by Jade Allen
Damian heard her lock the outer door behind her as she came in, and his heart leapt to his throat. He’d taken off his shirt and belt in anticipation of her arrival, and he was standing when she strode in, red hair floating around her like a burning halo. She was wearing his own tan-colored trench coat belted tightly around her waist, and her eyes were alive with fire as she looked into his eyes.
Becca unwound the belt and let the coat fall to the floor, revealing her naked body in all its glory. Her tear drop shaped breasts swung as she stepped toward him, and he started to push his pants to the floor just as she reached his side of the desk.
Becca met his eyes and smiled, flashing him her dimples as she stretched up on tip toes to wrap her arms around him. Her stomach brushed his erection, and she giggled. “Someone’s happy to see me.”
Damian slid his palms against the warm curve of her ass and pulled her soft body against his. “I’m always happy to see you, Becca. I want you, and I love you.”
Her mouth fell open, and Damian realized he’d never said it aloud before now. He wondered if he should take it back, but he couldn’t do it without feeling like he was lying, so he waited for her to speak with his heart hammering in his chest. There was fear in her eyes, but something else, too—and it was slowly taking over and warming her gaze until her dimples returned, and she smiled again.
“I love you, too,” she said softly, and Damian saw at once that she meant it. His heart cracked open, and he lifted Becca with both hands and lowered her body to the desk, raking his eyes down the curve of her body as he pressed his engorged cock against her already slick folds.
Becca pressed her hips upward as Damian leaned forward, sinking himself inside her slowly, so that her walls quivered as they swallowed his shaft. Damian leaned his body against hers, relishing the press of her round breasts against his hard chest as he hilted himself inside her. He gasped and thrusted again, grinding his weight against her clit as he moved.
“Oh,” she breathed against his ear. “God, Damian. You feel…perfect.”
Becca’s strong thighs locked around his waist as he slowly drew back and pushed his shaft inside her again. His body was on fire with pleasure, but he fought to pace himself as he slipped inside her over and over again. Damian gazed down at Becca’s face, her features a picture of rapture as he slipped out of her and surged forward again, pressing against her g-spot as his strokes grew harder and faster.
Damian buried his face in the soft curve of her neck, fingers pulling and twisting on the point of her nipple. He’d never felt anything so incredible, and he was sure he’d never feel it again, so he needed to make it last as long as possible. Becca’s sharp, delirious cries spurred him as he drove his hips against hers, and Damian felt controlled as he pounded her body harder and faster against the desk, but the gentle squeeze of her body was too intense to resist for long.
“Becca!” Damian called, digging his fingers into her breasts as his member rocketed between her thighs, slick with her wetness. “Becca, I’m coming!”
“I’m coming!” she screamed at the same time, throwing her head back as she shouted her pleasure to the ceiling. “Damian! Oh, Damian!”
She bucked her hips upward and screamed a final time, just as he exploded inside her spasming walls. Damian saw stars as he slumped over her body, pushing himself against her weakly as her cries softened and lowered in pitch.
Damian kissed her as he pulled out, handing her a towel he’d kept by the desk for this occasion in particular.
Becca giggled at the gesture. “Thank you. You’re prepared.”
Damian pulled out a towel of his own. “Damn right I am.”
The intercom chimed, and Victor’s voice issued into the room. “Hey, boss? I need you. Alone.”
Damian raised his eyebrows and laughed. “Wow, that sounds serious. Think we got caught?”
Becca smiled as she pulled the trench coat over her body, but it was distracted. “What?”
Damian laughed. “I’ll let you collect your thoughts.”
He finished dressing and walked out to his outer office to find Victor standing near the door, his expression grim.
Damian frowned. “Did we hit the intercom button? Did everyone hear us?”
Victor shook his head and held out a manila file folder. “Look at this.”
Damian was disconcerted by Victor’s attitude and opened the folder without question, flipping through the pictures and sheets of paper as he spoke.
“Looks like you were targeted,” Victor said. “But not just in general—someone was trying to embarrass you. Ruin you.”
Damian’s eyes skidded over emails between someone named Falcon and a series of people who only went by their initials. They were all discussing various plots to take his company down, shame him publicly, and hurt him—but why? These people had personal knowledge of him and his family members…as well as his old friends from school, Jack, Roger, and Ian, who were mentioned there by name. So someone is targeting some tech brats?
Damian looked up, the confusion clear on his face. “What do we do with this?” he asked. “It seems like this is your arena. Find out motive, turn this in, that kind of thing.”
The door opened behind him, and Victor looked uncomfortable. “One of the people conspiring against you was actually someone they recruited, and they pulled out early. I thought that was odd, so I did some digging…they only went by B. But there’s a series of pictures there, of them meeting and handing over a small device that was probably used to hack into the system.”
Damian went through the pictures again, more slowly this time. Victor was watching him, so he assumed he’d know it when he saw it—and he did.
It was Becca.
He turned around to find her standing before him, tears streaming from her eyes. She already knew.
“Did you just fuck me because you knew you were about to get caught?”
Becca winced at his phrasing and took a few steps toward him. “N-no! Damian, it’s not like that—”
“Then what is it like?” he spat. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Becca held up her hands, as if in defense. “They told me you had something to do with a human trafficking ring,” she said softly. “A few tech giants are, they’ve proven it to me and a few others—and they thought you were one of them.”
“So you attacked my company?” Damian shouted. “You planted that bug on my phone with that little device, didn’t you? Used the moment to get what you wanted. Why not just call the cops?”
“The police weren’t cooperating!” Becca said, stretching her arms toward him. “They weren’t listening to us! And Damian, I only planted that device because I thought you were in on it, and they needed to make you vulnerable so you’d come forward—” Becca sobbed. She pressed her hands over her mouth and took a deep breath before dropping them. “They were going to use me to do it. But then… I fell in love with you,” she said gently, resting a hand on his arm. “I did, Damian—I love you so much.”
Damian was shaking his head. “Fuck no.”
Becca’s eyes were wide with terror and pain. “Damian, please, let me make this up to you—”
“You can’t,” Damian cut in, and the finality of his tone made her stop short. “You betrayed me. I don’t forgive after that.” He looked at Victor. “Get her out of here.”
The heartbreak on her face was sharp enough to slice his veins. Becca screamed as Victor pulled her back. “Damian!”
He turned away from her cries, stone cold from the feeling of betrayal that now wracked his soul.
****
Damian tried hard to come into work the next day, but he couldn’t get further than his doorstep. Everything in his apartment reminded him of Becca, even though they’d only been seeing each other a month: a keychain from the Museum of Modern Art; a finger trap they’d gotten caught in before the first night he dipped his tongue between her legs; a t-shirt she’d danced around in after finding out she had one more vacat
ion day she could take this month. That day, they’d stayed in his bed and eaten pizza while watching movies and kissing the breath from each other’s lungs. Her hair left a scent on his pillow each night, no matter how long she laid her head on the case, and he breathed her in while he had slept.
By the third day, he was dodging calls as well as concerned emails, shutting down all queries with a single, artful word. Some of the customers wanted monetary restitution—would he make a statement?
No.
The shareholders wanted to be reassured that nothing out of sorts was going on at IQID. Would he send an email?
No.
A new employee has been hired, can he sign off on the forms?
No.
Was he okay?
No.
The ache after the initial pain was somehow worse than the sting itself. Damian couldn’t believe how hollow he felt, like a straw had just been pulled from his back. Even after the end of the first week, he couldn’t feel anything stronger than mild annoyance; then, one day, he broke a mug Becca had given him. Instead of being upset, he’d gotten angry, and he’d stayed angry since—though sometimes the bubbling rage cooled to a gently meandering acidic river. He poured his energy into pure loathing: of the mailman, of the birds outside, of bicycle bells; even a delivered lemon tart wasn’t exempt from the irrational hatred that kept him up at night. The only place his hatred never ended up was around the thought of Becca.
He never considered why because he never directly thought about Becca. Damian forced himself to think of other things, and it worked splendidly—until it didn’t anymore, and he was lost in a pit of despair again. One night he made the mistake of wandering around the city and ended up that dive bar where he first met Becca. Against his better judgement, he even went in.
Everything was exactly the same. It gave him more than comfort, and Damian signaled for a Fat Tire as he settled into the same stool. The room was just as empty as before, which wasn’t surprising, because it was a Wednesday morning. The bartender eyed him as he handed over his credit card, and he felt the stubble on his jaw as she plucked it from his fingers. He felt a flash of hatred for her, but it was half-hearted. Hate Becca, he told himself. Why don’t you hate Becca?
The answer was simple: love. Damian had never been so in love with someone in his life, and part of him was happy to stay head-over-heels for her as long as he’d let himself. The other part of him was tired of being walked on, though, and it was hard and unyielding inside him. But what had that part gotten him since he’d developed it? Nothing, he realized. In fact, it had lost him more than anything else. He’d just had a chance at an incredible love, and it had withered away because he didn’t want to forgive. Damian gulped his beer, tears burning the backs of his eyes as he realized he may never have another chance.
“Bad beer?”
Damian nearly choked. Becca was standing beside him, holding a glass of Fat Tire out to him with her brown eyes held wide and careful. He started to rise and leave, but the hope in her eyes was too fresh to kill. I’ll hear her out, he decided. Though nothing can fix this.
Becca sat on the stool and stared at her hands for a moment. Damian felt another flash of hatred, but this time for himself—he wanted to kiss her already, and she hadn’t even begun speaking.
When she did, it didn’t get better. She raised her eyes to his, and a ripple of need passed through him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t say it enough. I’m so sorry. But I have to tell you—I never lied about anything else.”
Damian snorted. “Right.”
Becca winced. “I deserve that, but I’m telling you the truth,” she said urgently. “And I think I’ve figured out how to show you.”
She pulled something from her purse and set it on the bar, sliding it over for him to examine under the dim light. Damian saw that it was a laminated identification badge for her newspaper. His thoughts descended into a confused chaos, but his heart pounded in acknowledgement of what this must mean.
“I quit,” Becca said. “And before you say anything…I didn’t quit for you. I hated my job anyway, you know that. I would have quit if a better job offer came up.”
Damian smiled. “But?”
Becca smiled back. “But…I did quit because of you. Because you reminded me that I can be passionate about things, and love things with all of my being. You taught me that I’m still alive, so I should be living…and that starts with love.” She placed one hand on his, and the warmth made him ecstatic. “You made me rediscover what it felt like. Even if you don’t forgive me…thank you. I can go chase my dreams now. I feel like my heart was clogged, and you snaked the drain.” Becca blushed as she finished speaking and dropped her eyes. “Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say. You don’t have to talk to me anymore.”
Damian watched her study the glass of beer before her, brown eyes anxiously tracking the bubbles as they zipped around the glass. A part of him wanted to leave—just turn around and walk out of Becca’s life, never to see her again. It wouldn’t be hard to avoid her with the amount of money he had—but it would be hard on his heart. It was clenching even as he watched her frown, just knowing she was unhappy; Damian desperately wanted to kiss away her tension and sadness until she laughed like the first night he met her. Could he forgive her after her betrayal? Could he love unguarded again?
Damian made several decisions at once. He drank the rest of his beer and set down a tip for the bartender before he turned to Becca. She gazed at him hopefully, the warmth in her honey brown eyes heating him to his core.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “There’s only one way I’ll forgive you.”
Becca’s hopeful smile faltered.
“If we’re going to be together, we need to work as a team—and this team likes kayaking. I have a little house in Maine that’s right on a river; I know you’re afraid of deep water because of your little mermaid stint, but I need you to at least try for me.”
The smile that spread across Becca’s face was infectious. He was grinning as she leapt into his arms, and Damian stood and spun her around as her arching laughter filled the darkened bar. The patrons shot them dirty looks as they celebrated, but neither Damian nor Becca noticed—they were far too comfortable in their steely bubble of new love. One of the yellowed lamps above them fizzled and blew out, but their lips touched as the bulb darkened; Damian’s heart pounded in his chest, heavy with joy in the realization that Becca’s love brought him the key to feeling like a real person again. He was never letting her go.
THE END
Riding Ryan
Mona Myers was not like most girls. At the age of eight, she had ridden on the back of a motorcycle with her father for the first time, and though she never got her own bike or claimed to be a ‘biker,’ she grew up finding that the people who inhabited the world in which her father lived and breathed were the best kind of people to surround herself with. At the age of twenty-seven, she was tall, lean and muscular with a pixie cut dyed black with blonde highlights in her slightly-too-long bangs. She had two tattoos, one on each arm, and if a day went by that she wasn’t wearing black it was a sign that something was up.
On the day in question, she was wearing a pair of dark jeans and a green t-shirt that her father had given her when she was in high school. It clung to her chest and sat on her weirdly, too tight for her fully-grown and matured frame, but today she had to wear it. Today was the day she would bury her father.
Benny Myers was more than a founding member of the Running Hill Motorcycle Club – one of the biggest, most well-respected racing motorcycle clubs in not just Detroit but all of the US. Along with being Mona’s dad, he quickly became everyone’s father figure and best friend from the moment they entered his group. Benny built the riders many years before Mona was born, and carried the group until it grew to its forty-person size, structured as innocently as a ladies’ yacht club but functioning much more like a family of misfits, knitted close by loss and hardship. Because of this, Mona was
n’t the only person who took Benny’s death badly, and it comforted her to know that she would be surrounded by her motorcycle club family as they shared in her grief and sorrow at the loss of such a great guy.
Mona worked at a bar that was a popular haunt of the Running Hill Riders for many obvious reasons. She was the owner and bartender; the drinks were half-price for members of the club; the music there was always loud and good. No one ever had to punch the jukebox or pay a waiter to change the song. The aptly named Hog’s Grogs was the riders’ meeting spot, place to unwind, and more or less a second home to all of them.
On the morning of her father’s funeral, she stood behind the bar, doing her best to keep it together while she waited for her friends in the club to arrive.
The first familiar face to show up was Ryan Kirby. He was a sight for tear-filled eyes. Biting her lip, Mona gave him a smile and a friendly nod. She hadn’t seen Ryan in years. He’d been badly injured in a race about a year ago and had been on the mend ever since. She’d sent flowers and cards to him while he healed. Now that her father was gone, Mona was thinking of making Ryan the new leader of the Running Hill Riders. If it had anything to do with the giant crush she had on him, she was never going to admit that out loud.
Ryan Kirby was tall and devilishly handsome, with black hair, green-blue eyes and a sharp chin that he liked to keep covered in a close-cut beard. He had dimples when he smiled, so he did his best to never smile when he was in a race, lest people not take him seriously as a competitor. He was thirty-two years old and had been a part of the club for twelve years. Mona had adored him for just about all of those years. He smirked when he came into the Hog’s Grogs and saw her there. “Hey there, gorgeous.”
Before she could go towards him or say anything, they were interrupted by the arrival of several of the others – including, quite possibly, the worst member of the motorcycle club.
“Ryan? Ryan Kirby?”
Ryan had appeared to be all set to hug Mona and console her, but he froze as a man spoke from somewhere behind him.
