Throttle

by Sassie Lewis

  Throttle

  By Sassie Lewis

  Copyright 2014 Sassie Lewis.

  As an Australian author, all right are reserved under the 1968 Australian Copyright Act. No part of this work may be used without permission from the Copyright owner. This is without limitation. No part of this work can be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system. (Photocopied, printed, recorded or put into and electronic system or otherwise) without written permission from both the above copyright owner and publisher of this book.

  WARNING…

  This book contains mature age content and is intended for persons 18+. One uber alpha male, who takes what he wants with no regrets for the consequences. And one sassy goddess who has him licking every one of her delicious curves. Sex in the kitchen, the car; hell there’s sex and lots of it. All places, characters and events in this book are a figment of the authors’ imagination.

  Sassie Lewis

  Queensland Australia

  https://www.facebook.com/pages/Sassie-Lewis/1701542196738044?ref

  Acknowledgment

  I’m not going to prattle on. Ok yeah I am, but there are a lot of people to thank. I would like to say a big thanks to my gang at B.R.E.W, you guys rock the house with your constant support for me and each other.

  Maci Dillon, you are the best. I would still be looking at my computer going How the hell do I do this? if it wasn’t for you. You are just…I can’t come up with something big enough. But please know that you are appreciated.

  Imogene Nix, thanks for letting me ring you when I have no idea what I’m doing, you are one awesome woman. Ann Grech, babe you kill it with your feedback and never-ending support.

  My sprint team; yeah some days we sprint and others we just talk the shit. But you are all there to help with a stuck line, or simply to encourage me to get the words down.

  Willsin Rowe, no words could really tell you how thankful I am at having met you. You are not only a talented writer and cover artist (Thanks for the cover by the way), but have become one of my go-to people. Whether it’s for writing or just life issues, you are always there to give advice and calm a crazy woman down.

  Susan Child, you, my lovely, have the heart of a saint and a sense of humor to make me laugh when I need it most. Thanks for just being you.

  To my family: Dad, without you I would have never started writing. Mum you are one of the best mums a girl could ask for. To my hubby and kids, sorry for having my head stuck in the computer all the time. And thanks for not sending me to the nut house when I’m talking to myself. Love you.

  One last thank-you, to the team at Hot Tree editing, your comments filled me with the hope that this will be an awesome book.

  Ok I think I covered everyone… Nope, I forgot the most important person, YOU! Thanks for buying my book, and I hope you love the characters as much as I do.

  Cheers.

  Chapter 1

  I’d made a few mistakes in my life. Not going to school and running away from home. Being arrested for drug possession at fourteen, and screwing every girl who crossed my path. All things I regretted. I may have been only seventeen when he came into my life, but one thing I could never regret was having my son. I felt a pain move across my chest for the shit I’d put my parents through. Looking to my right, I watched my mother silently weep as Tyson walked across the stage. She may never have seen me graduate from school, but at least she got to see her grandson do it.

  Proud didn’t describe what I was feeling. My boy had done something with his life. Poor kid has a reformed fuck-up as a father; Christ, I was still trying to get my shit together. But he’d done it, slugged away the hours and graduated from college. He might not be a doctor or anything fancy, but that shit didn’t matter. He’d wanted to go to college to get his business degree, and he had.

  I’d been working my ass off to help pay his tuition. I might not have gotten a diploma, but I was good with my hands. I started working on bikes from the moment I’d gotten my first tricycle. By the time I was ten, I was helping one of our neighbors build an engine for a sweet Mustang he was doing up. But bikes are my passion.

  With a little help from Mom and Dad, I’d opened my own bike shop. Why they’d never given up on me was a mystery. Mom had me later in life, but that was no excuse for the things I’d done or why they forgave me time and time again. Mom was just one of those people; she never cussed or got angry. There’s always light at the end of the tunnel, Cynfor. You just need to look past all the darkness. I’d heard that saying more times than I could count, often after one of my fuck-ups.

  When I’d mentioned I wanted to open a shop, Dad came home the next day and handed me a large wad of money and the lease agreement to a vacant shop in town. See? Good people.

  The first five years after opening Throttle had been a struggle; I’d almost thrown in the towel. Like all new business owners I’d made a few bad decisions, but hiring an ex-con wanted for drug trafficking was probably the biggest. The assholes at the Bureau closed me down for a month, while searching for God only knew what. I ran a clean shop, but trying to convince the public of that after having your shop closed by the Feds wasn’t as easy to overcome as you’d think. Believe it or not, it was the local biker gang which helped me out of that one, spreading the word about the wicked bikes I’d built for a few of them. After that rough period, I earned a reputation for my custom-built bikes, and even a few cars. The business was at a point where you had to wait at least a year to get one of my babies. But at that moment, none of that crap mattered.

  As some guy in a prissy black gown and cap with a little gold thing hanging off it handed my boy his diploma, I couldn’t help myself. I put my fingers in my mouth and whistled. Yeah, we weren’t meant to clap until the end, but fuck’ em. As far as I was concerned, no one else mattered. My dad clapped me on the back in approval.

  I knew they were both as proud as me. It had only been when Tyson was ten that we’d moved into our own place, and out of my mom and dad’s. Tyson’s mother had dumped him on my parents’ doorstep when he was only a week old. If I hadn’t recognized her as some chick I’d screwed earlier in the year, I would have put up a fight, but as Tyson grew older, there was no denying the boy was mine. It was his eyes. It was like I’d pulled mine out and shoved them in his head. That and our black hair color are the only similarities we shared.

  Sitting back down, I zoned out as the rest of the graduates received their diplomas. I needed a smoke in the worst way. I’d been trying to quit for the past year, but shit, it was hard. I’d managed to cut down, but giving them up entirely just wasn’t working for me. I’d gone a whole two days without one, only to go into my office and find a fresh pack sitting on my desk. Underneath was a grease-covered note with one word written on it: Please. Guess the boys had enough of my temper.

  Pulling a stick of gum from my vest pocket, I started to chew. Most of the other attendees were wearing suits and fancy dresses, but I didn’t do suits so I sat amongst the crowd of well-dressed parents and family in my leathers. Hey, I had polished my boots, so as far as I was concerned, I’d dressed up.

  Closing my eyes, I let images of Tyson growing up fill my head. I would’ve liked to have given him a little brother or sister, but no one I’d met was ever good enough for my boy. Yeah, I didn’t really care about me—as long as I had a wet pussy, I was grand, but my boy… my boy deserved a mother who would treat him right, and none of the chicks I’d ever met were anything more than a good time.

  I’d made sure to wrap it tight after Ty had been dropped off at our front door. Fuck if I could even remember his mother’s name; the stupid bitch didn’t even put her name on his birth certificate. Hadn’t that been a fucking mess. There’d been no records of his delivery at any of the local hospitals. My mom fille
d out a crap-load of paperwork for us to be able to keep him.

  At seventeen, being a father was the last thing on my mind; at the time, I didn’t know if I wanted Child Services to take him away or not. Looking back now, he was the best thing to ever happen to me. My parents helped me out as much as they could, but they also made me do the hard yards myself. Within a month of him showing up, I’d changed; girls were few and far between. I knew how to change a shitty diaper and bathe someone apart from myself. I knew how it felt to race to the emergency room in the middle of the night ’cause your kid is running a fever of one-oh-two. Getting my high school diploma while bouncing around a colicky baby was something I had never envisioned doing, but I did.

  For the next hour, I sat there remembering all the little things, like his first day at school. Me, a large man covered in tattoos, standing outside the school for the whole day. I had to explain to two coppers what I was doing there, but I didn’t want to leave him; he might’ve needed me to beat the shit out of some snot-nose who picked on him. The next day when I pulled up in front of the school, Ty’d gotten off the bike as quick as possible, handed me his helmet and told me I needed to go to work. If I stayed again, all his friends would start making fun of him.

  Snorting at the memory, I looked around to see if anyone was paying any attention to me but for the most part, they all looked as bored as I was. Then one would sit forward and excitement would light their eyes as their child graduated.

  I had to stop thinking of him that way. Ty wasn’t a kid anymore; he was a man. He’d be moving out of our home the next week. He hadn’t wanted to move out while going to college, said it was too much pressure having to pay rent. I‘d offered to pay, thinking he might want his own space, but he was happy to hang with me when he had free time, watching a game or just coming into work with me. He knew nothing about bikes or any type of mechanics, so instead of helping me with those, he’d work on the books.

  When the Dean announced the year’s graduating class, every one of us eager parents stood and cheered. My whistles rang loudly through the auditorium.

  Making my way outside, I lit a cigarette and waited for my boy to catch up with us.

  “I don’t think you’re allowed to smoke here, dear.”

  “It’s all good, Mom.”

  “Cynfor, will you ever change? Stop pushing those social boundaries the rest of us live by? Sometimes I wonder how you raised such a good boy.”

  She said it with kindness; she knew I’d do anything for my kid. I might’ve been a more respectable citizen these days, but I still lived by my own rules. I had no idea how my parents ended up with me. They were both good people and becoming a parent myself showed me how good I actually had it. I couldn’t explain why I am the way I am; shit just happens sometimes. I could blame the wrong crowd of people, but that wasn’t it. I was a leader, not a follower, so it was all on me. I could’ve changed. I just didn’t want to.

  I could see Tyson making his way to us, alongside a pretty girl with her arm looped through his. They looked to be deep in conversation.

  It wasn’t the first time I’d seen him with a woman—he was twenty-one, after all. I’d sat him down at thirteen and had the talk with him. I figured seeing as how I’d popped my cherry at that age, it was best to do it sooner rather than later. At the time, he’d made gagging noises at me, but I didn’t care. I handed him a box of condoms and told him where I kept my stash. I checked his bedroom drawer every year and changed out the unopened box with a fresh one. It was a little before his eighteenth birthday when I stopped changing the box, and he looked after it himself. Ty was a late bloomer compared to some.

  So the fact he had a pretty girl on his arm was not something I hadn’t seen before. The gob-smacked look I was more than likely sporting was for the type of woman he had his arm around.

  Like most men, my son has a type: willowy-blonde. Ya know, the ones who have their bones sticking out, and if you dressed them just right could pass as a dude. The little thing walking beside Ty might be a blonde, but she was far from willowy. She was definitely all-woman. Even covered in the ugly-ass green robe, I could make out the outline of her curved hips and large breasts. Closing my eyes, I swallowed the saliva which filled my mouth and willed my cock down. Getting a hard-on for my son’s girl was not cool. Not only that, the chick would have to be around his age.

  “Hey, guys, this is Georgia. Hope you don’t mind I invited her to have dinner with us.”

  “Are you sure, Tyson? I don’t want to interrupt your family time.”

  Her voice was sweet as honey, which was also the color of her eyes; they weren’t brown but a golden color. I couldn’t help but answer; I wanted her to keep looking at me. “It’s all cool, darlin’. We’re headed over to Mama Rosita’s. You ever eaten there?”

  “Umm, no, sir.”

  I couldn’t help laughing at that. I sure as shit was no gentleman; weren’t things like sir reserved for them? “Call me Sin, darlin’.”

  Sticking my hand out, I waited ‘til she took it into her small one. At the first touch, my dick stood straight back up as a bolt of electricity ran up my arm. She’d felt it, too; her eyes had gone as big as saucers. I had the urge to pull her outta Tyson’s arms and into mine. What the fuck! She can’t be more than twenty. Instead, I snatched my hand back and took a step away. Lighting another smoke, needing it to calm my raging body, I watched her little pixie nose wrinkle in what I assumed was disgust for my habit.

  “Thank you, sir…umm, Sin. It’s very kind of you to let me come. Tyson, I just need to hand my gown in. I only rented mine.” She smiled up at Ty, showcasing her perfectly straight, white teeth.

  “Not a problem. Have you got a car here or do you need a lift?” Again, I’d jumped in before my son could open his mouth. I bit my lip to stop from opening it once more.

  “Umm, no. My car broke down last week, so it’s going to be public transport for a while.” She said all this while looking at the ground, like we’d judge her because her car had broken down. Christ, if she knew anything about me, she’d know there was nothing to be ashamed over.

  “Dad could have a look at it for you. He’s a mechanic.”

  “Thanks, Ty…. umm, do you think he’d let me pay it off?”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “Oh, is he coming to dinner with us?” She looked around like she was searching for something. It was then I realized she must have thought I was someone else. People who didn’t know us often thought I was Ty’s older brother.

  “Shit! Sorry, Georgia; Sin is my dad.” Tyson waved his hand in my direction, and I choked on the puff of smoke I’d just drawn as those eyes flashed toward me. God, she was fucking gorgeous. I nodded at her, unable to say anything while I was still trying to clear the smoke from my pipes. I didn’t think her eyes could get any bigger than they’d been when we’d shaken hands, but I was wrong.

  “Oh!”

  “How about you go hand in your gown, and you can grab a lift with my parents. I brought the bike, Ty, so I’ll meet ya there?” I pulled him into me, patting him on the back. “Proud of you, ya know?”

  “Yeah, Dad, I know. See you in a bit.”

  I watched as Tyson walked her in the direction of a table where others who’d rented their gowns were handing them in. When it was her turn, she slipped it from her shoulders, and underneath, she didn’t look like someone who’d just graduated. Every other person around us was wearing some type of formal clothing. Some of the girls had dresses on which barely covered their asses, but Georgia was wearing a skirt which touched her knees, like something my mom would wear. It didn’t look new; the pattern was faded, like it’d been washed a million times. My eyes zeroed in on her rounded ass. The flowing skirt did nothing to hide the fact that she had a nice ass, which had my imagination running wild with images of her bent over my desk as I took her hard and fast. Shit!

  “I’m out; see you there. Dad, the booking’s for six so ya still have some time. Why don’t you
swing past the shop and show Tyson’s friend where it is.”

  “Sweetie, are you going to put a suit on before you go?”

  I kissed my mother on the head. I loved the woman, but she knew I’d never wear a suit. Didn’t stop her from asking, though.

  Chapter 2

  I cruised around on my 1954 Harley-Davidson Hydra Glide. She was one of the first bikes I’d rebuilt. Black with candy-apple red accents, I’d stretched out the front wheel and handlebars, added a little more fullness to her body. I made the apprentice at the shop polish her chrome every week whether she’d been ridden or not. She was a sweet ride, and I didn’t get to take her out as much as I would’ve liked.

  I owned three bikes, but Candy - as I called her - was the only woman in my life I’d ever gone back to. She was like your favorite song; you only put it on every now and then, which made you appreciate it more because of its absence. If you listened to it too often, you ran the risk of getting sick of it. But I would never get sick of Candy; I just didn’t get the chance to ride her. She was meant to be ridden long and hard; she wasn’t a wham-bam type of girl. Today was different, though. Because it was a special occasion, I pulled out my special lady.

  It felt like forever since I’d taken her out, which was why I’d ridden instead of jumping in the truck with the rest of the family. I had taken the day off to be at Tyson’s graduation so I was making the most of my free time with a ride. I loved the feel of her between my legs. The only thing which compared was a willing woman, but even that could be a bit of a coin flip.

  Winding around downtown, I took the long way to Mama Rosita’s. Candy’s familiar vibrations between my legs were doing nothing to kill the images of one sweet little blonde.

  I could say it was because it had been a while since I’d gotten any, but it hadn’t. The new parts delivery chick hadn’t been subtle in her advances. Fifteen minutes spent around the corner of my shop had given me a release this week, so why the fuck was some young chick my son was interested in screwing with my head?