by Hazel Parker
Then there was nothing but my skin on his skin. He grabbed me by the ass and pulled me into him until we were joined together.
“You are so fucking wet.”
I mumbled something unintelligible, lost in the sensations and him. I couldn’t tell my up from down. Left from right. Him from me.
I couldn’t stop myself from wrapping my legs around his waist. There was nothing between us. No barriers – condoms, lies, allegiances. There was just us. I could feel his cock everywhere.
The tips of his fingers bruised my hips as he thrust into me. Sweat dripped from his chest onto me as my breasts bounced in time with his ministrations. He was so deep and I wanted him deeper. He fucked me like he hated me and I wanted him to hate me even more.
Hate me. Hate the Skulls. Please hate me.
It was like he heard my thoughts and obeyed. He grabbed me tighter. Ramming into me harder and deeper, pulling back until only the tip tickled my entrance and thrusting into me, knocking my head back.
He spoke in between thrusts, angered and impassioned words. “I love fucking you like this. This. Hot. Sweet. Pussy. Those sweet. Little. Noises. You. Drive. Me. Crazy.”
He talked through his teeth, biting down on his lip, struggling to hold on as he spoke. It was too much. His dirty mouth. His hot body. His pounding into my body. It was a new level of pleasure, an untouchable level. It was building to be something I had never felt before. It was going to be an orgasm I’d never handled before. It would kill me. I was going to die. I was going to die from pleasure.
“Please,” I said, gasping in between his thrust. “Ethan, please. No. I can’t.
He ignored me. Humping my body and hitting new pleasure points. One hand tickled down the valley of my breasts while the other held onto my waist. He tweaked my left nipple hard before tweaking my right. Each time pulling a little scream from my chest.
“Please, Ethan,” I gasped. I needed something.
“Please what?” he said, bending over to suck my skin.
“I need….”
My brain was almost fried. I could barely think. I could barely breathe. I trembled as he licked up my chest like I was an ice cream cone.
“Tell me what you need, Molly.” My name on his tongue was too much. Equally distracting were his hands on my body. I rode the intensity and tried to find the word in the cacophony of every sensation he was giving me.
“I, I don’t know.” The word was so close. What I needed was so close. Just beyond my fingertips. I wanted to let go. I couldn’t do it anymore. I had to let go. But I couldn’t. My body was stuck on the ride, cranking my engine and not turning over. I was waiting for something but what? His touch? I had it. A kiss? A lick?
“Come.”
Something inside me clicked. That was what I was waiting for. He was what I was waiting for. I splintered apart. Shattered into a million pieces to the floor and floated to the ceiling. Nothing tethered me to the ground. I wasn’t on Earth anymore. I was on some kind of pleasure I’d never experienced before. How did he make my body feel that? I didn’t know I could feel like that. My body sung me to sleep.
Chapter 15
Ethan
I felt her chest heave up and down as she breathed slowly. She was in a deep sleep. I smiled, knowing I wore her out. I looked at her naked body, curled in a ball while she slept.
She was beautiful. Just looking at her stirred the desire still buzzing in my body as we lay naked next to each other. If she woke up and decided she wanted to go another round, I could. I could feel my cock tensing just from the thought. Her soft, round cheeks were pressed right against me. If I wanted to, I could slip into her delicious body and wake her with sex. As if she could read my mind, she shifted her body and nestled in closer to me.
I felt like I could watch her sleep all night. Something in my chest clenched and I realized I’d never done with a woman what I did with Molly. That was something I’d never felt. Her presence was physically comforting and I wanted to do nothing more than sleep next to her, but my mind was working overtime, thinking about her and how this would all play out. It was preventing me from sleeping. It was like I was on drugs again, only this time, the drug wasn’t in a Ziploc bag. It was wrapped in these sheets.
I slid from the bed and sat on the edge, head in my hands. My hands itched and I felt like I needed to be in the garage. I stood quietly to put my jeans back on and wandered through the house. When I first came in, I was too busy with her body to pay attention to the décor.
Her house was modern, similar to other houses in Arizona. Tan walls, red lamps, and black decorations. Her floorplan was open and standing at the bedroom door, I could see almost every other room in the house.
It was obvious she didn’t play video games or have any frequent male visitors. No video games or piles of movies. Just the TV, a couch, and an end table. Her kitchen was both functional and girly. Her curtains had flowers on them and on the counter was a bowl of fruit. She had a Keurig, several bottles of wine, and colored towels hanging from the oven rack. I couldn’t see into her bathroom past the ceramic tiles on the floor and the red shower curtain.
There was a door on the side of the kitchen and I imagined it went to the garage we passed on the way in. I found the light switch on the inside panel of the cement walls. Her garage was a lot like mine, but smaller. On one side were cardboard boxes, stacked almost to the ceiling. I imagined there were probably Christmas decorations and other shit like that that you couldn’t throw away but you have no actual place for.
The left side of her garage had been set up as a small workstation. She wasn’t working on all types of cars and bikes so her tool section could be smaller. She had a workbench and several things hanging in columns and rows from nails on the wall. There were some on the floor, spilling out of a red toolbox beside a bike missing its front wheel. It sat on a cement block, though its wheel sat beside it on its side. I walked closer and saw that the paint job was all scratched up. The inside was missing. The engine lay out on the floor on a blanket; lined beside it were several parts, as if Molly had dissected her bike.
I sat on the short stool sitting beside her bike and picked up my favorite tool. The wrench. I figured I’d check on what was inside and if it was all right, start putting her bike back together. I lost myself in the task and my hands moved on their own. My muscles were relaxed and even though I was at Molly’s garage, I felt like I was home.
“What are you doing?”
I heard her soft voice from the entrance of the garage. She was standing there like a small child, sleepy and draped in my t-shirt.
“Working.”
“Mind if I help you?” I could tell by the tone of her voice that she thought I might say no.
“Of course not. You live here.”
She pulled a stool to sit beside me. “How long have you been in here?”
I glanced at the clock that hung on her wall.
“A little over an hour.”
“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked, laying her head on my shoulder and I shook my head. We sat looking at her bike.
“Is this the bike you crashed?”
“Yup.”
I could tell from the make and the year that it was older.
“And you left it untouched all these years?”
“Yeah. I put it in storage at first and then when I got settled, I moved it here.”
Her bike had been through a lot, just like she had. From moving places to feeling abandoned and coming back home.
“Why do you still have this?” I asked in between the silence and the tinkering noises I made as I finished screwing on her muffler.”
“Because I was hoping to one day ride it again. All broken things can be fixed. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.”
I could hear what she was saying, the parallel of her bike and her body. “You’re not broken.”
“I’m not?”
“No. You’re not something an
yone has to fix. Just love. You just needed a little love.”
“Is that what you’re giving me?” It was a heavy question, and a loaded one. Then she asked something even more incriminating. “Do you love me?”
I could have lied. But I didn’t. Deep down, inside myself, I already knew the answer to this question. I loved her. I knew that from the moment I saw that ugly skull on her head and I was willing, for a second, to say fuck it and be with her anyway.
“I do.”
She must not have expecting me to be so honest. She dropped her wrench and it loudly clanged against the floor.
“At least that’s what I told my mom,” I said, shrugging.
“What does that mean?”
“It means for once, I’m taking my mother’s advice. She asked me if I love you and I told her the truth – like I’m telling you. I do.”
“And what does that mean?” she asked, suddenly obtuse and needing over simplification.
“It means I won’t leave you when you’re acting insane. It means I like you when your hair is perfect and when it looks like you’ve been royally fucked. I think you’re beautiful naked and when you wear heels. I don’t care that you have scars and you sometimes cohort with trash named Skulls. I don’t care. I love you. It’s ridiculous and I shouldn’t. In my head, I know I’m breaking all the rules, but in my heart, I don’t care. I love you.” I took a deep breath and smirked, “Plus, everybody knows rules are meant to be broken.”
She giggled and threw herself onto me. “I love you too,” she said before kissing me softly. She pulled back to see my face and smiled demurely. “You love me,” she sung.
“That I do,” I said, kissing her nose before pulling her into my arms tightly and tucking my head over her shoulder. “And our first priority is getting this tattoo removed,” I said, biting her neck.
She squealed and nodded. “Yes, sir. No problem.”
What I needed to do tallied in my mind, compiling a list to somehow fix the blowout that would come from this. I needed to call a meeting and tell the crew what I was doing. They couldn’t find out from anybody but me. I was dating the Skull’s president’s daughter, and even though she wanted nothing to do with the monster, there might be some blowback on everyone. All’s fair in love and war, and truthfully, I didn’t give a shit what happened as long as Molly was on my arm.
*****
THE END
Burn it Down
Chapter 1
Solomon
I focused on the road ahead, the roar of my bike drowning out everything but my thoughts. Every so often, I glanced into my side view mirror and checked my six. I wasn't paranoid, but vigilance was vital in my way of life. At six-two with a hulking frame and an ugly scar running down my neck, I was the type of guy people generally stayed away from, but once in a while someone, inspired either by alcohol or stupidity, would put it upon himself to try to bring a man like me down. For now, it was all clear.
The night had settled in as I drove, the chill of the air seldom slipping through my leather jacket and brushing my skin. Giving my wrist a quick twist, I picked up speed and pushed my motorcycle through traffic. I was free on two wheels. I ducked in and out of traffic with ease, shifting my weight and adding finesse to the way I sped past the tourists. The last thing on my mind as I reached the open road was a speed limit. I had to get to Willow Springs Lake fast, but a glance at my fuel tank told me I had to stop for gas soon.
Minutes later, a gas station's neon sign appeared and it blinked in and out as I slowed my acceleration. I pulled up next to one of the pumps and took the keys from the ignition. My legs slightly vibrating, feeling the length of the ride.
It seemed like I was the only customer. Considering I’d reached the rural areas, that wasn't much of a surprise. Stuffing my keys into the pocket of my jeans, I walked inside and took a look around.
A single attendant stood behind a cash register, intimidation evident in his eyes. He was shorter than I am, lanky and pale, and I had to give him props for not looking away.
"Where's your bathroom?" I asked, doing nothing to disguise my impatience.
He pointed to the back and, without waiting for words to go with the gesture, I made my way to the bathroom.
I took care of business and ambled my way to the sink. I sighed as hot water poured over my hands, a stark contrast to the feel of the night's air.
The Bandits were waiting for me. They'd picked a location that was out of the way, which meant tonight wasn’t just about merry-making. Important matters would probably be discussed.
I was ripping a couple of paper towels from the roll when a crash interrupted me. Making quick work of drying my hands and shooting it at the trash, I walked to the door and my fingers wrapped around the knob.
"Open the register!” one voice said.
“Give me everything you've got!" said another.
I'd finally put a voice to the cashier, his words full of fear as he struggled for compliance.
“Great," I muttered to myself. “This was exactly what I needed.”
I could've stayed in the bathroom and waited. I could've let them rob him, do whatever they wanted with him, and made my way out. But I was already on edge, and they were going to make me late so I really had no choice but to intervene. I slowly opened the door to a small degree and looked out into the store's expanse.
At least two men stood near the front entrance, one of them pointing a gun that would have easily taken the cashier's head off. They didn't look like much, dressed in all black, wearing hoodies and around the same build.
I'd already pulled their cards; had they been smart, they'd have split up and checked for anyone else in the establishment. I couldn't help but grin a little as I opened the door fully, stepping out of the bathroom and just out of sight.
The only weapon close enough was a wooden baseball bat propped next to the cold drinks. It looked brand new, but along the edge read, “Knock ‘em out of the park.”
I could imagine this was a gift for some boy from his dad. They could’ve stopped here for gas on their way to a game and unwittingly left the bat behind.
At least the bat was about to get used for something… bodies or heads. I picked it up, crouching just enough so no one would see me through the mirrors hanging from the store's corners.
"Please don't kill me!" the cashier shouted.
The commotion was enough to mask the sound of my boots hitting the floor. For most men, fear might have stifled the will to act. They'd wait for the punks to finish the stick up and get away before the cops could be alerted. But I wasn’t most men, and I didn't have that kind of time. I'd reached the end of the aisle, the thieves too occupied with the cashier's trembling hands to notice me step out and toward their flank. Two home runs, coming right up.
I put as much force as I could muster into my first swing after I'd stood up. With both hands around the bat, it wasn't hard to crack the unfortunate bastard's skull. I was more muscular than my jacket made me look. I watched his head snap to the side, the gun flying across the room and clattering harshly against the ground.
Blood splashed against the wall as he fell limp to the side, crashing into one of the potato chip stands. He wouldn't be moving anytime soon. Before his partner could point his pistol, I'd already started my second swing.
His wrist gave in as I aimed for the gun, knocking it out of his hand and breaking his wrist in the same motion.
"Fuck!" he bellowed, followed by a string of curses while he withdrew his limb against his chest.
I dropped the bat and cocked back with my right fist, sending it forward and breaking his nose on impact.
The cashier jumped back as I shot him a look, my punch sending his second assailant staggering and onto the floor.
"Why don’t you get a job like everyone else," I said, stepping toward the injured, writhing form beneath me. "And if you're going to rob somebody, at least check the store for witnesses and cover
your ass. Amateurs."
He was trying to muster words, but the pain I'd just inflicted had him reeling. I picked up the pistol and checked his pockets. I found cash, a wallet, and the keys to the busted station wagon outside which I assumed they'd pulled up in.
I pocketed the cash, turned toward the cashier and tossed the wallet, keys and pistol onto the counter.
"Whatever you choose to do with them? I was never part of it. Understand?" I said, raising my eyebrows.
"Y-yes...yes, sir," the cashier exclaimed, his eyes staring into the darkness of my own.
I held my hand out, eyeing the security camera. Without a word, he removed the tape and handed it to me.
"Good. Wait until I leave before you pick up that phone."
I handed him the bat and left him standing there, stepping over the unconscious assailant's body. I pumped the gas quickly before fishing for my keys. With a roar of the engine, I kicked it into high gear and took off without looking back. It didn't really matter if he mentioned me or not. I'd saved his life. If he hoped to be that lucky again, he’d rather I was out on the street. Whatever the case, I didn't have time to weigh the situation.
It wasn't long before I'd found Willow Springs Lake. I pulled in and rode along the dirt road. I loved the sound of gravel beneath my wheels. There was something gritty about it. I took in the sights around me, noticing a small group of campers that sat off in the distance.
The night veiled my entrance. Only the light from my bike's headlight illuminated the area. I rode for at least ten minutes before I spotted familiar motorcycles. The Bandits were here, and I could feel every set of eyes on me as they turned and watched my arrival. I settled for parking near the edge of the water, slowly taking my key from the ignition and climbing off of the seat.
Though I returned a couple of greetings and a few nods, I still felt like an outsider. Being a prospect for a little over a year had earned me some merit, but so far, it hadn’t been enough to get me in. It wasn’t easy trying to live up to the club’s expectations, but I’d jump at any opportunity to prove myself worthy of the patch. I'd do whatever it took.
