The Art of Me (The All of Me Book 1)

by S. J. Blaze

  “I don’t need to do anything. It’s one of the awesome advantages of being me.

  His lip twitches but then locks back into neutral. “Okay, Ms. No Need, I’d very much appreciate if you’d accompany me on Sunday.” Better. He’s piqued my curiosity.

  “Okay, I may be available. What’s Sunday?” I ask, standing up. My back has been hunched over for the last umpteen hours and I could use a little stretch. I take off my glasses and toss them onto my desk. I need full view of this animal.

  He widens his legs and pulls me towards him then rubs his thumbs around the outside of my hips. My camisole is untucked and loosened with each thumb cycle. The soothing motion relaxes me and I lean into him. I missed this closeness.

  “Rage has chosen to officially make Big D his old lady and the ceremony is Sunday. There’s going to be a big family celebration and everyone’s coming in. He wanted to make it official before we push out next weekend. I don’t wanna go alone and refuse to bring one of the guys, so that leaves you.” I quirk a brow.

  “Ok, I want you with me. We can ride down on my bike. It’s a nice drive, you know that.” He pleads with me under his long lashes. He’s the one who introduced me to the world of motorcycles. One ride and I was hooked.

  Bullet’s family life wasn’t easy. His dad, Wrench, was the Sergeant in Arms for the Babylon Bastards Motorcycle Club or the BBMC. His mom, Gia, one of the sweet butts, died when Bully was born. He has a half-brother through his father, Rage, who’s five years older. They both favor Wrench and share several similarities, though they have different moms. Rage’s mom, Star, is a tough little firecracker. She’s been Dallas’ old lady for a couple dozen years now and is active in the BBMC since he’s the current Treasurer.

  When Bullet was seven, Wrench was arrested for manslaughter and put away for thirty years to life. With no other living relatives, Bully moved in with his brother and Star. He was already staying with them half the time anyway, so it made sense. Rage is currently the VP of the club, so I guess this Sunday will be a big deal. He and Big D have been on and off for years. They have a daughter together and live together.

  “You want me as your bitch? I don’t think so!” I’m throwing at him to see how he reacts. He knows I’m going. I love hanging out with his niece, Harley. She’s crazy edible! I spoil her rotten and she loves her Auntie Shooter.

  He chuckles and continues his slow circles, now his thumbs on the skin of my hip bone. “You want to ride next to me, birthday girl? I’m game either way as long as you get down there with me.”

  “Is my princess going to be there?” The most important question.

  “It’s her folks, so she’ll be there for the barbeque. But the ceremony itself isn’t exactly kid friendly.” I’ve never seen an old lady ceremony. He’s piqued my curiousity.

  “Don’t they just give her a property patch and call it a day?”

  He chuckles darkly and licks his lips. I feel his breath sweep across my face.

  “Nah, baby girrr…” I put my hand on his lips. We may be amicable but he did damage.

  He sighs and I remove my hand. “You ever gonna let me call you that, again?” I shake my head. He’s lost that right.

  “Shit. I apologized. You’re so fucking stubborn.” He rests his forehead on mine. He may be frustrated with me, but he’s got a smirk in his eyes. Circle, circle, circle. Each time he digs his thumb lower and lower and increases the pressure.

  “You know me better than almost anyone, Bully. You knew it’d hurt me. But you chose to do it anyway. I’m not your baby girl anymore. I’ve got plenty of other names you can use, though.”

  He growls in frustration. “You and me, Sunday! And tonight the guys and I are swinging by for our girl’s birthday dinner. We’re bringing in Italian, your favorite, so you better make sure your sweet ass is back at your place by seven. Hear me?” I nod against him.

  He kisses my forehead and stands up, pushing me back into my chair.

  “Get back to work so you can get home on time. I got you a little something.” He hands me a box. “It’s not diamonds and money, but it’s something for my baby gg…chick? Maybe just baby?” He winks.

  He walks towards the door. “Happy birthday, Shooter girl!”

  Looks like the day is picking up.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Open up, Shooter girl. We got food and we is huuuuungry!” I hear through the door along with several bangs.

  I just got home and threw on black yoga pants and an off the shoulder Loaded Gun pink tee. My hair is a knotty mess and I’m smiling big. Opening the door, the guys stampede towards my kitchen.

  I’m thrown over a shoulder, which I think might be Bullet’s by the sway of the ass. I pat it…yep, a nice ass! My own is slapped in return. “Cut it out or I’m gonna have to take you to your room and show you what I’d really like to do to you on your birthday.” He chuckles and rubs my bum a bit more.

  Dropping me into a dining room chair, he smooches my head and joins the guys readying the food in the kitchen. I hear a pop and assume someone opened a bottle of wine, which is confirmed when Malice comes over and hands me a glass.

  “Pour vous, la reine d’anniversaire.”

  For you, the birthday queen.

  “Merci!”

  Thank you!

  Birthdays are fun with my gang around. I hardly even remember that my parents didn’t call to wish me well. Or my sister. Or even Mr. Background check himself, Coen. I hardly remember that at all. Or so I keep telling myself.

  We’re laughing and eating. The guys surprised me with all of my favorites. I love anything with melted cheese on it and Italians know how to do it right! Manicotti, Ravioli, Stromboli, I’m in gooey cheese heaven.

  Half way through dinner, they begin to throw out their renditions of comical Shooter stories. It’s funny how I totally don’t remember things their way. In fact, they’re always the instigators, while I somehow get suckered into following them.

  Like the time they thought we could climb through the air ducts at the Stafford Centre in Houston. They couldn’t fit, so they shoved me in there. But I could only go in one direction, so I had to climb around the air duct system for nearly ten minutes trying to find a safe way down. Malice went ape shit, but once I was finally out, the stupid trio couldn’t stop laughing. I think that’s the real reason they keep me around. Comic relief.

  We end the night on a high note with promises to hang out tomorrow night. Pretty soon, these guys will be all I see. I have to get my head back into that world. Our tour officially kicks off in two weeks.

  They leave me a few birthday gifts on the table and lots of kisses and hugs on the way out. Bullet stands to the side as everyone makes their way out the door. Noticing it, Malice gives me a curious look, which I return with a shrug.

  “I gotta speak with baby g…Shooter. You guys go ahead,” Bully says still hanging back, arms crossed, daring anyone to say shit. Gunner gives Bullet a look I can’t decipher and then walks stiffly away.

  “Night guys! Thank you for an awesome birthday! Love you,” I yell into the hallway and then close the door. He’s behind me in an instant. I turn to look at him but I’m immediately caged against the door. His arms are on either side of my head and I feel his heat permeating. He isn’t touching me, though. In fact, there’s still about a foot between our bodies.

  “Was there something you needed, Bullet?” I softly ask.

  His hand comes down and his fingers caress the silver necklace he bought me. It has several charms on it, including a guitar, drumsticks, and a gun. The charms sit in the crevasse of my cleavage. His fingers lift the silver string and run them up and down sliding against my skin. His singular focus there, never meeting my eyes.

  He breathes out against me. “You’re wearing it.” Of course, I wore it. He bought it for me, I thought that was why he bought it.

  “Of course,” I respond above a whisper. He’s so close that anything louder feels like yelling.

  His eyes
realign to mine. I notice they’re dilated and his breathing is gaining speed and strength. He moves his hands back to the door and presses himself against me, his nose barely rubbing my neck.

  “Does that stupid preppy take care of you?” he whispers against my earlobe. The warmth causes shivers to spread throughout my body. I shake my head.

  “I haven’t seen him in almost two weeks.”

  He inhales deeply. “Jesus, I’m no good for you, baby. You deserve some rich dickless punk to take care of you not some loser that doesn’t have a fucking clue about family or love or any of that shit.” He takes another few breaths. “You deserve the world, Shooter girl! I fucking wish I could be the one to give it all to you.” He rubs his nose deeper into my neck and grinds his lower body against me.

  I rest my hands on his chest, needing grounding through him. “Why do you say that? Did you forget it was preppy frat boys that attacked me, that fucking killed me? Did you forget that it was tatted bad ass men that helped bring me back to life?” I voice louder than our little bubble allows. I push against him even more exasperated.

  “Don’t tell me what I need. Don’t ever assume you know better. If that’s who you think I am, then you don’t know me at all?” I huff this all out and am shaking by the end. Why does he keep pushing me? He pulls then pushes. I’m in and then out. I can’t take much more.

  “No, you’re wrong, baby. I do know you. I just wish I could have you.” He pushes himself closer to me and I feel myself shaking against him, through him all while his hands grip the door so fiercely I wonder if he’ll get splinters. The dumb macho man probably wouldn’t even notice. He has a pain threshold on another level.

  “Why can’t you?” I whisper. It feels like I’m approaching a taboo topic. That I’m not allowed to enjoy him. I push him harder this time and squeeze around him. He’s still leaning against the door, muscles taut and hands planted.

  “Just leave.” My voice elevates. “Why bother with me? Pull me in and then push me further out?” My stomach aches with these thoughts. I touch my scar, reminding me. Pushing me for more. I’m stronger. “We can’t be alone if this is our every interaction.”

  I’m at a loss. There’s no puzzle here to figure out. How can I when it’s so obvious that he doesn’t even know himself? I hang my head. I don’t think I’ll be able to survive the next few months if he keeps doing this.

  I’m a few feet behind him deep in thought when he comes at me again. His hands rub across his bald head, and he looks upset and frustrated. His face is pinched and pained. “Stop thinking that shit!” he yells. “That’s not what this is. This…this…” He sighs. Shaking his head, he reaches for me. “You…you…” He can’t seem to finish his train of thought. I know the feeling all too well.

  He drops to his knees and pulls me to him. He buries his head there. “I can’t,” he says over and over into my stomach, and with each word he moves his head from one side to the other. One hand clings and digs up my back and the other grabs lower.

  I try to push away. “No, you don’t get off that easily.” He holds me tighter. “Go…just go. I don’t want this anymore. If you don’t want me then leave.” I’m so frustrated that the threatening tears are burning my eyes. But my words don’t stop him. He keeps holding me down. Holding me to him.

  Eventually my top half falls backwards. Bull catches me before I fall and jumps on top of me. Not the position I was aiming for. “Get off,” I screech, pushing him and trying to roll away.

  He grabs my hands and holds them above my head. His body nearly crushes me, and his lips are only a breath away from mine. “Why are you doing this?” I cry out. Closing his eyes, he rests his forehead against my own, silently shaking, or maybe I still am.

  “I can’t let you go. I can’t keep you. I don’t know what to do,” he whispers against my closed lips.

  I turn my head to the right and close my eyes. This isn’t how I wanted the day to end. I don’t want to consume his delicious spicy pasta breath. I don’t want to feel his body pulsing all around me. I don’t want to notice the hurt in his stunning eyes or the way he keeps licking his full delicious lips. I don’t want any of this. He pursued this. And he keeps hounding me.

  “I need you, baby,” he whispers into my ear and then trails his tongue along the outer shell. “I need you more than anything.”

  He sucks on my lobe, biting and nibbling at it while shifting over me. He starts to move, pressing his enlarging cock into me. Rock and nibble. Rock and lick. He digs his pelvis deeper into me and rocks from side to side. Then he continues with his slow torture. Rock and nip down my neck. My hands above my head, he leaves one hand locking me in place while the other trails down my body. He skims over my face, touching my parted lips, then follows by touching the necklace as it glides towards my breasts. He keeps his eyes on mine and continues the rocking torture.

  I can feel the volcanic heat pooling all around me. My face is engulfed in flames, begging for eruption. “Bully,” I whisper. Words are barely there. Thoughts are nowhere near.

  “Fuck yeah,” he grunts. “Give it to me. Give it all to me. Does it feel like I don’t want you? Does it feel like I don’t need you?” He pushes himself harder into me. The rocking tempo picks up and I can see the sweat building on his brows and upper lip. I whimper, aching to touch him, to lick him. I want to let go and give into the heat, absorb it through him, but I can’t. He will just leave me later and hurt me, ruin me.

  “Stopppp…please Bull.” I whimper and try to pry my hands out of his clutch.

  He freezes all movement and lifts himself off of me. “What’s wrong…?”

  “I…I can’t do this.” I look to the ground and wrap my arms around my knees pulling them to my chest. I slowly start rocking myself, trying to catch my breath and calm my heart.

  “Are you scared? I won’t hurt you. I’d never…” he whispers trying to touch my leg.

  “But you will. You keep torturing me. Just go while you can. While we can still look each other in the eye.” I plead. I can’t lose him. He wants to be my friend, my lover, I don’t know anymore, and neither does he. I’m too new at this game to play. I’ll perpetually lose.

  I keep my head on my knees, the rocking easing my fears and calming my now raging libido.

  I feel him move away from me. Then after a few minutes of watching me, he comes to my side, squats, and whispers, “Our time will come. It has to.” He kisses my head and seconds later, the door slams shut.

  Just like that.

  Twenty-two sucks!

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  On Friday, I get another visitor. It seems like my office is the hotspot this week. Coen enters and sits in the chair by my desk.

  “Hey, love. You miss me?” he asks cocking his brow with a matching cocked smile.

  “Sure. It sounds like the merger went well. How’s the dust settling?” I give him a hesitant smile, unsure why he’s here. He never bothered to wish me a happy birthday or check up on me. Why should I give him time now?

  “Good, good,” he states looking around. “You’ve got a new plant. Nice.” He smiles hesitantly, slowly picking up on my mood.

  “Thanks. My grandparents sent it, yesterday.” I’m fiddling with my pen, trying not to make eye contact.

  “I remember them. What’s the occasion? Did you already win your murder one case?”

  “No, it was my birthday.” I utter vacantly, keeping my eyes on the twirling pen in my hand.

  I hear his quick inhalation. “Shit, when was it?”

  “Yesterday.” I shrug. It’s forgotten. Over. “Is there something you need, Mr. Collins?” I glance up to see he’s carefully watching me.

  “Fuck, we went backwards, huh? I’d hardly think that you should refer to your fiancée by his last name. We don’t exactly have a formal relationship, do we?”

  “I didn’t realize we were in an actual relationship, Mr. Collins. You see, from what I’ve gathered, relationships aren’t about convenience. And I’m
pretty sure communication is essential. But what would I know?” I say all of this in one breath with a straight face. Nothing is flicking or ticking. After Bullet’s bullshit and the jerking from both men I’m beginning to think that my no relationship status should remain steadfast.

  He grips his hair, pulling at it. “Charlie, things got a little hectic in France.”

  “And before France and after France,” I add.

  “I missed you. That’s why I came here. Not to argue with you. Look, all of the merger stuff is behind us now.” He shakes his head, his voice softening. “Maybe we can have our date tonight, we can catch up and-”

  “I have plans tonight,” I say.

  “Are you seeing someone?” He shifts in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. His eyes are frosty and narrowed in on me, searching for the truth or some version of it.

  “Just the usual suspects,” I jest. I don’t know if Bullet counts. I don’t know anything on the relationship home front, any more.

  “What does that mean? Are you with Andrew again?” He slams his hands on my desk and leans forward, getting himself worked up over nothing.

  “I haven’t heard from or seen Andrew in a long time now. My time is valuable, Mr. Collins. I have much to do, so if you don’t need anything then please excuse yourself.”

  He clears his throat. “Well, Ms. Paz…” He articulates slowly while watching me. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him call me by my last name and I don’t think I like it. He stands and slicks his suit down. “We’re inviting those of you that assisted with the merger to a party tomorrow evening. It’ll be on the Collins’ yacht.”

  “Sounds glorious. Thank you for the invitation. Please leave the prudent information with Olivia. Have a lovely day, Mr. Collins.” I go back to my work effectively shutting him out.

  He walks to my side of the desk. Turning my chair towards him, he leans down and cups my chin, his thumb rubbing my lower lip. His eyes are searing me.