Beauty and the Bad Boy

by Scarlett Dupree

  He pulled me with him under the showerhead. When I tipped my head back to let my hair soak, he pressed his stubbly face against my neck and bit me–not enough to break the skin, but not gently, either. I flinched and gasped, but instead of easing off, he sucked hard on the same spot. He pulled up then, and grabbed my face between his ringed hands.

  With a ferocity that frightened and thrilled me in equal measure, he pushed his mouth against mine and forced me to take his tongue. He pushed me hard against the shower wall and pressed against me. With his knee, he knocked my legs apart. He pushed his cock between my legs, sliding it against my core. He was still kissing me, his mouth demanding.

  I was sure I could extricate myself if I wanted or needed to, so I was more worried about why he was being so rough. I didn't know him enough to know what this was. I was on guard; I was also completely turned on. The whole thing was fucked up. I reminded myself to check into the hospital later in the week for a mental examination.

  I pushed against his face until I succeeded in getting him to take his mouth from mine and let me breathe. "Jake!"

  He went still and looked at me, panting hard. In his eyes, I saw passion and pain and desperation–and something like regret, too–and suddenly I understood what was happening, what he really needed.

  I brushed his wet hair out of his eyes and studied him. The trickle of water over his hot, steamy, tanned body was making every cell inside me erupt with lust.

  I put my hands on his wide shoulders and pull-pushed myself up, wrapping my legs around his waist. He grabbed my ass to hold me, but he otherwise didn't move. I wasn't sure he'd even blinked since I'd stopped him. I leaned down and kissed him. "Take me, Jake. I’m yours." Then I bit down hard on his lower lip.

  He grunted and moved a hand around to position himself. Then he shoved in hard and fast, pinning me to the wall. I cried out. He pressed his face into the crook of my shoulder and pounded into me until I came, screaming. He held me against the wall, his breathing loud and harsh, his face still pressed to my neck and his cock hard inside me, while I spasmed.

  Suddenly he pulled out of me, dropped me to the ground and spun me around. He pushed my shoulders down until I was almost doubled over and I had to balance myself with my hands against the wall. He grabbed my buttocks in both hands and took me from behind, slamming against me, his hands wrapped around my hips and his fingers grasping me hard. I grunted. It hurt. He was too big to be this rough; I was going to have to stop him. It was too much... and then it wasn't too much at all. Then it was incredible. I began matching his thrusts with my own. This time when I came, he joined me with an earthy roar.

  While we were still connected, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me upright. I leaned back against him, my head resting on his chest. He kissed my head passionately. We stood in that position, with the hot stream from the shower hitting Jake's back and spraying around him, until our breathing returned to normal. His body never seized to amaze me.

  I felt a sting when he pulled out of me, and I hissed in a breath. He froze. "Jesus, Dakota. I hurt you. Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

  "I'm fine, Jake. It's okay. I loved it. Maybe you noticed." I turned and linked my hands around his neck. "I'm not saying that I'm always going to be ready for this, but I like rough sex just fine, as long as you know I welcome it. You didn't do anything I wasn't okay with. I wouldn't have let you."

  He didn't look any less guilty, but he nodded and kissed me gently. "I don’t deserve you." We stayed like that for a few minutes until he started to take me out of the shower.

  "I would like to take a second here and actually use some soap before we get out, though." I picked up the soap.

  "Do you want my to leave you alone?" he asked.

  I absolutely did not. "I absolutely do not." I lathered up my hands and soaped his chest. I was living so many fantasies with him. Again, and again.

  We washed each other with chaste tenderness; Jake was particularly gentle and attentive. When we were done and dry, I led him to my room, leaving our clothes where we lay on the bathroom floor. I put him into bed and slid in next to him, curled up under the fresh linens in the warm curve of his body. He slid one strong arm under my head and pulled me close with the other. "I think I'm gonna fall hard and fast for you, Dakota," he whispered.

  We'd known each other fewer than three days. It was crazy fast, but I believed it to be true. I believed because it was true for me as well. I closed my eyes and thought of Jon, and Joshua, and of the empty spot at the top of my back. I laced my fingers into his and kissed his hand. "Me too." For the second night, we fell asleep together, our bodies entwined.

  ***

  I pulled a couple of boxes out of my trunk, stacked them, and headed into the clubhouse. I noted that the usual line of parked bikes was pretty sparse this morning. I found the guys hanging around at the bar. "Hey, beautiful," Fry said, who saw me first and smiled broadly.

  The three months that Jake and I had been a couple had been intense and scary and fantastic. We had encountered some snags, but our bond, and the connection we'd felt so early, had only deepened. And through Jake, I had discovered people I actually enjoyed: The Fire Birds.

  Mickey and Danny jumped off their barstools instantly. Mickey, who was always a little nervous around me, looked down and said, "Hello, ma'am." It was plainly obvious to anyone that I had a few admirers in the Fire Birds. Much to the dismay of Jake.

  "Hey, guys. Could I get some help getting stuff out of my car? Thanks." Mickey and Danny headed out with me to unload the car.

  As I was bringing my last load inside, Fry came around the bar and took the boxes from me. "So what's all this?"

  "Just decorations and stuff that Tiffany asked me to bring for the Christmas party tonight. Also maybe some surprises for all my good little bad boys." I winked, and Fry blew me a kiss.

  The guys came in with the rest of the boxes and stood in the middle of the room. Fry nodded his head towards the bar. "We'll stack them back there until you ladies are ready to decorate."

  "Thanks, Fry. You're my hero. Especially for taking care of Jake's present. Very sneaky. You're like a biker ninja."

  He laughed and said with a Japanese accent, "Thank you very much."

  "Hey, speaking of Jake, I noticed he and the rest of the guys are out. You expect them back soon?"

  "Couple hours, maybe. You gonna hang out with us and wait? Class up the joint?"

  "Nothing could class up this joint, Fry. Where class is concerned, this joint is a totally lost cause. We will someday write songs about the moral and cultural ruin that is this joint. And no, I've got to get some errands done. I was just hoping to get a little sugar first."

  Fry laughed and shook his head. "I'll be sure to tell him what he missed, then."

  I kissed him on the cheek. "You do that. I'll see you later." I headed out to my car.

  The gang were a testosterone-overloaded bunch: Rough, weird, violent, and casually sexist as hell. But they were forthright. They were funny. They were fiercely loyal. In who and what they were, they were pure. And, though I'd had to get used to being known as Jake's 'Chick' and being called the entire lexicon of gendered endearments like 'doll' and 'honey,' these men treated me with a care and real respect that I hadn't experienced from any other men besides Jon and my dad–including all the supposedly 'enlightened' academic men I knew, none of whom ever called me 'doll'.

  What I needed and wanted and what Jake–and by extension the Fire Birds–needed and wanted in our relationship was sometimes at odds, though. The idea that the gang even had a stake in what was needed and wanted in our relationship, for example–that was a hard one for me to get straight with. I came–grudgingly–to recognize that they had some valid reasons for their interest. But it chafed.

  It had taken some doing to get Jake to understand that I wouldn't tolerate a watchdog. Or ten. The first couple of times I didn't pick up his call, or call right back, had sent him into crazy search mode. That would not do.
I understood why he was worried. He felt he had failed to keep Tina safe, and he didn't want something to happen to me because he wasn't paying attention. But I needed to have my independent thing. I did not check in–with anyone. I would not allow him to keep tabs on me. I knew my stubbornness on this point made him crazy. It was the only thing we really fought about.

  We'd pretty much managed to work it out, though. Jake had calmed down about my safety–or, at least, he'd gotten control of his instant worry reflex. I made every effort to keep my phone near when I could. I had come to love some of the Fire Birds and think of them as family. Pops, especially.

  Pops had been the leader of Fire Birds when he adopted Jake, his nephew, before he retired. Jake’s mother, Pops’s sister, had left as soon as he was born, leaving only a note saying, 'I’m sorry.'His father had died in a gang related incident when Jake was only three-years-old. I liked Pops’s gruff sweetness, which reminded me of my own dad, and he had quickly begun to treat me like a daughter.

  Weston, the gang's boss, was okay, but there was something about him that I didn’t like or even trust. My gut instinct told me to be wary. Jake had told me he thought it was for the best if I didn’t tell anyone that I was from the Heights, especially Weston. I trusted him, so I listened. Jake was guarded when it came to Weston and absolutely would not entertain any questions from me about it, so I proceeded on the evidence I had at my disposal. Weston was okay to me, so I was okay to him.

  The women were a somewhat different story. Most of the women were, well--they were groupies. The guys called them, bird feeders. It was offensive, but it was also, sadly, apt. Some of the women were strong and righteous, but others really were just groupies, and I lamented that they seemed to have more self-regard than self-respect.

  There was some jealousy, too, towards the women who were not groupies but long-term girlfriends, and especially of those who'd attained the coveted position of: Birdy.

  When a Fire Bird became engaged to a woman, it was serious business. They would have a special ceremony were the woman became her man's Birdy. And a Birdy would become permanent members of the gang.

  Because I was Jake’s girlfriend, the groupies gave me room and respect, whether they liked me or not. I understood the power dynamics involved, but the ambivalent attitude of envy and respect that most of the women had towards me made me uncomfortable. I liked it much better when they weren't around. And that made me feel a little guilty. I also didn’t want to know or think about the girls who had been with Jake over the years. There are some things in a man’s past a girl doesn’t need to know.

  The gang gender dynamics were fascinating to my academic self. I was still sometimes surprised that I'd placed myself in the midst of them.

  I thought I might actually have found a real friend in Dixon's Birdy, Tiffany, who was as little like the other 'biker chicks' as I was. We had formed quite a tight bond over the past few months. Tiffany had had the same reservations as myself when she met Dixon but we both agreed that it was hard to resist the charm of a sexy biker.

  There was still not much I knew about what the Fire Birds did away from the clubhouse. Jake was reluctant to tell me anything that could draw me into the risk any more than simply being with him had already done, and I wasn't going to push him to tell me more than he was ready to tell me.

  And, honestly, I was okay with not confirming the things I suspected. When after one rough night he'd explained the 'Live for Mayhem' patch he wore on his jacket, I felt like I had a sufficiently general sense about the things that went down when the club was earning.

  That he'd killed didn't change how I felt about him or the life we were making–it didn't even surprise me–but I didn't feel the need to cement any particular image that could feed the anxiety I already felt when he was away with the Fire Birds.

  So we had settled into a rhythm. We were completely in sync when we were together, but our lives apart were–well, apart. We didn't much talk about any of it. Neither of us were all that chatty just by nature. It wasn't that we wouldn't or couldn't communicate. We'd just tacitly decided that there were some things that weren't worth talking about.

  Sometimes he came in bruised, bloody, and battered. The desperate, rough, sex happened every now and then, and I'd figured out that those times corresponded with times of intense mayhem with the Fire Birds. I tended to him the way he needed me, and I felt closer to him for it. But Jake was a gentle soul, and such nights were infrequent. Any roughness was usually just entirely recreational–and my idea. Most often, though, we were just with each other, and life seemed unusual only in the intensity of our pleasure together.

  My independent life was nothing like his, but still Jake didn't ask much about my days on campus or what else I did when I was away from him, and I'd never told him about most of the different kinds of physical training I did virtually every day. He knew I worked out a lot. He knew I practiced yoga. He hadn't expressed curiosity, so I just didn't say anything. I was sure he had an idea in his head about girly aerobics or Zumba or some such thing. That was fine with me.

  At first, I thought a lot about telling him, and then I just didn't think about it anymore. In reality, I was a brown belt in krav maga and an expert marksman with pistol, rifle and bow. I'd been the only child of a career soldier, a Green Beret. He was killed on duty. He'd put a weapon in my hand before I could ride a two-wheeler. I could hold my own pretty damn well.

  Truthfully, I liked that Jake didn't know. There was no reason to keep it a secret except that, after years of living a completely private life, it was one of the few things that was still only mine. And, anyway, he did know about the bow, because one of the surprises of my secret garden was a small archery range. He'd been suitably impressed–he'd been totally turned on by it and we'd fucked in the grass right there–but my longbow was probably not going to save me from the kinds of shit Jake imagined when he was worried about me.

  We each had our mysteries, and we each respected and appreciated the room for that. It was exciting. It worked.

  When I got back to the clubhouse that afternoon, the guys were apparently still away, and now Fry's bike was gone, too. Tiffany along with a few Birdys, lackeys and groupies were at work on decorations. The place was spotless and I wasn't sorry to have missed the scrubbing portion of the agenda. The pool table was covered and prepped to serve as a massive buffet table. The couches and easy chairs had been pulled along the walls, and a dozen or so card tables, each with four folding chairs, were arranged around the room and dressed for dinner. I was amazed by the transformation; the clubhouse was usually a pit.

  Mickey and Danny were struggling to get a huge fir straight in its stand, a Birdy was on a ladder stringing lights near the ceiling, and Tiffany was sorting ornaments. I smelled turkey; the birds were well underway. I hadn't had a Christmas like this in years. In point of fact, I'd never had a Christmas quite like this.

  Tiffany saw me first. "Hi, Dakota. Can you give me a hand here, baby?"

  I put my messenger bag and my gym bag behind the bar and took off the fitted leather jacket Jake bought me. "Sure, Tiff." I grabbed the wad of lights she handed me and began untangling it and feeding the strand up to her. "You guys have made a lot of progress. Everything is looking great."

  Mickey and Danny eventually got the tree straight and stable, and the lights got strung around the room and around the tree. The women took turns checking on the kitchen goings-on while we trimmed the tree. At some point, someone had put Christmas carols on the stereo and everyone was singing. Everything looked, and everyone felt, festive and downright Christmasy. I marveled.

  People were beginning to trickle in, including the Fire Birds. The guys got to work on getting the storage boxes out of sight. A few of us were in the kitchen, and three cooks were really too much for that space, so I took the opportunity, grabbed my stuff from the bar, and went back to the apartment where Jake had been living as long as I'd known him.

  It was a dump, though I thought he'd been maki
ng a little bit of effort at least to have clean sheets since I'd spent a few nights there. Today, the bed was even made. It was still a dump. But it was private, and I needed to change. I wanted a magical first Christmas together, and I planned to have Jake seriously bewitched.

  I knew exactly how to get him riled up. I unpacked my bag and started to change. Black leather ankle-strap pumps. Black seamed stockings. Black garter belt and thong. Black leather mini-skirt, but not so short it showed the garters–that was for Jake, later–but short enough to show leg. Garnet-red fitted knit top–snug long sleeves, jewel neckline in front, basically backless, so no bra.

  I brushed out my hair and pulled it into a high ponytail, wrapping a lock of hair around the band and pulling the ponytail over my shoulder. I rarely wore much jewelry, but tonight I put my mother's diamond studs in my ears, put a little makeup on my face and glued on some eyelashes. Top to bottom, this was a look Jake had never seen on me. I hadn't seen something like it on myself in years. Thinking about using it with Jake later tonight was making me a little wet. It was working.

  As I was walking down the hall to the main room, I heard laughter and general merriment. I walked through the doorway and saw Dixon hugging Tiffany. Jake was... over at the bar, having a drink with Fry, Lenny and few other guys. As I walked up, he saw me and smiled his usual, relieved-and-happy smile, but it froze after a second.

  I could almost hear his brain whirr as he processed my new look. Eying my legs. Check. Noting the lack of bra. Check. Realizing how the neckline of my top just grazed my collarbone. Check. I walked up close, facing him, and kissed his cheek. "Hey you. I missed you," I whispered in his ear.

  "Christ, Dakota. You look amazing."

  "Thanks. Merry Christmas, Bad Boy."

  He smiled. "Merry Christmas, Beauty." Then, as he was lifting his glass for a swallow, he looked past me with a strangely aggressive expression. I turned and finally noticed that the rest of the guys at the bar were gaping at me like a pack of dumb dogs. And then I heard Jake choking on tequila. He was seeing my bare back–the bare back I'd inadvertently first presented to the guys. It was more or less the result I'd been going for, though it wasn't the scenario I'd planned. I turned back to Jake, smiling sheepishly.