by Zahra Girard
Where the fuck is my bike?
I cross the lot to where my bike should be.
In the empty space, there’s a giant heart carved into the loose gravel.
That bitch stole my bike.
Chapter Six
Selena
Sitting astride his bike, I wait for him in the parking lot of my motel. Stony Shores is a small place, and there’s only one real motel in town — though calling it a motel is generous; it’s more like a gussied-up truck stop. My room smells like rotted mildew and overripe bananas. But it’s all I can afford.
Hours pass, and every so often I fire up Jarrett’s bike and take a quick joyride around town, cruising the empty side roads and making sure that, if he’s out looking for me, he’ll find me.
I can be conspicuous when I want to be. And now is one of those times. I’ve got too much riding on getting, and keeping, his attention.
At one point, a cop with tired eyes flashes his lights at me and reads me a bit of a riot act about doing burnouts in the parking lot of a grocery store. I flash a smile at him, lean forward a bit, and watch his anger melt away the second he gets a peek at my cleavage.
I love having tits. They’re kryptonite for men.
But other than screwing around on Jarrett’s bike and familiarizing myself with the town, I wait.
I know it won’t be long before he turns up. He loves this bike as much as any person in his life. More than most, probably.
And then, when the moon’s halfway fallen towards the horizon, he finally shows.
Walking. Slowly, his hands clenched at his sides, one holding an almost-empty bottle, his direction crooked. It’s a poor trot for a former soldier.
He stops at the edge of the motel’s parking lot and looks at me. Even in the near-darkness, the glitter of the streetlights reflects in his eyes. The shadows cast themselves across his forearms, the dark lines highlighting his clenched muscles.
“You stole my fucking bike? Are you really that set on pissing me off?” he says.
I shrug. This isn’t the first time I’ve provoked him or heard those words from his lips.
“You didn’t really give me much choice, did you? All I wanted to do was talk, and then you put your gun in my face. What kind of reaction did you expect?”
“I’m surprised you had the balls to show up here after everything that happened in Reno. After you left me to die. Are you fucking insane?”
“About that — why do your friends think you needed that money for gambling?”
“Because that’s what I told them.”
A glimmer of doubt shines in his eyes, his fists unclench. There’s my opening.
I force my lips to hold onto my smile. I press my tits together and lean forward on his bike just a bit. Jarrett’s eyes flicker towards my cleavage and I know he’s wavering.
“Why didn’t you tell them the truth?”
“They never would’ve sent me the money if they’d known what I was really going to spend it on,” he says, breathing a sigh. “And living that lie makes it easier to forget.”
His voice pulls me closer. There’s something there — pain, doubt — that I can’t ignore. It’s a pain I instinctively want to comfort. And it’s a pain I’m going to use.
I come to him, and I wrap my hands around his.
“Jarrett, would they really? Would they have such a problem with you buying my freedom? From what you told me about your brothers, they’re good men. Like you.”
I pause, I rise up on my toes and bring my lips close to his. I smile.
His right eyebrow raises slightly, but he doesn’t move a muscle.
“You know, I never got the chance to say thank you. Maybe sometime soon, I can show you how much it meant to me?” I say.
That glimmer of doubt flares and then disappears. His voice turns hard and as comforting as a cold knife at my throat.
“You never got the chance to thank me because you just took off while I was in that hospital bed. You shouldn’t be here, Selena. Get the fuck out of my town.”
I run my fingers down his chest, hoping to kindle back to life that ember of doubt in his eyes. The sensation of him against my fingertips, the muscles under his shirt that flex at my touch, spark memories of our nights together in Reno — nights lit by the fuel of alcohol and excitement at finding a man like him, someone who lived and fucked like every day should be his last.
I move closer, put my body against his.
He even smells the same as that night we first met — an aroma of whiskey, sweat, and smoke — the night he first bent me over his motorcycle behind the bar where I worked.
The night that this whole tumultuous mess started.
“I’ve got nowhere else to go,” I say.
It hurts getting those words out.
Doubt and confusion stir in his emerald green eyes. And suspicion, too.
“Bullshit. You’ve got the whole damn world. You got out. Why are you here?”
I shake my head.
“I have to be here. You know I don’t have many friends. And I’ve got no family to speak of, except my mother and fat fucking lot of help she would be for something like this. You know what happened to my club, Jarrett. You know why I was working in the Devil’s Den: because the Devil’s Riders and the Bloody fucking Jackals wiped my brother’s club out, and the only reason the Jackals kept me alive is because they wanted to play with me. I just need somewhere safe to stay for a while until I can get on my feet. Please.”
That crack of momentary weakness I saw earlier widens to a chasm big enough for me to jump through.
His voice shifts, his baritone voice becoming lower, deep enough I could drown myself in. There’s a side to him that’s viciously protective, and, after all the pushing and prodding, I can see it starting to come out in him.
“I’ll think about it. But if we do this, you follow my rules and you stay out of my way. I’ve got enough shit going wrong in my life that I don’t need your problems added on top of it,” he says. Then, he pauses, looking at me, his head cocked to the side. “Where’s Jake?”
He tries to make it sound casual, irritated even, but he can’t cover the concern in his voice. I know he cares about my son. And he was the only one of the many — too many — men I’d brought home over the years who Jake actually cares about.
“I left him with my mom,” I say, doing my best to keep the tone of my voice steady. “I couldn’t bring him out here the way things are.”
“What the fuck did you get yourself into, Selena?”
“Nothing I can’t get myself out of. You know me. I just need a little time.”
Nodding, he heads over to his bike. Jarrett takes a pull from his bottle, emptying it and then throwing the bottle aside, and then reaches into his back pocket. There’s a flash of flame from a lighter and a puff of smoke from a lit cigarette.
The glowing ember from his cigarette casts a red reflection on his white smile and emerald eyes. Running his fingers over my handiwork, his low chuckle drifts to me on the chill night air.
“Thanks for making my bike keyless,” he says, sliding one leg over astride the bike. His jeans cling close to his ass. Unlike so many other men I’ve met in the outlaw world, he wears clothes that fit. And I appreciate it every damn time the man does something to give me the least hint about what kind of muscular butt lurks under that denim. “You coming?”
I smile back. “Let me get my things.”
This is going to be even easier than I thought.
Chapter Seven
Jarrett
I know she’s trouble; she’s always trouble. If I had any lick of sense in my skull, I’d just take my bike back and leave her to rot in whatever mess she’s found herself in. But then, where’s the fun in that?
One look at her in that parking lot, one glimpse of the way the dim light seems to highlight every one of her seductively sweet curves — the way the moonlight makes the sweat in her cleavage shimmer, the way her hazel eyes shine with starlight,
the way her smoky voice courses with sinful suggestion — and I know exactly what I’m going to do. I have no other choice. I’m just a man, after all, and Selena, for all her faults, strokes my inner desires in ways I can’t ignore.
“You coming?”
She smiles. It’s a jagged, sharp smile that struts the line between vicious and sexual. I’m taken back to the time we spent together in Reno before things went to hell. Late nights spent fucking and drinking, days spent plotting and figuring out exactly how we’d screw over the club that’d taken her, how we’d get revenge for her dead brother.
For all the chaos of those days, it was the most peaceful time of my life — it was the first time in years that I slept easy, and the first time in a long while that I’d smiled and meant it.
She’s wrong for me in every way and, even though I want her riding my cock until we both pass out, I know enough not to turn my back on her.
I’ll fuck her, but I won’t be fucked by her.
She’s always up to something and, until I figure that out, I’ll have to keep an eye on her.
“Let me get my things,” she says.
There’s a second while she’s gone — when she darts back into her shitty motel room to get her bag — that I’m alone with my thoughts. Doubt creeps in.
I know I’m starting down a road that might lead me somewhere deeply messed up.
But I’m not exactly thinking with my head right now.
The way she wraps her legs around me as she slides up on the bike, the way she rests her smooth cheek against my back, the way her hands slide around me and then run down my abs to rest just above my cock, tells me that she’s going to be just the distraction I need.
I’m still sore over Gunney’s assignment, but at least now I’ll have someone to fuck my frustrations out on. Selena can take all I’ve got and beg for more.
As long as I can keep out of her bullshit and keep what happens between us strictly to me giving her somewhere to stay and getting myself a piece of ass when I need it, I’ll be fine.
That’s all this is. That’s all it’s ever going to be.
My bike hums between my legs and I take the forest roads outside of Stony Shores. I can’t get home soon enough. Even if it’s just to set her in her place and tell her to sleep on the couch.
We scream around corners, the wind whipping at my face. I press the accelerator more than I should, just to feel Selena’s legs clamp tighter against me and her hands grip me harder. The feel of her tits against my back has my heart racing and my cock rigid in my pants.
She feels it, and when we hit the straightaway, she strokes it through my jeans. It’s been too long, and the feel of her hand on my cock is enough to make me moan.
“Slow it down, Jarrett,” she says, right into my ear over the noise of the road. “Take your time, let me draw this out, so we can savor the ride together.”
I ease up on the gas. We slow down to the speed limit.
She unzips my fly. Undoes the buttons on my jeans.
Delicate fingers wrap themselves around my cock. Teeth tease my earlobe. Hot breath hits my cheek.
“I know you hate me,” she whispers. “I think it’s only fair I make it up to you.”
She squeezes and strokes my shaft.
Ten miles to go.
I grit my teeth and squeeze the breaks. I have to focus on the road. But it’s pointless — I can hardly see straight while she’s stroking me off. I’m rock hard in her hands, my cock pulsing and precum running in rivulets down my shaft.
“Hold the fuck up,” I shout over my roaring engine.
“You sure?” she says, giving me another slow, groan-inducing stroke. “I owe you so much. Let me show you my gratitude.”
I’m in too deep to stop now.
And I aim to get much deeper before this is over.
I pull to the side of the road and I can feel the vibrations of her chuckle against the back of my neck. She gives my dick a perfect, spine-tingling squeeze and hops off the bike. Her hips jut tantalizingly out to her side as she smirks at me.
“Right here?”
“Right here.”
“Where everyone can see?”
“Where everyone can see.”
“Since I owe you, I guess I’m all yours.”
I’m right behind her.
That ass is calling out to me. Curvy. Luscious.
Fuck, the need to be inside her is eating me up.
Roadside, in plain view, I toss my helmet aside and crush my lips to hers. I force my tongue into her eager mouth. She tastes like bourbon and smells like strawberries.
“Fucking right you owe me,” I growl.
“Then take what’s yours,” she says, left hand reaching behind her to take hold of my cock. “After everything you’ve done for me, you can have anything you want.”
I see red. She says it like it’s nothing. Like she didn’t leave me with a bullet wound, sitting in a hospital bed, while she bought her freedom and took off. That’s not how you treat the man who saved your fucking life. That’s not how you treat the man — the only man — who actually gives a damn about you and your son.
It’s time to teach her a lesson.
I grab her tank top and rip it off her, tossing the tattered pieces to the dirt. Her bra follows. My shirt and jeans land next to hers on the ground.
“On your knees,” I growl.
“Whatever you say.”
She’s on the ground in an eager second. Cherry-red lips kissing my cock in supplication. Her lips, her hands, her tongue working together in the way that puts all other women to shame.
Nothing comes close to making me feel the way her mouth does. Except for that tight cunt of hers and her nice, plump ass.
“Is this what you want?” she whispers up at me, hazel eyes shining moonlight back at me. “You want me kneeling in the dirt? You want me to beg you to fill my mouth?”
Her lips run in kisses up my shaft. Her tongue twirls around the tip, stroking the underside and making me feel so good my ass clenches and my body shakes. Gentle fingertips caress my balls, coaxing them to unload. This moan — slow, low, hungry — echoes from her throat.
She wants it. Now. Every drop I’ve got.
“No, you’re not getting off that easy,” I growl.
She pulls back. Smiles at me. “Promise?”
Those curves of hers are begging for me to conquer them.
Her impudent smile and husky chuckle are begging to be turned into a wide-mouthed orgasmic scream.
I haul her to her feet. In one pull, her red-thong panties and jeans are around her ankles. With one hand on her back and the other knotted in her blonde hair, I push her forward against my bike.
Both hands bracing on my bike, she’s ready for me.
“Go ahead. Fuck me. Fuck me like you own me,” she growls at me over her shoulder.
But fuck, she looks so good.
And it’s been so long since I’ve had a taste.
I get down on my knees and kiss up the back of her thighs. My tongue darts between her legs, grazing against her labia. Heaven. Sweet, intoxicating heaven.
I go deeper.
“Fucking Christ, warn a girl, will you?” she says, knees buckling as my tongue brushes against her clit.
I laugh, shift position, getting in deep, and I suck one of the lips of her pussy between my lips. Succulent as sin, dripping wet, and the moan that bursts from her lips is the kind of ragged, animalistic gasp that makes my cock throb.
My tongue wanders, and I can’t suppress a growl. I could do this all night.
I shift a little, running my tongue along the rim of her ass. She moans and pounds her hands against the seat of my bike.
“Turn around,” I say. “I want to look up at your tits while I lick your pussy.”
I pull back and she spins to face me, bracing her back against my bike. I get back where I want to be. Between her legs, lips against her pussy, caressing her labia with my tongue and relishing the sensation of her
nails digging into my shoulders.
“You son of a bitch,” she moans. “You fucking son of a bitch, I’m going to come.”
“Of course you are — it’s what I want.”
Nails dig deeper, thighs clamp against my cheeks.
“Put your finger inside me. Two fingers,” she gasps.
I’m already ahead of her. I slip them into her wet pussy and crook them just right. They brush her exactly where she wants and she nearly screams in pleasure.
It’s sweet music to my ears.
I toy with her as she comes back down, using a quick flicker of my tongue to make her shake and spasm.
Panting, chest rising and falling with exertion and beading with sweat, she glares at me while I stand up.
“You were supposed to fuck me, not wreck me,” she says.
I laugh. “I’m not done yet. I want more.”
My cock is aching to feel the tight embrace of her pussy. I step between her legs. She glares at me, but she doesn’t fight it as I lift one of her legs up, crooking it under my arm, and I slide inside.
A shuddering breath bursts her luscious lips.
“Everything feels just… electric. God damn, slow down, I can’t take it,” she moans. Quick as a snake, she pulls me closer and bites me on the shoulder and her nails dig into my back.
I don’t slow down.
I want her to feel it.
I fuck her with every bit of anger and frustration inside me. I fuck her because I know she can take it. However fucked I am, she’s just as fucked up. We live to ruin each other.
Her body shakes with every thrust.
She screams.
Nails draw blood down my back.
“You fucking bastard,” she spits. “Is that all you got?”
She slaps me.
I pull out. I take her by her hair and whip her around until she’s bent over my bike. My cock buries itself in her until the smooth, round curves of her fat ass are pressed against my hips.
She’s tight, she’s wet, she’s my own fucked up heaven.
“Is this what you want?” she says, her voice this ragged, plaintive thing.
