by Cat Porter
“Touch yourself, Grace.”
I blinked up at him. “Wh… what?”
Miller sat on his knees on the floor in front of me and picked up the pencil and sketchbook from the floor. His pencil began moving quickly over the paper. He was sketching. Sketching me.
“Touch yourself, baby,” he said. “But keep your other hand up over your head.”
Heat flared over my skin. I watched his eyes dart between me and the paper as his pencil outlined and filled. My fingers went in between my legs, and my other hand clutched the soft leather of the chair arm under my head.
“Take yourself there slowly, but don’t come. I’m going to make you come.”
My fingers moved. I leaned my head back, and my gaze was riveted on him studying me, drawing. My breathing grew choppy. My heel raised up off the floor. I surrendered to my own rhythm and to his focused gaze. Everything I was tightened.
He dropped the pad and pencil. His hand pushed my fingers away and his tongue snaked over my throbbing center. His eyes scored through mine.
“Oh God, yes!” His tongue pulsed over my clit. My hips jerked. Sharp shards of pleasure tore right through me.
He pulled back, his tongue swiped over his lower lip, and he went back to sketching.
“Miller—?”
His pencil dashed over the paper. “Don’t move, baby.”
“Oh God—”
“I just tasted everything we did last night,” he murmured. “Tasted real good.”
My head sank back into the leather. He sketched with quick and long drawn-out strokes. I could practically feel the pencil on my skin.
“You need to feed me,” I said. “Now.”
His eyes remained glued to the sketch pad. “What?”
“I want to have enough energy to keep up with you”
He flashed me a grin. A boyish abandon swept over his features, and I melted like butter all over again. He dropped the pad and pencil on the floor, grabbed the t-shirt. I sat up, and he smoothed it down over me. My fingers tugged at the hem over my legs.
“And after I feed you?” he asked. His dark eyes teased me. My thighs pressed together.
“And after you feed me… what?”
“My bed,” he said. “For the rest of the day.”
“Very good idea. Because you need to finish what you just started.”
“Screw the dishes, Grace,” Miller said. “We’ll deal with it later.”
I stared at the tumble of greasy frying pans, sticky dishes, mugs, glasses, and an empty orange juice container in the kitchen sink. Ordinarily my hair would have stood on end at such a sight, but I only giggled. We had devoured the bacon, egg, cheese, and English muffin extravaganza I concocted and now lazed on the stools at the kitchen island.
“Later today we’ll go get your stuff,” Miller said. He swept over the granite counter with a damp paper towel.
I slid the salt and pepper shakers to the end of the island. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you moving in here. Today.”
“What?”
He looked up at me and stopped wiping. “What do you mean—what?”
“Today?”
“Yeah.”
“Um, I can’t do that. I have work myself into Jake and Alex’s schedule. They’re in Rapid City, not Meager, so I need to find a place there. Then I need to find a job.” I swept my hair away from my face.
“Grace—”
“I need to go through Ruby’s stuff, and then I really, really, need to find a yoga class and some kind of cardio so I can stay sane and still consume all this hearty food I’m suddenly surrounded by. And—”
His lips smashed together. “You’re not making a lick of sense.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No.” He shook his head. “You’re kidding yourself.”
“I am not! I need… time.
“Time?”
“Yes,” I said. “I need time, to get into the flow of… this.”
“What flow, Grace? Flow of what?”
“You know…”
“No, I don’t know.” He crossed his arms.
“I need time to get organized, get focused. I can’t just…”
“Can’t just what? Get a life?”
“Miller!”
“Fifteen years worth of rolling and drifting, and you’ve got nothing and no one to call your own.” He planted his hands on the granite and leaned towards me. “What the hell is there to organize?”
My face heated. “Excuse me, I do have a quality vehicle and, I’ll have you know, plenty of money saved in the bank!”
His dark eyebrows snapped together. “Congratulations. And how’s that working for you?”
I flexed my feet against the footrest of the barstool. My shoulders stiffened. My eyes swept over the clean, shiny granite.
“And where do I fit in to this “flow” of yours, Grace?” He asked. “Do I even fit in? Or maybe you don’t know yet? You need time to see if I fit in to your flow?”
“That’s not what I meant.” I cleared my throat. “Miller, look. I have to settle down for the first time in a long time, and that’s going to be a huge change for me. I need to get used to that, get comfortable first. It’s freaking me out a little. Then I can think about…”
“About what? About me? Us?”
“Well…”
“Grace, I have money saved in the bank too, a job I like, and my brothers who always have my back,” he said. “I’ve got my own house that I’m fixing, and a slew of amazing bikes. The one thing I don’t have, the most important thing, is you. And I’m not waiting for you to get organized, get in a fucking flow or find a yoga class or whatever the hell you’re babbling on about to have a life with you.”
“I’m not babbling!”
“You’re panicking! We need to be together, Grace. Now. Yesterday.”
“Okay, but…”
“‘Okay’ doesn’t factor into this at all,” he said. “And neither does the word ‘but.’ Jesus, nothing about us is ‘okay.’ We are good, amazing, dream come true. What have we been talking about and fucking about for the past two days and nights? Us, together, that’s what. We need to start making our home, Grace. I want a place that’s ours, where we can rest together. Don’t you get that? I need that. I need it now, and so do you. I can’t wait. I won’t.”
I took a deep breath and exhaled.
His hand clutched mine. “Are you scared?” he asked in a throaty whisper.
My eyes fell to our hands on the counter.
“I’m not your dad, Grace, I won’t just pick up and leave you. And I’m not an alcoholic like my dad or your mom. We’re not them.”
“I know.”
We held each other’s gaze in thick silence.
His hand squeezed mine. “We’re human. They’re going to be mistakes made, right?”
I nodded.
“I’ve never done this before, well, not really. Can’t say I know how it works.
“That doesn’t matter,” I said.
“No?”
My eyes found his. “As long as we’re both in it, all the way.”
“I’m in it,” he said. “Way the fuck in.”
I smiled. “Fantastic, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Dream come true?
“Definitely.”
My blurry gaze drifted around the kitchen, the hall to the bathroom and bedroom, the huge front window where light poured through and illuminated the sectional sofa with our crumpled quilt, the massive leather easy chair where he had me pose for him, the crap shelf where years of his beautiful artwork was piled, his neatly organized stash of tools.
“No more ghosts, new dreams. Get on with joy,” Ruby whispered in my heart.
“We’ll fix this house any way you want,” Miller said. “Do up the kitchen with whatever appliances you like. We’ll build an extension with a bedroom and bathroom for Jake.
My body stilled. “You’d do that for Jakey?”
“Of course.” Miller got up from his stool and circled the living room. “We can have an extra room for a play room or a project room for sewing…”
I laughed. “I don’t sew.”
“Whatever,” he said. His hand ruffled through his hair. “I’ll extend the garage for your quality vehicle.”
“I’ve got lots of books,” I said “And you have lots of sketch pads.”
“Adding built-in shelves to the list. Anything else?”
“A porch out front would be really nice.”
His lips curled up. “Good idea. Done.”
I got off the kitchen stool and ambled towards the hallway. My fingers traced the blank, freshly painted wall. “Miller?”
“Yeah?
I ripped off my shirt and dropped it to the floor. I glanced back at him over my bare shoulder.
His eyes widened. “Babe?” A slow smile formed on his lips.
“You haven’t shown me your bedroom yet, and I might want to make a few changes in there.” I continued walking down the hallway. “You coming?”
“Ah, sweet fuck.”
We were wrapped around each other, our muscles wobbly, our breathing finally steady.
“Moving inside you bare goes right to the core, Grace,” he whispered against my arm.
We didn’t leave his huge platform bed until the afternoon sun made the room glow with a dark golden light.
“I have to say, I like your bed. A lot,” I said. My fingers traced over the glossy live edge slab of wood that was the headboard. “It can stay.”
A chuckle rose in his throat. “Glad to hear it.” His lips touched my forehead. “Get up, baby. I wanna show you the bike,” he said.
I blinked up at him.
“The Indian Chief, Grace.” Miller gave my bare ass a pinch.
“Ow!”
I let out a huff, and he threw me a wicked grin over his shoulder as he pushed off the bed and sauntered from the room. I hugged his pillow and enjoyed the show: long powerful legs, lean hips, and a small sculpted rear, a broad sleek back and even broader shoulders all in a fierce, yet graceful package.
My man.
Yes, he is my man. All mine. Imagine that.
My body still hummed with him. I rubbed the sage green cotton pillowcase where his head had lain moments before. My mouth and hands had taken their sweet time memorizing the feel of his smooth bronze skin and the lines and dips of his entire body. His flesh had shivered under my touch.
After we had made love, I’d leaned over him and kissed him gently one last time. He had looked up at me with those molten eyes. The silver threads intrigued me all over again, just as they had the first time I had noticed them. His fingers reached up to my face and traced a trail down my forehead, my nose and rested on my lips.
“Marry me, Grace.” He had let my name out on a sigh. His heart pounded under my palm.
I shook with laughter.
“What the hell is so funny?”
“You’re a brave man. You just had to convince me to move in with you. And now, hours later, you’re asking me to marry you?”
“That’s right.”
“You’re confident, aren’t you?”
“I figured I had the advantage after all those orgasms I just gave you.”
I bit his fingers, and he chuckled.
“Babe, do you need to try me before you buy me?”
I shook my head. My lips nuzzled his fingers.
“So, was that a yes to my proposal?”
“Yes.”
He took in a deep breath. “Love you, baby,” he whispered.
I closed my eyes again and enjoyed the warmth that filled my chest. I thanked God, the Spirit of the Great Eagle, and all of nature and the universe for it.
For him.
Miller’s rich laugher shook me from my thoughts.
“Woman, get your sweet ass out of that bed already!” his voice thundered from the bathroom.
I sighed and smiled at the ceiling.
The metal of the garage clambered and shook as Miller dragged it up and jerked it open. The dark garage yawned before us. Metal and chrome glimmered in the afternoon light. Mustiness and the smell of gasoline and metal assaulted us.
Miller took my hand in his and squeezed it. We stepped inside. My other hand covered his.
“It’s over there,” his chin jerked towards a hulking mass in the corner covered in a dirty tarp.
Wreck had found an Indian Chief frame from the early fifties, before the company got bought and resold and reintroduced the bikes. He had kept it hidden in his garage for years. When he had finally found Miller and brought him home from Pine Ridge, he had decided it would be their project to work on together. He had taught Miller everything he knew about a scooter and more. I had only seen the bike in a photo Wreck had once shown me with a skinny, long-haired teenage Miller striking a proud pose on its seat with Wreck at his side, an arm draped over his shoulder.
I have to find that photo!
Miller pulled off the tarp.
I froze.
“Is it the bike in your dream?” Miller asked. His lips cemented into a firm line.
“How can that be?” I asked. “I’ve only seen it once, and that was so long ago. Wreck didn’t even ride it when you were away.”
“Dreams are the language of the mind, Grace. Over time your mind catalogues random items and experiences in your life and uses them as symbols to work things out when it needs to.”
“More Grandma Kim wisdom?” I asked.
“No.” Lock rubbed the back of his neck with his palm and grinned at me. “A buddy of mine in the army was a psych major in college and was really into dream interpretation. We used to talk about this shit for hours on patrol.”
“Ah.”
“The key is to understand what the symbols in your dreams mean to you. Then you can unweave the meaning of the thing. And maybe you’ll learn something from its message about what you’re dealing with or where you need to go.”
Okay then. My brain flipped through the imagery of my dream.
Wreck on the Indian.
His passion for bikes, passion for the One-Eyed Jacks.
What does that mean to me?
I was on the back of that bike holding on to Wreck.
Wreck, my substitute older brother, quasi-father figure. Wreck on the vintage bike he restored for his long lost brother. For the brother he hunted for and found and gave shelter and love to. Something I admired enormously and would want for myself: security, love of family, refuge. Safety. Masculine protection. Father. Brother. Lover.
Miller.
Driving in the dark faster and faster without lights. Wreck was the most experienced rider I have ever known and had taught me how to ride. Riding with him in the dream was scary, but exhilarating. Maybe I’ve got to trust my new feelings about Miller. Maybe I’ve got to move forward in general in my life, because yes, it is like flying over a dark highway in high gear.
And I’ve been roving blind and bound for too long.
My fingers brushed over the rusted, mangled handlebars of the damaged bike.
The Indian, the precious Indian. Rare. Restored over the years by the hand of one man who loved and gave and safeguarded. The Indian company. The first American motorcycle company that later struggled to reinvent itself over the years and blast back into the now competitive market after several resurrections.
My life.
“What is it?” Miller’s deep voice whipped me out of my reverie.
“Thinking over the dream,” I murmured.
Butler and Caitlyn.
Loss, the past. That was done. Life pushes on, doesn’t it?
Miller’s fingers rubbed over the scratched logo on the engine tank. “When I went into the army, we stored it in here. Then when I got out and joined the club, I rode it. But I rode it down into the ground. I was on a huge tear. One night I had been drinking too much, and I was on my way home from the clubhouse. It was raining hard. Didn’t give a shit. I was goin
g too fast, didn’t pay much mind to the ditch at the head of the main road here, and she went flying. Not much happened to me, I had my gear on, but the goddamn bike took it hard. I hauled it back here, and here she sits ever since. Stupid.”
He exhaled, his chin hung low for a moment, and then our eyes met. His face was blank, yet for a second I saw the pained expression of a boy on those features. This special bike, this treasure, now all banged up and bruised, somewhat maimed and pretty rusted, had lain under a dirty tarp in a dark cave of a garage for so many years. Yet this vintage bike was still a thing of beauty, even if it looked more like a gaping wound.
“You never tried fixing it?” I asked.
His fingers tugged on his hoodie around his neck. He shook his head.
“You’ve got to fix it, Miller. It tells a story. Yours and Wreck’s. There’s lots of love and honor in this buckled metal. You’ve been fixing up the house. Baby, you’ve got to fix this bike.”
“Willy’s been after me to do it,” he said. “He’s good for leads on the parts, which are pretty scarce these days. He knows a lot of the old timers still around.” Miller’s gaze returned to the Indian. “I’d definitely need his help.”
“Do it.”
“By the way…” he said. “Who the hell is Karen, and why is she insisting I trick out her husband’s Nova?”
I threw my head back and laughed.
“You like it?”
The breath caught in my throat.
“Grace?”
The delicate diamond eternity band of rose gold around my finger was gorgeous. The new ring matched the white gold eternity band studded with emerald cut diamonds that was my wedding ring. And the delicate platinum eternity diamond band with smaller stones that was my engagement ring. All three were now stacked on my ring finger. They were perfect.
I lunged at my husband.
“I love it!” I whispered in Miller’s ear. His soft laughter filled my chest.
“A new one every year, baby. I’m gonna fill your fingers with them.” He kissed me. “Happy first anniversary, Grace.”
“Happy Anniversary.” My hands tugged through his hair and pushed the silky black locks behind his ears. I kissed him.
He groaned in my mouth. “Baby, I’m getting hard again. You don’t let go of me, you’re going to have to do something about it at lightning speed, and you know how I’m not into lightning speed with you these days.”
