by Jaci J
“Panties off and I’ll show ya.” Now to get to work.
***
Propping myself against the wall, I lean back against the cold plaster, catching my breath. I tried to wear El out, but I think it was the other way around.
I watch her crawl away from me and get out of bed. I have no fucking clue where she thinks she’s going, but I watch, intrigued.
Standing at the foot, butt ass naked, she bends over. Her round ass is perfect, and right in my goddamn face. My cock swells, hungry for her again. She’s gonna kill me.
Grabbing the pair of gray short thingies that barely cover her fat ass, she slides them slowly up her legs and over her ass. Standing there with her tits out, she searches for that ugly sports bra deal, and I happily watch, knowing she ain’t gonna find it. I stuffed that dumb-ass thing between the mattress and box springs.
She makes a sloppy knot with her hair on top of her head, and catches me watching her.
Pure fucking beauty.
Ellison is a masterpiece. Even the imperfections are perfect in my eyes. Jesus, this pedestal I put her on is mighty fucking high.
I want a real woman with real curves, real ass and tits, and a real face. That’s a real woman. What I go to bed with is what I want to wake up to. Nothing wrong with that fake shit, it’s just not my flavor. My flavor is all Ellison.
She’s every-fucking-thing, and it’s scary.
I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I give her her space, I sleep around, yet the thought of her getting nasty with some other motherfucker makes me violent. No one deserves her. Not five minutes ago, she was reverse cowgirl, straddling my waist while she played with her cunt for me, and there’s a good possibility she does this shit with someone else. I hate the idea.
I fucking hate it.
I’d fuck her and only her, every day for the rest of my life and die a happy man if she’d let me. But that’s just not how this shit works. This is all we’ll ever be. I might hate it, but I’m not good enough for her. Someday she’ll find her Prince fuckin’ Charming, and she’ll see me for what I am. When that happens, I figure it’ll be for the best, and I’ll be stuck figuring out how to live without her.
“Rocky? You all right over there?” Ellison’s standing at the end of the bed with her shoes in her hand. If she thinks she’s leaving, she’s fucking high. She’s mine tonight, and I’ll be goddamned if I let her go.
“Babe, where the fuck you think you’re goin’?” I grab her hand up in mine. “You’re not leavin’.” Not tonight. Pulling on her, I tug her ass back into bed and right into me. “Tonight, you’re mine.”
Ellison
A scar runs right across Rocky’s back. It’s ten inches long, raised and jagged. I remember the night it happened like it was yesterday. A sucker punch from his drunk of a dad put him through their front room window. Rocky showed up at my house drunk, bleeding, and pissed. There was no relationship between Rock and his dad, but that night cemented an already doomed fate.
There’s a scar on his upper lip, a story he still won’t share. His knuckles and hands have been beat into a mess over the years.
Each inch of skin tells a story.
Sleep is something I just can’t find tonight. Stuck in my head, I’ve tossed and turned until I gave up.
Sitting up, I watch him sleep soundly. He looks peaceful, something he never seems to be. On his stomach next to me, his hands are tucked under his head, and he’s turned away from me. Twenty years and this is a first for me. I’ve never had the perverted pleasure of checking him out without quick glances or stolen looks. Sure I’ve seen him naked, but never have I been able to appreciate it fully and privately.
Rocky is all man. A body built from hard work and rough living. He doesn’t spend hours in the gym, and he doesn’t follow any bullshit fads. He’s built on something real—a rough life—something we share.
Each one of his tattoos tells a story. Some I know, because I lived them right along with him. Each scar, every tall tale, and shared memory are ours.
Carefully scooting towards the end of the bed, Rock jerks, his shoulders tense and his back stiff. I’ve been caught.
“You goin’ somewhere?” he grumbles, his voice rough from sleep. My internal debate lasts a solid second before I decide it’s not worth the risk.
“Nope.”
Crawling back under the covers, I do something I’ve never done. I roll over and cuddle up to him. Throwing an arm around me, he pulls me in close, my face in his chest and my leg resting between his.
Content, I let him keep me close, right where he likes me.
***
Rock takes me to lunch once we finally roll out of bed. On the back of his bike, in the cold morning air, he flies down the highway, headed for our place. Burying my face in his back, I breathe him in.
The snowy bitterness of the mountains gives way to the cool saltiness of the ocean the closer we get to the coast. A touch of nostalgia tugs at my heart at seeing the familiar surroundings as we burn up the pavement.
It’s a little diner on the 101, thirty minutes outside of town, at the edge of the state where land meets ocean. Rock pulls in, swinging around the side to park. It’s an old place, but it’s well taken care.
Hopping off the back of the bike, he throws an arm over my shoulder and asks, “You hungry?” The weight of his arm over my shoulders is solid and heavy, but comforting.
“Starving.”
A few checkered booths line a wall of windows that look out to the rolling blue waves of the Pacific, and a couple tables sit between them and the small bar top. It’s a hidden gem of a spot in the middle of nowhere, and it’s our place.
We sit in our seat in a corner, looking out on the ocean. Rock slides in and reclines. Sliding into my own seat across from him, I smile, thinking of the first time he brought me here.
Following Rock in, all six-foot-two inches of him, I putter, feeling like fucking shit. The rough ride here did not help my twirling stomach. Why did I drink so damn much? Hiding in his shadow from the blaring morning sun, I walk close behind him, watching his body move stealthily through the lot while I clomp along after him.
Tugging on the sleeve of my sweatshirt, I wonder where it came from. Did Sammy give it to me? And why am I wearing Lizzy’s shoes? What the hell did we do last night?
Groaning, I push my aviators even higher up my nose, helping to shield the devilish sun and the morning after shame.
Throwing open the diner’s door, he holds a hand out in a, “Hurry your ass up” gesture. “Come on, drunky.” I have no comeback. The idea of coming up with one witty enough to say hurts my drunken brain.
Rock picked me up from a night of drinking—hard drinking. It’s the summer before my senior year, and we decided to let loose before it was time to get back to the grind. The night started out fun, but ended with me hiding outside in some bushes, calling Rock for a ride. Of course he came without question.
“Thank you for coming to get me,” I mutter at his back as I follow him inside.
“Yeah,” he grunts, blowing my thank you off. Not unusual. Rock is stoic, hard and unwavering.
“No, really. You’re always there.” I’ve come to count on Rock. He’s the only stable person in my life, and that’s saying something for a man in an MC.
“I’ll always be around, El.” I’m counting on it.
“Promise?” I tease, sliding onto the bench seat next to him. I tease, but really, I’m dead serious. The idea that someday Rocky might not be here is the one thing that scares me most in the world.
“Promise, babe. But El…” he stops and looks at me with his eyebrows drawn up in what looks like annoyance.
“Yeah?” I frown, confused as to why he’s giving me the stink eye. Do I smell that boozy? Oh God, did I throw up on my jeans and forget?
“Can’t sit next me, babe.” Oh. Well, that does nothing for my fragile teenage heart. Sometimes I wonder if he hears the things that come out of his mouth.
�
��Okay,” I grumble as I crawl out of the seat like a kicked puppy. I love Rocky, but sometimes he’s such a dick. So sweet, and so fucking mean.
Plopping down on the bench across from him, I throw my arms over my chest and pout. I’m too hungover to care how immature I look. Rock chuckles to himself when he sees me secure my glasses again. He thinks it’s my hangover, but I’m hiding my hurt behind the dark tint.
“That’s better.”
“How so?” I huff, fiddling with the sweatshirt. Picking at the strings, I don’t look at him. I should have called my brother. Doubtful he would have come to get me, but walking would have been better than this.
“Now I can look at ya, watch your pretty face.”
Oh.
Now I feel like the dick with a hangover and an attitude. Real cute.
I love Rocky mean, bad mouthed, black souled and all.
“Afternoon,” the waitress smiles as she walks up, red lipstick smudged on her front tooth. She’s wearing a replica fifties dinner dress, and a beehive to rival all beehives on her head. “Our specials are…” she starts to say brightly while handing us our menus, but Rock waves her off.
“We know what we want.” She gives him a puzzled look, but nods. “Go ahead then.”
“I’ll take the double double with fries and a beer, and she wants a single with onion rings and a strawberry shake.” Rock doesn’t ask me. He doesn’t even look at me when he orders for the both of us, but the waitress seems satisfied, and turns to leave.
“Excuse me. Can I have fries instead of onion rings?” I ask her while I look directly at Rock, who’s now looking back at me, head cocked and eyes dancing.
“She’ll have the onion rings,” Rock informs her.
“The fuck I will. I want fries.”
“She will have onion rings,” he says with finality. She’s been dismissed, but she’s too confused to hear it in Rocky’s voice, since she remains standing at the table, probably wondering what the hell she should do.
“Rock.”
“Babe,” he growls, leaning into the table. “Eat what I fuckin’ order you and be happy, or I’ll force you to.”
“Force me to?” I roll my eyes skyward. “You’re insanely pushy, but force isn’t your thing…” I start to say, until I realize the error in my words, “…with me,” I clarify. I’m sure he forces other people to do all kinds of shit they don’t want to do. “I’m getting’ the damn fries.” I’m shutting this shit down.
“Fine. Give her whatever the fuck she wants.”
The poor lady is still standing at the table, clutching the menus to her chest and staring at me in horror.
“Fries, please.” She nods and runs off as fast as her feet can carry her.
Rock’s head turns to the waves through the window, his eyes focused and serious. His hair has been cut short recently, but he hasn’t given his beard much thought. It’s longer and sloppier than usual. He looks so pensive with the light stress lines around his hard eyes.
“Why do you always do that?” I ask him softly. His head turns slowly at the sound of my voice, and he stares intently at me. After a moment passes, he licks his lips and narrows his eyes. “Because I know you, and I know what you want.”
“Not always,” I counter, but even to my own ears, it sounds like a weak lie. He does know me, even better than I know myself. It’s scary.
“Always, El.”
Six
Onion Rings & French Fries
Rock
“These are gross,” El mutters before she throws the fry back into the basket. She’s pouting. I’m not gonna lie, there’s some deep satisfaction in hearing those words out of her mouth. I fucking told her.
Why she thinks I don’t know her baffles the shit out of me. I don’t just pretend to know the woman, because I fucking know her. Sure I don’t know every little thought that’s in that pretty little head of hers, because let’s face it, she’s a woman, and I’ll never figure them out. But I think I know everything important there is to know.
The waitress has been avoiding our table. I’d usually say it was because of the cut, but I’m guessing it was the bitch fit El pitched while the lady stood there like a deer in headlights. She’s either scared or uncomfortable with us. Hell, it’s probably both, but I wave her down anyway, not giving a fuck.
“An order of onion rings.” She nods and heads towards the kitchen without so much as a look back.
El annihilated her burger and sucked back her shake. I won’t gloat, but she should listen to me more often.
“Come on, eat ‘em.” I shove the basket of cold fries in front of her. I can’t fucking help myself.
“No,” she snaps, hurling a fry at me.
“Put it in your mouth, babe. You know ya want to.” I can’t say it without laughing. She hates me sometimes.
“You’re dumb.” She crosses her arms when she catches me smiling at her crazy ass. This happens sometimes. She gets a wild hair up her ass and changes shit up, only to be sorely upset afterwards. El’s a habitual kinda girl, and we’re both birds of a feather. That’s why we’re still doing this shit, fucking each other’s brains out, while being the best of friends, acting like a damn couple, but with none of the other benefits.
“My little pain in the ass.” She’ll fight me on anything, even over some fucking French fries we both know she hates.
“My giant asshole,” she counters. Her face says sweet, but her voice screams a big ‘fuck you’. I’m laughing even harder now. Jesus, this girl.
The waitress brings her onion rings over and I slide them over towards her, careful to keep my hand away from her for fear she might stab me with her fork. “Now eat your damn onions so we can go, baby.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Once she empty’s the basket, she looks at me funny.
“What’s up?”
She takes a deep breath and dives in. “Who do you think broke into my apartment?” I wasn’t expecting that, but I should’ve been. I knew she’d be asking, ‘cause she never lets shit go.
I could lie to her, tell her something to make her happy and ease her mind. But that shit wouldn’t do her a damn bit of good. She deserves to know what the hell is going on around her.
“Your brother and his club.” I don’t have evidence, but I’ve got a gut feeling.
Her eyebrows damn near shoot off her forehead. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Why?” That’s a damn good question. Possibly looking for information about me? Money? I doubt we’ll ever know, and it really doesn’t matter. They’ve fucked with the wrong girl.
“Because he’s got a fuckin’ death wish.”
“Jesus, that’s crazy. So, can I ever go back home?”
“You can do whatever you want, but just know I’ll be with you when you do it.”
“Oh.” She shakes her head and opens her mouth, ready to make her case, a case I’m not interested in hearing. Ellison can do whatever she wants to, but I’ll be right there with her when she does it. End of story.
“Enough of the heavy shit, baby doll. Let’s roll. I wanna ride.”
We can deal with the bullshit later, but right now, I wanna spend time with El, for as long as she’ll let me have her.
***
I pay the bill and head outside to find El standing at the edge of the little gravel exit, looking down at the water below. Her arms are braced on the old rickety fence, bent over to stare at the waves with a look of awe on her beautiful face. Watching her stand there, her wild hair blowing in the wind, I remember being here with her years ago.
Fuck, it feels like a lifetime.
I remember thinking bad fucking thoughts about her then. Not that I hadn’t before, but it was getting worse. She would finally be turning eighteen in six motherfucking months. It made me feel a little less wrong for thinking about her bent over my bike with her jeans around her ankles, than I did thinking about it a year before. The older she got, the more beautiful she grew, and the more my res
olve went up in smoke.
I wanted to fuck her so bad it hurt. It was physically painful to be around her. I held out, but not for very long.
She looked like hell that morning, but when doesn’t she? She’s a beautiful mess of dysfunction and crazy. I’m sure I’m the only one that sees the mess inside that girl. To everyone else, she’s a blonde-haired, beautiful gray-eyed girl, who’s full of sass. She’s so much more than that to me.
I remember that morning so fucking vividly. Ready to head back into to town, El crawled on behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist. She told me she was ready. Drunk and loose-lipped, she told me exactly what I’d already knew, that she wanted something more from me than friendship. Ellison was ready to throw her life away at seventeen to a piece of shit. At the time, I wasn’t interested in anything more than a quick fuck and my cut. An old lady was the last thing I’d wanted. I wanted her, just not how she was offering it.
I got my quick fuck from her a few weeks later, but she didn’t get a goddamn thing from me. I still regret that shit.
Years later, I realized I made a mistake in turning her down. I knew it when I watched her grow into her own, living her life and doing her thing, and I wasn’t the axis in which she fucking revolved around anymore. I blew it. The more time that passed, the more scared she got. Her mom’s dysfunctional relationships, along with me taking from her and not giving back when she was ready for one created a weary girl, which created a woman who became terrified of anything resembling a commitment, and I’m so much to blame for that. She had wanted to be with me, and I fucked it all up.
Yeah, I blew it big time all those years ago.
Now regret has turned into routine. I’m scared shitless to push the issue, because I know it’ll send her running, so I have no other choice than to be content to leave shit the way it is, even if I hate living like this with her. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right?
I’ll learn to live with her the way I’ve got her.
Now I’m nothing more to her than the backbone she’s yet to grow herself. Sometimes, like today, that knight in shining armor role she forces on me makes me mad as fuck. I’m not what she wants me to be, yet I’m always saving her ass, always there whenever she comes calling, and what do I get? A quick fuck? A few minutes of her time? But then I remember it’s exactly what I wanted from her, and she gave me that. She wanted all of me, but she took what I gave her and never complained.
