LOW JOB: A Filthy Dogs MC Romance Novel

by Ora Wilde

“What the fuck?!” were the first words he uttered in consciousness.

  “You were having a nightmare,” I explained.

  He got up and sat on the couch, running his hands through his hair as he tried to remember the past few minutes. He was sweating profusely, which was quite strange because the air-conditioning was on. He was huffing and puffing as well, like he just came from a 5K marathon. Whatever he dreamt of, I was certain it wasn’t anything good.

  But I’m a woman. I was curious.

  “That bad, huh?” I asked, a surreptitious attempt to fish for details.

  He didn’t reply.

  Distressed would be an understatement to describe how he was at that moment. He seemed lost, confused, and terrified at the same time. It piqued my inquisitive nature even more. What could it have been about? Free falling from the sky? All of his teeth falling off for no apparent reason? Being chased by monstrous creatures from the deepest, darkest reaches of the abyss? Being caught naked in public?

  Oh shit!

  I remembered that I, myself, was naked underneath the blanket. I tightened my grip on the edges of the sheet and checked if it was still covering my back.

  “Want some water?” I offered. Though I’ve only met him yesterday, the sight of him being troubled and vulnerable was enough to cause me some concern... specially when he’s supposed to protect me.

  “No,” he weakly answered. He was dryly wiping his face with his palms.

  “It’s just a dream,” I tried to reassure him. To my surprise, he gave a peculiar response.

  “It’s not a dream,” he said while he was still catching his breath.

  My eyes sparkled like a child presented with a gift on her birthday. I felt like I was Nancy Drew when she’s given a new mystery to solve.

  “N-Not a dream?” I repeated his words with simulated shock, hoping that my sham of a show would invite him to share whatever it was he experienced.

  He ferociously shook his head as if he was desperately trying to forget something.

  What followed next was not of my doing. He just began to open up... talking continuously like he was chasing his thoughts... like he was delivering a monologue in front of a mirror... like he was all alone and I wasn’t even there.

  “The girl... she shouldn’t have been there... but she was... and... oh God... she shouldn’t have been. What was I supposed to do? I did my best... I fucking did my best... and it wasn’t enough. I fucked up. I fucked up bad... really bad. shit! Why did she have to be there? Why wouldn’t she go away?” Then he let out another scream. “Get the fuck off my head!”

  He was getting hysterical which made me really nervous. I rubbed his back, hoping to calm him down. But he kept mumbling and mumbling in between coherent sentences that were nothing short of portentous and mournful.

  “There was nothing more I could’ve done... please... please forgive me... I tried my best... I really did...”

  I squeezed his hand but he didn’t even notice my touch. I stroked his hair but he just pulled his head away. I caressed his forearm but his hand retreated quickly. He was inconsolable, and I felt so helpless.

  “Get out of my mind!” he yelled once more after letting out another untamed scream. “Stop... please stop! It’s been too damn long... please... let me go...”

  It was the when I remembered what he said earlier before losing himself to whatever terrors that plagued him: it’s not a dream. Indeed, he was lamenting something that was very specific... something very real. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem like he was merely stirring up its visions in his head. It was like he was haunted by something that has always been there... something that he always tried to bury... something that refused to vanish because it has claimed his very soul.

  No, it wasn’t a dream.

  It was a memory.

  It may have been pity. It may have been instinct. It may have been the benevolence of human nature that most people, myself included, have tried to ignore. Regardless, I found myself squeezing his hand as my I placed my other arm around his neck. He began to cry. It should’ve been a funny sight... a grown man, and a biker at that, whimpering loudly and uncontrollably like a child. But laughter was the farthest thing from my mind. Whatever was bothering him... whatever was haunting him... has clearly broken him.

  And I felt for him.

  He’s been crying nonstop that he eventually rested his weary head over my shoulder. I held the side of his face and caressed his cheek. My lips gravitated towards his forehead, planting a kiss that I didn’t even intend to give.

  “Hush now,” I whispered. “It’s just you and me here. No girl. No ghosts. No nothing. Just you and me.”

  His tears didn’t stop, but his weeps seemed to have softened. He buried his head deeper into my neck, hiding his face - out of shame, perhaps - from my eyes.

  His mouth rubbed against my skin.

  I felt a surge of electricity course through my entire body, forcing me to flinch. I stopped myself just in time before he noticed. He was in despair, and I didn’t want him to think that I was retreating from his desperate need for company.

  And so I held on.

  His mouth crawled from my shoulder to my neck as he frantically searched for the comfort of every cranny he could find. I began to tingle all over. He just wanted a repose, I told myself. I repeated those words over and over again until I doubted their veracity. Was I just trying to convince myself of the innocence of his act?

  Still, I didn’t let go.

  His hand coursed through my bare thigh, the heat of his palm charred me with the intensity of the sun and the gentleness of a rose’s petal against my skin. His mouth parted. His lips glided below my ear. A soft moan escaped my throat. My eyes closed against my will. My back arched as I pushed my body towards his. My legs closed in futile defiance and guarded submission.

  A question trickled in my head. What the fuck was I doing? It kept tapping in my mind until it was drowned by wails that erupted from my moans.

  His fingers dug between my thighs. With masterful grace, he parted them. His other hand hovered over my breasts as it searched from the edge of the blanket I gravely tried to keep. He found what he was looking for, and he pulled it down.

  And I was naked for him to see and feel. My own fingers made one last feeble attempt to grab the sheets that fell on the floor, but they surrendered when his tongue began the area below my ear. Such made me quiver and cower with pleasure, rolling myself up into a ball that I thought would protect me from his advances, only to discover that I shrunk myself small enough for him to hold and control.

  But I didn’t complain.

  He was in pain. He wanted comfort. He needed the assurance of another person’s touch.

  Those were the thoughts I clung to... thoughts that became harder and harder to keep as his tongue continued its expedition throughout my body. He has claimed my neck. My shoulder followed suit. And my breasts fell thereafter. He sucked the mounds of my bosoms, his tongue glided circularly around each until it settled on my nipple which he softly bit with his lips, sending me into a frenzied state of bliss.

  What came next was a belated gesture, a deed that lovers do before they explore each other’s body. His mouth went up to meet mine. He began to kiss me, with so much fervor as if he was just released from a lifetime of torment. His lips didn’t just brush against my own. He was biting me, pushing his lips on mine, extending his tongue to penetrate the inner sanctum of my maw. It was as if he wanted to devour me, to consume me, to make me feel how much he truly desired me.

  I knew I should’ve pushed him away. I just wanted him to feel better, to recover from whatever torment that ailed him. I didn’t sign up for a round - or two, or three - of intimacy. I didn’t intend for this to happen.

  Yeah, I should’ve pushed him away.

  Should’ve.

  I’d regret this moment come the morrow... for I kissed him back, with the same ardor and force and yearning that he showed me.

  His hand slid to my spi
ne to pull me closer. My hand glided to his nape to draw him nearer. I hooked my legs around his waist. He dropped his groin over mine. Our lips were locked, our bodies entwined, and I felt the swirl in my gut intensify into a maelstrom.

  He was quick to remove his pants. Soon enough, I felt him, all of him, on top of me. His manhood was hard and pulsating with thrilling heat and it was - judging from how his cock rubbed against my inner thigh - of significant size. Very significant.

  That only heightened the exhilaration that has been building up inside me.

  The thoughts persisted in my head as his finger began to rub my cunt. What am I doing? Is this even right? He means nothing to me. Why am I allowing him this much?

  Now, I’m not a loose woman nor was I ever easy to get. It was one of the, admittedly, few things I was proud of. I always knew I wasn’t unattractive. Men have tried to pursue me before, and I never really ran out of guys who tried to woo me in their own ways. Rarely did I give in. I only surrendered my guard whenever love, or the very least the possibility of love, tickled my mind.

  I felt no such thing for the man I was currently with.

  Yet, much I tried, I couldn’t will myself to break free from the ecstasy of his manic coil.

  His finger entered me and I almost screamed in absolute bliss. Once. Twice. Thrice. Seven times. Ten. His insertions went more rapidly with each pierce, inundating me with a sea of delight, making me lose count of his thrusts. And all the while, he was sucking my breast like it was a cantaloupe in the desert.

  I became more breathless with every spear of his commanding finger, so much so that my moans gave way to shrieks of euphoria. When one finger became two, I started to lose my mind.

  He liked the sound I was making. His motions told me that much as they escalated into a more assertive and a more turbulent pace. I could hear his heart beating more rapidly. I could feel his breaths slithering all over my tits, their intervals shortening as he continued his maddening rhythm. And, impossible as it may have seemed earlier, I could feel his cock getting even harder and more feverish as he kneaded it throughout my leg.

  I was still lost in the ecstasy of the moment when he suddenly pulled up my thighs and hooked them over his wide and powerful shoulders. I looked at his face... brimming with need and craving, driven by fiery determination, handsome in every way. I knew what was coming next.

  I knew that I wanted it at that time. I wanted it so much.

  But I didn’t know if it was just as fleeting as a night of wanton indiscretion... or if it was something more.

  The doubt pinched my heart. Guilt began to flood my soul. And I closed my eyes.

  The first insertion was painful. To his credit, he entered with utmost gentleness and care, making sure that my juice - which was of abundance - smeared his shaft to make his cock slide easily into me. I almost bellowed.

  The second was a little more bearable, enough to make me realize how good his dick felt inside me.

  Once the third thrust came, the pain was completely gone, replaced by a rapturous sensation that only strengthened with each subsequent spear.

  The penetrations that followed were like a blur. I could feel his rock hard cock going in and out of me, but I also savored his hands as they scampered for every inch of my skin, his mouth as it never stopped exploring the rest of my body, and his firm ass which my toes managed to caress when I freed my legs from his shoulders and locked my ankles around him.

  I was moaning, loudly and passionately... and he was doing the same. He liked how I responded. I liked how I was satisfying him as much as he was satisfying me. Our grunts and wails and occasional screams formed a cacophony of sensual elation that sounded like chants of pagans venerating the nature of all things, a worship of primeval forces, a celebration of what made us alive.

  And inappropriate as this analogy would be, I did feel like an unopened soda bottle that was shaken vigorously to the point that it wanted to explode.

  And it did.

  I came.

  Hard.

  A couple of times. Maybe three. He didn’t stop after my first orgasm. He continued to fuck me until I came again and again.

  When my body weakened and my legs dropped from his waist, he knew that I no longer hand any more strength to proceed. But I didn’t push him away. I wanted him to come. I wanted him to feel the same kind of gratification he has given me.

  But he didn’t.

  He pulled out. His face approached mine. He planted a kiss on my nose. Then he paused. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. A tear fell from his eye and it trickled down my cheek.

  Then he turned away, rolling his body as he chose to face the other side of the room. A minute or so later and he spoke a few words that caught me by surprise.

  “I’ll keep you safe,” he said, almost mumbling. “I’ll keep you safe... even if it’s the last thing I’ll ever do.”

  My eyes gravitated towards him. A feeling of heaviness tugged at my heart, out of anger more than anything else... anger because I was actually expecting him to turn around and look at me.

  He didn’t. He was snoring once again a few seconds after he spoke.

  I reached for the blanket and covered my naked body. My eyes glared at the ceiling, and I began to wonder about a lot of things...

  What just happened?

  Why did I allow myself to succumb to him like that?

  Can this possibly be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

  Will I hate myself for this for years?

  How can I be such an idiot?

  So many thoughts of rage and loathing and remorse. But one question plagued me the entire night. One question that kept me away until the morning came.

  Does he actually like me... or did he just use me for succor?

  7

  LOWLIFE

  Honestly?

  Last night was like a blur. I couldn’t remember much of what happened, quite frankly. I had a little too much to drink that I quickly fell asleep as soon as we settled in our room. I completely blanked out after that.

  I knew I had another episode. Shit. I had many of those since my stint in Cairo. I had no control over them. Like thieves in the night, they just come without warning. I wished it didn’t happen last evening, but it did. It was what it was, though, and it’s a damn shame that she was there to witness it.

  So yeah, I was aware that I had another fucking breakdown. But the details were hazy. Did I cry like a child like I always did? That would’ve been very embarrassing. I didn’t want her to see me like that. I didn’t want anyone to see me like that. I’m a broken man. Cairo destroyed me. That place almost took away my sanity. The things that happened there... they’re just too fucked up for words. I never wanted to go back to those days... but they just keep haunting me. It’s my curse, a punishment for my sin, something I would have to suffer for the rest of my life.

  I couldn’t remember much of what happened last night, yeah.

  But the sex?

  I remember the sex. I remember the sex very well.

  The taste of her supple skin as my tongue coursed through every inch of her sacred body. The shape of her beautiful tits inside my hands, and inside my mouth. The sight of her wetness trickling from the pinkish core of her cunt dripping down her velvety thighs. Her legs hooked around my waist. Her ankles locked together to push me deeper inside her. The sweet, flapping sound that her pussy made as I thrusted my cock in and out of her body.

  The crescendo of her wails as she came.

  The satisfying shivers she had as she came again.

  And again after that.

  I remember the sex. It was marvelous. It was glorious. It was amazing.

  It was beautiful.

  As we drove by the arch that welcomed us to Searles Valley, I turned my head to look at her. She was still peering out the window, distant once more, just like yesterday. She hasn’t said a word since we left Cartago. She hasn’t said a word since last night.

  Was she in that kin
d of mood again, I wondered? Aloof? Uncaring? Detached? Just like yesterday when we left San Mateo?

  Or was she silent because she was angry? Angry because she allowed herself to give in to the needs of the flesh? Angry because, for a fleeting moment, she lost control and that led to something she never intended to happen? Angry because she made love to someone she didn’t really care about?

  Why did she fuck me in the first place?

  Was it because she saw me at my worst and she pitied me? Because she wanted to comfort me as best as she could? Because she couldn’t bear the sight of someone having to endure that kind of misery?