by Nikki Wild
“Billie! Can you bring out the punch, please?” I shout inside.
“Sure, baby!”
Billie stumbles behind me and cheekily pats me on the butt. “I can’t believe this is the same house you two bought… Landon is one talented handyman. When are you expecting him home?”
“Shouldn’t be too long,” I say. “He sometimes gets a little lost in his work.”
It was true… Now that he’d left the club, Landon had decided to open up his own workshop. With a loan from Garret and Rev, he bought an old garage five minutes away from Big Sal’s and officially opened Ellers Automotive.
“Come here, baby girl,” Billie says, taking Daisy from me.
Hernandez is working the barbecue as Landon appears from the side of the house, muscles glistening, shirt slung over his shoulder and his face dirtied in black smudges. I gawk for a minute while he shakes Hernandez’s hand. Then he walks right up to me and lands a huge kiss on my lips. I swoon in his arms just like I always did.
“You’re all sticky!” I giggle and pretend to push him away. He won’t let me, picking me up.
“Get a room!” Billie shouts.
“Maybe we will.”
“Well hurry it up, because everybody’s gonna be here soon,” Billie says.
We both move into our brand new bedroom, decorated with a forest green feature wall, black faux fur blanket and a big banana leaf plant. There’s a painting on my wall— One of the many I’ve finished since finding Landon again. It’s the girl. Well, it was the girl. She’s under there somewhere, beneath some layers of paint after I started her all over again.
“She looks good in here,” Landon says, moving in behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. “You like her?”
“I love her.” I watch the painting’s bright eyes as she floats above a huge ship in a dress that splays out across the canvas in light blues and golds and silvers. She’s full of motion, hope, and inspiration…
My hands search for the comfort of Landon’s neck and I grip him tightly as we nuzzle each other. My shoulders relax slightly when he’s finally in my arms after each day.
He squeezes me even tighter. My fingertips brush at his stubble, building speed and ferocity as we caress each other and grow more lustful for one another. Our chemistry is desperate and electric.
“Think we have time?” Landon says with an open smile.
I can read him like a book. I need no further invitation and nod excitedly. My head falls backward so his lips can meet my neck. He picks me up so that I can wrap my legs around his torso. Our tongues encircle one another’s and I’m pressed hard to the back wall. His strong fingers frantically feel underneath my skirt to my panties. I was ready for him the since he picked me up in the yard… He shifts the thin cotton aside with a low, pleasurable growl and guides the tip of his cock inside me. A deep moan escapes my own throat and I kiss him harder to stifle the cries.
“Harder,” I whisper into his mouth, my body becoming alive with his touch.
He thrusts his thickness deeper and deeper. It’s as beautiful, desperate, passionate as every other time we make love. I can’t let this feeling go that if soul mates existed he was mine. I feel more whole with him inside of me, near me, holding me.
My eyes roll up to the ceiling and Landon lets his teeth drag roughly along my neck, tugging my hair back roughly.
“Fuck,” I breathe. “Harder, baby, harder!”
He’s filling me so roughly my whole body jolts in staccato rhythm. I collapse into the nook of his neck to take him even deeper, my fingertips penetrating deeper into his flesh so deeply I damn near draw blood — but neither of us back down. Landon’s strength, his knowledge of what turns me on, builds me higher and higher pounding me rhythmically toward a height we can’t breach for too much longer.
“Oh, God! I love you so fucking much, beautiful,” he breaths warmly into my ear.
I crash beneath the feeling.
Waves of my orgasm pulse around Landon’s length and he releases into me. He fills me, holds me, kisses me, and whispers sweet nothings into my ear. I rag-doll into his arms as he lands us carefully onto the edge of the bed. My cheeks blush to a soft rose as my climax subsides and we laugh nervously at each other. It’s like that with us sometimes— We wonder why we were allowed to find this connection.
“Lucy, I have something to ask,” Landon says climbing off the mattress to crouch in front of me and lift his pants up.
“What’s up?”
A gentle caress pushes some sweaty hair from my forehead then he cups my cheek. “You are so damn beautiful…”
“If this is about you getting that new TV, I told you we have to wait a few…”
Then he falls to one knee.
“Lucienne Palermo,” he starts.
“N—No…” I start crying. Then I look away then back at his most sincere stare on me.
“Lucienne Rose Palermo. You are my strength, my constant, my every good memory. I’d relive all the pain in my life if it meant spending one more second with you by my side.”
Then he pulls a green velvet box from his jean pocket. I forget how to breath.
“I want to be there for you, to protect you, to promise you truthfully, from the bottom of my heart that you will always be safe while I exist. It’s my one wish to live out that existence with you by my side, helping each other through the good, the bad, and whatever else we have yet to face. Lucienne Palermo, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”
There’s a long pause as I hold my hand up to stop him for a minute. I inhale. I need to remember this feeling.
Everything is good.
Too good.
I’m okay. We’re okay. We’re okay forever.
I fall into him, convulsing with happy tears, our faces damp from more than just the afternoon heat. I’m in awe, speechless, screaming ‘YES, YES, YES!’ in my head but I can’t let it out. All I can do is suck in air in disbelief and gasp like an idiot.
“Is that a yes?” Landon asks through a chortle.
I nod ferociously and hold out my hand to him. He somehow manages to slip the ring onto my shaking finger. I never knew this much joy could be possible. I look down at my hand, at the beautiful purple crystal that looks to have all the stars in the sky contained within it.
“I love you, Lucy.” He catches my face and kisses me deeply until I soar so high I don’t think there’s a possibility of coming back down.
“I love you. I love you!”
I never knew life could be this good. More than that, I never felt like I deserved it.
“Now get your dirty self in the shower,” I say, punching him on the arm.
Me and Landon make it back outside a few minutes later, clean and happy. Billie brings Daisy over to us but before we take her, I hold up my left hand up. Billie’s eyes go wide until she shrieks. Daisy reaches out to touch it, her own pretty little eyes sparkling. Landon takes our daughter in his arms to receive the rest of the congratulations from the party attendees. There’s even a few of his old brothers from the club ready to pat him on the back.
It’s hard to feel okay being this happy. This is my life now… These people, my girl, that boy.
Growing up you come to realize that people make mistakes so huge you don’t know how you’ll ever get through them. I’d made plenty of my own and resigned myself to the fact that I couldn’t be forgiven for them… I thought I deserved to be punished. But I found hope again. I found time, courage, and forgiveness.
The rest of the group give us their blessings. We shed happy tears and drink champagne. Our sweet little Daisy keeps giving us that cute, gummy smile she always does. We bask in this random little support system we’ve woven together against all odds. Every single one of us have made our mistakes but, as much as we shouldn’t forget them, we can be forgiven of them when time allows.
I feel this lightness that surrounds me…
Now I’m safe…
Now I’m happy…
And her
e I stand…
Saved by the bad boy…
And maybe I saved him too…
The End.
Bonus #1 Illicit Behavior
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1
ILLICIT BEHAVIOR
Trent
“Dude! These groupies are totally ready to go!” My dreadlocked bastard of a bohemian guitarist laughed, splashing his bottle of beer in an arc.
The two hot young girls wrapped around him cooed a chorus of flirtatious giggles. They must have been just barely eighteen, clad in tight, low-cut shirts that made their silky, angelic breasts practically burst out of the seams.
Despite my lack of interest, I wasn’t about to rain on his parade. I lightly raised my own bottle of music festival beer to him, shaking my head.
“You go on ahead, man. Not feelin’ it tonight.”
No matter where we went, fans were throwing themselves at us – and my band-mates were always eager to take the free, willing pussy back to the bus for a fresh bang.
In fact, my bassist and drummer were already back there now, getting their freak on with a few nameless groupies now.
“Serious?” Waylon asked drunkenly.
His limber playing hand slid under a skirt and along a tanned, tender ass, drawing a blush from the groupie’s cheeks. The sight made my cock almost twitch.
Almost.
“You sure you don’t want to try a piece of this Alabama ‘tang?” He pressed on. “Plenty to go around. I’m not greedy.”
The groupie twosome puffed their chests and wiggled provocatively for me, giving me the deepest pair of sultry, lustful looks that they could muster.
They looked cute.
Cute, and too young to be acting like this.
“Think I’m just gonna relax and ride the vibe,” I reaffirmed. “Go get your dick wet.”
“If you say so!”
“And ladies,” I continued, turning towards the girls, who settled down and looked at me almost fearfully. “Don’t keep him up all night. This guy needs to be shredding licks same time tomorrow.”
They nodded respectfully, but Waylon jumped up to his feet, his dreads scattering around his face briefly.
“Ain’t gonna happen. This train rides ‘til sunrise! Ain’t that right, ladies?”
They chuckled with big, goofy hero-worshipping grins on their faces. He scooped them up against his sides, and soon they stumbled off towards the back of the after-party, heading for our bus.
Joke’s on them, I thought to myself. Waylon’s a two-pump chump on a GOOD day.
Truth of the matter was that I’d been in a funk. For the last few weeks, I had turned down sex left, right, and center from even the most flexible little minxes.
A constant stream of the hottest goddamn chicks around went fucking wild for us on the regular.
And why shouldn’t they?
We weren’t just anybody.
We were Trent Masters and the Whiplash, the hottest fucking rock band in America.
On national radio waves dominated by DJs making music off of laptops, mainstream child stars glammed up and given backing bands, and egotistical personalities lacking substance and spitting shit…we brought something better.
Something harder.
Something real.
Something apparently sorely missed.
Our latest album, Twelve Machines, was flying off the shelves across the country. The last two singles went platinum. Hell, talks of a Grammy nomination were already in the pipeline.
I was on top of the fucking world.
Or I should have felt like I was.
But all I felt was empty inside, and even the quick fix of endless sex didn’t quell the tension.
It was hard to think I was taking advantage of these girls when they grinded up against me at after-parties like this, always seeming so desperate to give my cock the old spit-shine.
It just didn’t feel right.
But… I couldn’t tell what I wanted instead.
What I needed.
I drank another swig from my bottle of beer, watching the other bands delight in the attention. We were in town for this badass music festival called the RipFest, and we’d shared the stage with some serious rock legends and decent upcoming talent.
They were having fun. Even the older, crustier guys looked like they were having a blast, likely filled with enough drugs to bring down a Bull Rhino in its prime.
It’s not like I wasn’t grateful… I was just… Lost.
The constant attention was overwhelming – too much of a great fucking thing. I had to be careful about the shit I said, because rock stars were even closer to scandal in this day and age.
Everything constantly recorded, rumors spread with the speed of a tweet and the snap of a camera on some girl’s iPhone.
It was all about being careful and avoiding the wrong kind of spotlight. Blogs are eager for clicks, and the whole world is ready to tear you down to build an audience.
I’d paid my dues.
No more practicing in oily garages and filthy bars. No more struggling in hard labor and backbreaking jobs to make ends meet. I wasn’t going to let some little misstep tear me down.
Despite the bullshit, the throne on this rising fucking star felt grand.
But as the light grew brighter…the shadows only grew filthier. Despite all the fame, all the success, all the money and women and the fancy toys. I knew the truth.
The world is a filthy place.
And I am the reigning king of the filth.
2
Angel
Summoning every drop of charisma that I could find, I smiled and plunked down the glasses at the four-top bar table for the graying, slovenly bikers. I rattled off the orders as I sloshed the drinks in front of them in turn, each of them smiling grotesquely.
“Four drafts: Bud, Bud, Miller Lite, and Abita. And four shots of Fireball, because why not,” I added mirthlessly.
“Thanks, darlin’,” the closest biker chuckled, lifting his shot and suddenly grabbing a nice handful of my ass.
I flinched and drew back from him, preserving my pride – and my job – by not responding poorly to the harassment.
“Can I get you guys anything else?”
It was less a question, and more a growl.
“One other thing.”
He dropped his menu on the ground, and looked at me expectantly.
“Step onto that.”
I was used to this by now, and I suppressed a heavy sigh and a filthy look. Instead, I stepped meaningfully onto the discarded menu.
“We’ll take one of you,” he grinned.
“You can’t have one of me.”
“But darlin’, you’re on the menu!”
They broke into riotous laughter, as if this was the cleverest fucking joke ever.
It was pretty funny the first time someone did it to me. Months ago… People are less original than they think. I heard this one twice a week.
“Looks like we’re fresh out,” I responded, scooping the menu off the floor and strolling away.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw their l
aughter die down, and they were looking at me with annoyance for not playing along.
To hell with ‘em.
To hell with everything about this stupid goddamn job.
I hated working this ancient, decrepit dive bar. The money was just good enough to keep myself afloat, and bartending was fun enough, but not somewhere like this.
If it wasn’t bikers, it was rednecks.
If it wasn’t rednecks, it was thugs.
If it wasn’t thugs…
A shiver went up my spine. I didn’t like to think about that.
Old Greg owned this place, and he was a friendly enough guy. Hell, he’d been a godsend. A lifelong resident of this backwater little town, he was old enough to be my grandfather. His best patron was our sheriff – someone who turned a blind eye when I was brought onboard to tend bar at sixteen.
At least that was no longer a problem. I’d turned eighteen pouring drinks.
When it was slow and I was cleaning glasses or wiping surfaces, I dreamed of exactly what you’d think a bright, young girl who dream about in a place like this:
Getting the hell out of Riverton.
That was the name of this place. The town, not the bar. Well, the bar too, technically.
Riverton Bar, in Riverton… On Riverton Avenue.
Remember when I said people aren’t original?
That applies to the friendly ones, too.
Dropping the drink tray off at the stack, I passed back around the counter and checked on my other patrons – several working-class stragglers, downing cheap beer specials, an older fellow nursing a whiskey neat, and a few older crones sipping heavy martinis.
Satisfied, I began taking stock of my liquors. I was gonna have to pop open a bottle of Crown soon, and we were still out of half our rum…
While I checked things off on my clipboard, I noticed someone approaching the bar. I didn’t think much of it, and I continued my work for a moment. I was busy, and the shadow could see that.
