by Ada Stone
Normally, the sound was soothing, but right now, with my body so on edge, it grated against my nerves.
I could fight the papers. They were legit, but I could take them to court over it and probably win. Maybe. I could argue that we were being prejudiced against and that we were being treated unfairly due to preconceived notions, namely that we were a tattoo parlor and that didn’t fit in with the mayor’s idea of what Mount Rose should be. But we were a legal operating business and it was an infringement on our rights to be ousted from town because of some jackass’s prejudice.
But it was a little more complicated than all of that. If it were just the attack from the mayor, that would be one thing. Dealing with him was second nature now, as was ruffling his feathers. Unfortunately, there were other complications arising and they were coming up faster than I could handle, whether I wanted to admit it or not.
Recently, I’d gotten word of a couple of bikers poking around Mount Rose. I wouldn’t have been concerned if they were unaffiliated and just passing through. Mount Rose wasn’t necessarily right in the path of a lot of “passing through” type traffic, but we got some. Mostly scenic byways, people taking vacations with their kids or their wives or whatever, but every so often you’d get a biker who took a wrong turn or was looking for the path less traveled and all that crap.
But these guys weren’t just passing through and they definitely weren’t affiliated. Sorenson had spotted them the other day and reported them to me a while ago. He’d said that it had been difficult to make out the patches on their jackets, but they had definitely been matching.
In my experience, this meant they were in a club together. Bikers might all look the same to someone from the outside, but to another biker what they wore was a giveaway to who they were. Patches could mean rank, but they always told you something about the club. Bikers who were independent rarely had insignias on their leathers, and when they did, it wouldn’t match a partner’s insignia. That was a dangerous thing to do if you didn’t have a club for the very reason that I was worrying over it now.
Two riders with the same insignia meant a club. And not mine.
It was unlikely to mean that they were just passing through. Especially since they stuck to the outskirts of town, not staying in town or going through to the other side, but rather turning around and going back the way they came.
Scouts, I thought miserably, rubbing my eyes like I could erase some of the problems I’d been seeing lately.
They were coming here to size us up, check out the territory. They’d report back to their boss and then they’d make a decision. Like whether or not it was worth coming into town and trying to take over. Judging by the fact that Sorenson had spotted the guys about three weeks ago and there had been half a dozen sightings since, I was willing to think that they had decided to try their luck.
Which wouldn’t have worried me nearly as much if it weren’t for one little fact: I had dissenters. The Road Roses hadn’t been strong in years. Since long before I’d taken over. Old Man Jones had left me a hell of a mess when he retired and I was still working out how to smooth out the kinks in the club.
I’d had to break Armand’s nose and kick Jerry out entirely. It hadn’t left a lot of people happy, and it had put me in a bad spot, but there wasn’t a lot else I could do about it.
Marry and knock up some little woman, I thought dryly.
The suggestion had been two months ago, but I hadn’t been able to settle down like the Road Roses seemed to want or need me to do. If I were honest with myself, I might admit that the idea had been rolling around in my brain since they’d thrown it out there. Though I’d once or twice in my life toyed around with the idea of settling down, I’d always considered it an impossibility—in a lot of ways, I still did. I was too brutal for things like that. Too prone to violence and anger. On the surface, I might seem like the kind of man to be in control, but that was never really the case. I was constantly on the verge of exploding, of losing it. I kept it in check so far as I needed to and fuck the rest.
But that didn’t change the niggling desire that maybe there was an alternative to who I was. Maybe I could settle down with a woman and start a family, just like my loyal lieutenants suggested.
Surely I could learn to keep my anger in check. And I could figure out how to overcome my propensity towards violence. I wasn’t wholly convinced, but there was a chance that maybe I could be a better man, as cheesy as that sounded. And more to the point, it would solve a lot of my current problems. Armand, that piece of shit, was setting me against my men by putting on display the differences between myself and Old Man Jones. And there were a lot of differences. Never mind that many of them were for the better.
If I could show them the softer side of me, so to speak, then maybe I could rein them in and take away Armand’s power. He was a charming asshole, but if I was more like Jones, then he wouldn’t have a leg to stand on.
I hoped.
I made a frustrated noise in my throat. All of this was ultimately pretty pointless. It didn’t matter if I could change, wanted to change, or if anyone else wanted me to change. If I didn’t have a woman to settle down with, it was all a moot point.
And I didn’t.
Although there were a number of offers from women—some were aware of my status, some were just interested in the muscles I dedicated more than a little time to defining—there weren’t any I had felt a moderate and lingering desire to be around. Oh, sure, most were very attractive. Fake tits, Pilates, dyed hair, you name it. These women were determined to be the sexiest they could be, and maybe on the surface they were, but there had to be more than a surface attraction.
I wanted a woman who would stick. Someone who I could bounce ideas off of and actually have a conversation with, someone who was going to think for herself as opposed to just assuming whatever role I wanted her to. And the women I’d encountered hadn’t fit that mold in the slightest. It was all kinds of “Whatever you want me to be, baby,” and I had no interest in that.
If she couldn’t think for herself, I certainly couldn’t be bothered to think for her.
My mind flashed to the last woman I’d taken to bed. I hadn’t even bothered with her name, thinking she was one in a long list of carnal interests that I would tire of quickly. It had been two months since I’d buried myself inside of her, using her pliant nineteen-year-old body to fulfill my desires. And she’d taken it all with a moan and a plea for more.
That she-devil, I thought fondly, a smile curving along my lips.
She’d been the sexiest thing I’d seen in a long time, and all natural, from her large, perky tits to her golden blonde hair. She might have shaved her lovely nether lips, but I could tell from her eyebrows and her eyelashes, even coated in mascara, that she was a natural blonde. Which made her all the more appealing. I was in to natural.
I’d tasted her lower lips, licking up the wetness that collected there as she moaned and writhed below me. I’d thrust my tongue into her tight little opening in a preview of what was to come and rubbed my thumb over that little soft bundle of hers until I tipped her over the edge.
I didn’t even wait for her to finish before I plunged my dick inside of her.
It had been a hell of a night and I’d been exhausted enough by our activities that I’d even let her curl up beside me that night. We’d fallen asleep together for a time, and when I woke up, her head was still resting against my shoulders and I had a hand on her bare hip. It had been a bit startling, considering I wasn’t usually a stick around after the fuck kind of a guy, but it hadn’t been unpleasant.
I’d still left immediately after while it was still early enough in the morning to be dark out. I was careful not to wake her and reminded myself that it was only a one-night stand. A hell of a fuck, but nothing more. It wasn’t as though either of us had been looking for anything more that night anyway.
And yet, every so often, I found my mind drifting to that night and that beautiful blonde goddess. She�
��d given as good as she got and I took everything I needed from her without care. It was a hard night to forget and the few times I’d been interested in taking out my frustrations sexually, that night had forced itself into my head and taunted me. It told me that I wouldn’t get that lucky again. It had spoiled the potential lays that came up in the time since, but I couldn’t help it.
None of the women I’d come across since had held a candle to that beautiful blonde vixen.
Shaking my head, I tried to shove her out of my mind. It was pointless now, however, because I was already growing hard at the memory of her.
“Shit,” I said to the empty room, adjusting myself in my leather pants.
I knew by now that when this happened, when I grew hard after thinking of that perfect one-night stand, that I would have to take care of it. I would stay hard until my balls ached just thinking of her. It was better to rub one out than to try and ignore it.
Getting up from my chair, I stalked over to the door that led to the shop and twisted the lock to it. Then I made sure that the back door was locked, too, though anyone with a key could get in. I didn’t care. I needed to handle this if I had any hope of focusing any further.
Satisfied that I had at least a bit of privacy, I undid the front of my leather pants and reached in to find my cock. It was overly sensitive, hard and ready. I settled myself into my chair again and leaned back, slouching so that I had easier access to my rock hard member.
I began to pump it, easy at first, as I let my eyes slide shut. I pictured her face the first time I saw it. Young and sweet with smoky eyes and bright cherry red lips that were designed to cut back a little of that sweetness. I remembered that tongue poking out and sliding over her lips, enticing me and making my mind dive straight into the gutter.
I focused on that mouth this time.
Her pink tongue, her full red lips. Her white teeth when she smiled widely.
I pictured her here in the room with me. I spread my knees open wider, imagining that she was settled between them, her head at just the right spot. She breathed across the head of my cock, then looked up at me with those big blue eyes. The kind of eyes that dared you to think they were innocent.
She came closer, and I pictured the way her ruby red lips might part, letting her pink tongue dart out and flick over the head of my dick. I moved my thumb over it to imitate the motion, though I knew it wasn’t the same.
I pictured her wrapping her small, delicate hands around my base, then lifting. They went up higher and higher along my shaft, stopping just below the mushroomed head. That, she reserved for her mouth. Her lips opened wider until her mouth was forming an O. Then she leaned her head down and popped me into her mouth.
Groaning, I began to jerk myself harder.
I imagined her eyes watching me as she pushed more of my length into her mouth, her tongue sliding along the underside of my erection. I imagined her trying to take all of me, until I hit the back of her throat. I pictured the way her eyes might water as she tried to fight the gag reflex. She pulled her mouth back up so that she could swirl her tongue around the tip, saliva lubricating my cock. With a wicked grin, she did it again.
Her mouth slid over my length—I pumped myself harder. My head hit the back of her throat—I ran my thumb over the top of my cock. She choked, just a little, but didn’t stop. She started to get into a rhythm—I increased the pace of my pumping. She bobbed her head up and down over my crotch, sucking my dick like she loved to do it, like she’d been wanting to do it all this time.
I pumped myself harder, picturing the way she would swallow me, until I finally felt that familiar buildup of pleasure. I came with a gasp, and imagined that the hot spurts erupting from my member were sliding down her throat, that she pulled back halfway through so that I sprayed a little over her firm, half exposed tits.
I was spent, and for a while, just sat there as my member went flaccid.
I wondered why I thought of her, why she was who I pictured when I jerked off these days. Part of it was because she was hot, of course, but there was something else, too. I just didn’t know what it was.
“I should have gotten her number,” I muttered to the empty room. Then I got up and cleaned myself off. I changed my shirt and balling up the one I’d managed to coat with my release.
Shoving the legal papers into the desk drawer, I threw on my jacket and headed out the door. I’d deal with this crap later. It was time to go home.
…
There wasn’t really a bad neighborhood in Mount Rose, but I lived in the closest thing to it. I was a short ride away from Off Limits and a good distance from any of the overly ostentatious housing in the richer neighborhoods.
Which was how I liked it.
Once upon a time, my mother had gotten wrapped up in some of that madness and I hadn’t particularly thought it had served her well. It left me with a needling contempt for most of the richer patrons of the area, though I reminded myself that they weren’t all bad.
Like my little blonde vixen, I thought.
I had pegged her as a spoiled little rich kid, and when we’d arrived at her house in the richest part of the town, I knew I was right. I hadn’t seen her parents or anything, but I was willing to bet they weren’t far and that they wouldn’t have been thrilled to find me fucking their daughter like I had been.
But then I was pretty sure that was half the point.
I picked up my mail as I went into the house. It was going to be mostly junk anyway, but I glanced through them all the same. Junk, junk, junk. I looked through them as I walked into the living room to take a seat on the old sofa that I’d had since the time when I still lived with my mother. I push the thought aside, not wanting to dwell on her too much today.
As I was tossing the mail on the coffee table there was a knock at the door. I looked over at it, frowning curiously.
I wasn’t expecting visitors and I didn’t live in the kind of place where people just dropped in unexpectedly.
Curiously, I went to the door. When I opened it, I saw the last person I ever thought I’d see again. My little blonde vixen from the other night.
“I…what are you doing here?” I asked, completely thrown.
She was dressed modestly compared to the other night, though there was no questioning that her body was just as luscious as it was the first time I’d seen her. She was wearing a cornflower blue sundress that had embroidery around the hem and the neckline, which plunged in just the right way to push her breasts together into a perfect, full heart shape. Her blonde hair was curled lightly and pulled back in a high ponytail that hung down her back. It made me want to grab it and tug it back to expose the column of her neck, but I resisted.
This wasn’t a fantasy; she was really here.
“I needed to talk to you,” she told me in a small, uncertain voice. Nothing like the confident, seductive woman from the night I’d brought us both to release. “It’s important.”
I frowned; those words were never good. But I stepped aside and waved her in anyway. “Alright. C’mon in. The living room’s in there.” I pointed to the left.
She headed that way, walking softly in what looked like really short heels. Kitten heels, I thought vaguely. They’re kitten heels.
She stood awkwardly in the middle of my living room, unsure what to do with herself. With those wide blue eyes she glanced over at me. I came into the room to join her, wary of her presence. I wasn’t necessarily upset with her being here, but it was definitely unexpected. And probably not good. I kind of doubted she wanted another fucking.
Though I’d be happy to give her one, I thought, letting my eyes wander her form once more.
“I…I need to tell you something,” she started, sounding as nervous as someone could be. Taking a big breath, she straightened her shoulders and tossed her hair a little, making her ponytail bounce behind her. “I’m pregnant.”
Chapter Six
Amelia
I stared at the little pink line, clearly v
isible in the tiny bubble. My hand began to tremble, though the rest of me seemed to be frozen in place. It wasn’t possible. In fact, it was wholly impossible. There was no way. I’d been careful.
Hadn’t I?
Sure, I’d maybe had a fling or two and left out the rubber, but I was on birth control! That was the whole point of birth control. There was no way in hell that I could be pregnant. Except that little pink line confirmed that I most definitely was. Unquestioningly. And despite my furious need to protest it, I knew it was true, too. I had missed two periods now. I’d started to be picky about food and my mood swings were worse than ever. My father probably thought I was doing drugs; I was all over the place.
But even knowing all of this, it still felt surreal. This wasn’t supposed to happen to girls like me. I took birth control to be safe. I went to a business college so that I could take over my overbearing and oppressive father’s business. I went to cotillions and fundraisers and dinner parties. I was part of high society and was everyone’s precious little angel, especially thanks to my father’s campaign for his reelection as mayor of Mount Rose. I was the spitting image of perfect, and while it had pissed me off since I was a little girl and old enough to understand just what he was doing, I still couldn’t help believe that somehow that made me different from someone else.
