
“If you’re not careful, I’m gonna sneak into your room one morning and make you wet.” Playfulness flitters in his eyes, and he reaches between his legs and palms his crutch.
Does he even remember that he brought someone home to fuck? “I highly doubt that.”
“Why?”
Let’s see if I can have a little fun here. I lean in close. “Because dick doesn’t get me wet.”
He stands and chuckles low in his throat. He opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but ends up staring at my tits. For longer than he should.
“No bra?” He gasps.
“What’s going on here?” the groupie whines.
I clear my throat and take a step back. “I’m off to bed to spend time with my vibrator.”
Both of their mouths drop open.
“Yeah, well good luck with that,” Rocco says and sways as he steps towards his room, palming his way along the wall. He’s blind as a bat. Groupie glares at me and then struts after Rocco, her stripper heels echoing in the hallway.
“I hope he can keep it up for you, love,” I call out. His bedroom door slams shut. I hear a squeal a second later, followed by a series of high-pitched dumb-arse giggles.
I wasn’t lying about the vibrator.
I have a date with BOB. After the day I’ve had, he’d better perform, too.
****
ROCCO
My dick is red raw, and my balls? Jesus Christ. It’s by far the worst case of blue balls I’ve ever had.
What the fuck was wrong with me last night? Why the fuck couldn’t I blow? It wasn’t that Jacinta didn’t try; she sucked until she could suck no more. I’d then pounded the ever-loving shit out of her, but still no fucking result.
Fucking Suds. No bra, short shorts, and informing me that she was off to use her vibrator. I was completely unravelled. When I’d taken the girl back to my room, it was all I could think about. After catching a glimpse of her pussy yesterday morning, it was just fuel to my imagination.
I had a right mind to storm into her room and tell her off. Why did she have to say it? Why couldn’t she just stay in her room?
I push up onto my elbows, and my head screams. The shooting pain behind my eyes temporarily blinds me, and the acid whirls around in my stomach. I really did a number on myself last night. I should’ve eaten something when Jones did, but I had more important things to focus on.
I palm my dick gently. This shit isn’t funny. I’m hard as stone; I need to piss. It’s gonna take days to recover from this, and all I wanna do is grab my dick and blow.
Rubbing my eyes, I get up and stuff my woody into some boxers and wander to the bathroom, banging the door closed behin
d me.
“Fuck,” I complain, as I lift the toilet lid and seat up. I don’t have time for this shit.
As my piss streams into the bowl, that’s when I see them. Everywhere. Hanging from the shower rail. Looped over the side of the bath.
It’s like a fucking sexy rainbow landed in here, in the form of underwear. Lace. Bras, and dainty little G-strings.
Aside from my own mother, I have never lived with a woman. Not even Trinity. That wasn’t exactly a living together arrangement, more like fucking, but we were long-term. Needless to say, seeing this shit in my bathroom is not fucking on. Especially when I’m not boning or touching the pussy that wears this stuff.
I shake the snake and stuff him back in my boxers. With a white-knuckled grip on the handle, I yank open the door. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Suds!” I call out into the hallway, my voice echoing my anger.
“What?” she calls out just as loud, from the kitchen.
“What the fuck is this shit?”
Even with her out of sight, I hear the loud huff that leaves her mouth. Her bare feet pound the timber floorboards as she approaches. She’s wearing this tiny black satin robe, and I can’t imagine she’s got anything on underneath because it’s all on proudly on display in my bathroom.
I grab her hand, pull her into the bathroom, and point at the offending rows of lingerie.
“This!”
“It’s called underwear, De Loser.”
What the fuck? De Loser?
“It’s De Luca,” I seethe, my voice slow and deep.
“Yeah, I know,” she drawls and raises an eyebrow.
Women.
“Why are they hanging on display like that?”
“I can’t put them in your dryer because they’ll disintegrate.”
Well, that wouldn’t be hard. There’s nothing to them.
They would barely cover her pussy. Fuck. Just a little tug of fabric to the side, and it’d be welcome to pussytown.
Switch Page 5
