by S. C. Adams
“Right now?” Kace sounds anxious.
“No—or, well, I’m not sure,” I say. “I’ve seen them in town, though. They’re really fucking stupid. They think they’re being really sneaky and covert, but their windows are barely tinted, and they do nothing but sit in their cars for hours at a time across from the clubhouse.”
“I’ve heard about the cops,” says Kace. “I have to admit, I’ve never noticed them myself. I must be drinking too much.”
“And smoking too much.”
“You must be having too much sex,” he surmises. “I don’t understand why you’re not even talking to any of the girls that have been sitting with us.”
“There’ve been girls sitting down with us?”
“It’s Noelle, isn’t it?” Kace says with a smirk. “Sabrina’s BFF.”
“Sabrina?”
“The girl I hooked up with when you were fucking Noelle,” he replies. “But that’s it, right? Have you two been fucking a lot since that one night we ran into the girls out?”
“Such language, Kace,” I say disapprovingly.
“Stop dodging my question! What’s been going on with you?”
“I’ve really been into her, man,” I concede.
“Is she really good in bed?”
“She is,” I admit. “She’s great. I’ve been hooking up with her every night for the past week—except tonight.”
“So, get some strange tonight, son!” says Kace. “You aren’t tired of her yet?”
“Not at all.” I shake my head. “Not gonna lie, I want her right now.”
“Damn, Damon.” He laughs. “What’s that term…? Sprung? You’re sprung, Damon! You’re getting addicted to one pussy.”
“Yeah, and it’s fucking awesome,” I say proudly. “I’m not interested in anyone else. I’m not thinking of any other chick. The hottest girl in this place could sit in my lap and I’ll probably still be thinking of Noelle.”
“You could have the hottest chick in your lap right now if you’d just snap out of your funk, man,” he says. “What can I do?”
“You can start looking into lawyers, because I feel like we may need them if Wright does pin the blame on us to officials.”
“Don’t be so negative, Damon. Just as the cops have a hard-on for us, they definitely have one for Wright and his group, too. They could say you and I threw gasoline all over the floor and lit it with a blowtorch. They won’t just believe whatever bullshit story they give them. We didn’t start that damn fire, and we aren’t going down for it. And we ain’t going down for anything else, either.”
“Kace, the police are going to question us sooner or later,” I say. “I’m not worried about the cops seeing anything damning on a security feed. Wright and his gang were shooting off guns, too—they’re not just going to show that off to police.”
“So, what are you worried about?”
“I’m thinking the cops want to move in on whichever group has the weakest hand at play,” I explain. “Right now, I think with the board as it stands… I think it would be an easier feat to take us down than the Hell-Snakes.”
“Hmm,” he muses. “I don’t know about that, but I do know that we’re here to party, have some fun, and forget about the drama in Miami. Am I right?”
The boys party it up all night, and the girls don’t stop coming. They hit on me all night, and Kace doesn’t heed any of my earlier proclamations about Noelle. He keeps pushing them toward me no matter how disinterested I am, and I keep brushing them off like they’re pests. Had any one of the women who were throwing themselves at me in there done so about two weeks ago, I would have had the kind of night Kace wanted for me and then some.
But Noelle has yet to leave my mind, and she is breaking records. I can tell that my inability to let loose is prohibiting Kace from having the fullest kind of extravaganza he had in mind, so I decide it’s time for me to leave.
I want to just hop on my bike and fly back to Miami. I’m sure I could reach my house before sunrise. However, I’m heavily intoxicated, and while I don’t care what happens to me, I don’t want to fuck up my bike.
I decide to crash at a hotel nearby, leaving my bike parked with all the other Rolling Wheels. I open the door to my room, throw off my pants, and collapse on the bed fully intent on passing out.
Yet, while I lie on the cool hotel sheets and feel myself sobering up, I find myself thinking about Noelle once again. I imagine things we have yet to try—things that I want to try—and I find myself growing hard instantly. I figure that sleep will kick in soon and knock me out before I can even touch myself.
Time goes on, and so does my erection. I can’t sleep, and all I want is for Noelle to suddenly appear in my hotel room. I think about texting her, begging her to come to Tampa so that we can make love intensely all night.
I grab on to my cock thinking about her naked body… her perfect naked body. How I would pay anything to have her sitting on top of me. I would feel up and down her perfect, smooth curves, ensuring that my fingers caress every inch of skin they can possibly touch.
I kiss her warm, gorgeous face, tasting her sweet lips. She actually has a flavor, and it’s one that I desire over all others. I love touching her while we kiss. She knows just where and how to touch me, as well. She’s skilled, astute, and sexy as hell.
I begin to pleasure myself, stroking my rod to the idea of Noelle’s nude body bouncing on me and giving us both an intense ride. I cup both of her breasts, and my hands naturally go to her perfect lips, where I insert my fingers…
She is too good with her mouth and her tongue. If she wasn’t so fucking good at it, I wouldn’t insist on putting things down her throat. She always takes it like a good girl. I want to feel her lips on my dick, maybe only seconds after she wraps her nice breasts around them.
I am beyond turned-on. It takes little time and limited imagination, but the result is rewarding. I shoot a massive load thinking about her perfect face getting sprayed viciously. I’ve never done that to her before, and I’m reluctant to try or even bring up the idea. It’s nice to imagine, though…
Oddly enough, I feel myself growing harder again… I’m still throbbing, coated with cum, but I can’t stop thinking about Noelle and her dripping, aching pussy. I want it to be so close I can smell it. If I was lucky enough, she would allow me to taste it…
Since I’m still turned-on, I go back to stroking my cock with purpose. I masturbate furiously, using my sperm as a lubricant to give myself a smooth jerk. What I wouldn’t give to be using Noelle’s sweet juices for my lubricant instead.
If she were here right now, I would bend her over this bed, grab her hair, and fuck her from behind until she fell on the floor or on the bed. I would take her in the shower, letting the water run down our bodies as we become more acquainted with each other’s carnal landscapes. I would dominate her in every way, in every hole…
Alas, these are just fantasies. In the end, it’s still just me, my thoughts, and some stained sheets. She drains me without even having to be with me.
13
Noelle
During my brief break, I’d hoped that my three-day weekend would somehow morph into a four-day weekend or longer. Ever since I discovered I was pregnant, I’ve been feeling worse and worse. Each day would bring morning sickness and a lingering migraine, followed by queasiness and nausea for the entire rest of the day. Sadly, I did not get a reprieve, and today I’m meant to return to work.
When I wake up, I try to convince myself it’s still Monday and that I have another day off. But since it’s actually Tuesday, I get on with it. I move slowly and steadily so that I don’t tempt my stomach to turn on me. It occurs to me that I’ll probably be late—my call time is 10:30—but I don’t give a damn. I don’t care when I get to work, only that I get there at all.
I surprise myself and make it to the photo shoot on time. However, I embarrass myself when I actually start working.
During the shoot, whenever I’m wearing cert
ain swimsuits, I feel like shit. I feel and look bloated, which in turn makes me lose significant confidence, which makes me look sad and pathetic. Our coordinator and photographers notice the lack of pop, but none of the other girls seem to see it (or care).
Whenever the coordinator or director talks to me, my only focus is on trying not to succumb to the sick. I’m aware that the shoot is slowing down because of me, but things would only get much worse if they went any faster. I’m vague, but they know something’s not right.
The only person at the shoot who knows what’s going on with me is Sabrina. When I finally get some off time, she’s there waiting for me with a towel and a cold bottle of water.
“Thank you, babe,” I say weakly. “You’re really the best.”
“No problem,” Sabrina says. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“Do I?” I chuckle as I down the bottle of water.
“Yes, and I’m worried about you,” she says. “You need to relax.”
“I’m being as relaxed as I possibly can,” I assure her. “If I go any slower, I won’t be moving at all.”
“Let’s go over to craft services. I’m starving.”
While Sabrina piles a plate with fruits and chocolates over at the craft services table, I take the opportunity to sit down. My forehead is perspiring, sweat now covering my hand as I wipe it away. I mop up all the sweat on my body with the towel, unaware of just how gross I looked. I must have been glistening with sweat brightly enough that it could be seen from yards away.
“Are you getting some food?” Sabrina asks.
“I want to eat, but I know if I tempt it, I’m going to end up throwing it back up,” I say. “I feel so queasy right now it’s not even funny.”
“Then you need to keep drinking the water,” she says before popping a grape in her mouth. “Listen, Noelle, I think you need to tell—”
“I’m not telling Damon I’m pregnant—I made up my mind on that already,” I interrupt. “I still don’t know what to do about him, but I know the answer right now isn’t to tell him. I can’t just let things go. I can’t just pretend he isn’t involved with a gang. He isn’t just involved—he’s running the whole show!”
I sigh and drink another bottle of water.
Sabrina bites her lip and replies, “I was going to say that you should tell the agency that you’re not feeling well and need to go home.”
“Oh.”
“You’re feeling sick right now, but it’ll get better in time,” says Sabrina. “So I hear. We all know you’re not feeling well—”
“Great. I look that bad, huh?” I groan.
“You just need to relax and not work yourself too hard,” she says encouragingly. “You don’t need to tell them you’re knocked up—just say you’re coming down with something.”
I look back to the table and at the spread of food to choose from. I want to indulge, but I simply can’t.
“Although, on the subject of Damon…” Sabrina begins. “Any updates?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you call him back?”
“No, and I don’t know when I will,” I say. “I don’t even know what I would say.”
“You could say, ‘Hey, Damon, remember those times we didn’t wear a condom? Well, now we’re paying for it! Ta-dah!’ Something like that.”
“Thanks.” I laugh and then sigh. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. He’s the father, but I’m the one carrying this child. It’s my responsibility right now, and mine alone. I need time.”
“That makes sense,” Sabrina agrees. “It might not even matter anyway.”
“What does that mean?” I frown, confused.
“Well, I might know a little more about what’s going on with the Rolling Heads than you at the moment,” says Sabrina. “If you haven’t been talking to Damon, then you don’t know what’s going on.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’ve been keeping in touch with Kace,” she confesses.
“Oh really?” I ask, amused. “What does that mean—‘keep in touch’?”
“Really?” she scoffs. “This coming from the girl who got knocked up by Kace’s best friend. So what—we’ve hooked up a couple of times, big deal.”
“Please stop saying I got ‘knocked up’… however true it may be.”
“Noelle, you have to lighten up a little bit,” she says. “You’re sick, but that doesn’t mean you have to sulk like this.”
I ignore the jab. “How often do you and Kace talk?”
“We don’t talk on the phone, but we text each other like every other day,” she replies. “If we’ve had a long day or just need a quick release, we meet up and get it.”
“Nice.” I chuckle. “So, what has Kace been telling you lately?”
“He says that the police raided their clubhouse the other day,” Sabrina says quietly. “They apparently waited until Damon was gone and pounced when it was just Kace there and a few other guys.”
I gasp. “Holy shit. What for?”
“Probably for any number of reasons.” She laughs.
“I don’t understand,” I say, perplexed. “What did they do to make that happen?”
“Kace says the police went into the clubhouse without a warrant,” says Sabrina. “So I guess they feel pretty sure they’ve got them on a few things. I’m not sure about the full scale, but he did say something about a fire.”
“What?” I ask, feeling more confused.
“They might be in trouble for arson,” she clarifies. “Their rival gang got their clubhouse burnt down, and they’re claiming it was them that started it. He said they didn’t start it, but… I don’t know, he was really cryptic about it.”
“I don’t believe it.” I shake my head. “So, that’s what Damon does to someone he doesn’t like? He burns their house down?”
“I don’t know the details, babe,” says Sabrina. “All I know is the cops are looking into the Rolling Heads, and that’s not a good thing.”
“Now I definitely can’t tell him anything,” I say between swigs of water. “He clearly is dangerous, and I won’t expose my child to that level of peril.”
“I don’t think he’s a bad man, Noelle.”
“I don’t, either, but I’m doing what’s best for my baby,” I persist.
“You do whatever you think is best.” Sabrina shrugs. “I know he’s got a dark side, and I understand you don’t want to lose your child to it, but I still think he has a right to know. If you don’t want him to be involved in the child’s life, I’m sure he would be more than fine with that. Don’t most guys want to avoid commitment and kids and all that shit? Don’t be so afraid! Just be honest.”
Later that night, I lie in bed, the sick feelings finally subsiding somewhat. I’m angry that it couldn’t have happened earlier, but I’m grateful that it happened at all.
I look at my phone, tempted to call Damon back. Since my head is still aching and I still haven’t found the right words, I’m taking it slow.
Hey, I text. How are you, mister?
He responds in a hurry. I’ve been better. But I’m better now.
Sorry I’ve been ghosting you, I text back. I’ve been busy and have had a lot on my mind.
It’s okay, he replies. Same here actually. I must admit, I’ve been worried about you. Are we cool?
Of course we’re cool Why wouldn’t we be?
We were talking and seeing each other every day. I was just worried I said or did something.
It’s not you, it’s me lol, I respond. Please don’t be mad at me.
I could never get mad at you, he says. I just want to know you’re okay.
I’ve been really sick actually, I text. I don’t know if I can hang out tonight. I feel terrible.
Ah, say no more, he replies, likely assuming I’m referring to my period (if only). Is there anything I can do?
You can tell me what’s going on with you and the cops.
Cops?? Who you been talki
ng to? lol
Sabrina told me she’s been sleeping with your friend Kace and he mentioned something about it, I reply. I’m not trying to snitch, but that’s what’s up.
Fair enough, he says. A rival group here in town burned their clubhouse down trying to kill me and my friends. Now they’re saying we burned it ourselves. Cops are getting nosy, and it’s getting old. It’s bullshit, but we’re working on it.
I see.
We didn’t do it, he says. They’re setting us up. They’ve been trying to take over all of Miami for months, and they’re moving in for the kill.
I don’t know how to respond at first—this is unfamiliar, treacherous territory for me—but after enough time passes, he continues his line of texts.
I’ll be real, I miss you, Damon texts. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know if the cops are going to arrest me or if I’m about to become part of a gang war. All I know is I’ve been thinking about you day and night since we’ve been apart. I hope we can see each other really soon. If not, I get it. Just know that you’re the only woman I want. Take care of yourself.
Somehow, despite the finality his last text carries, I don’t feel like we’re done yet. I feel like I’ve been handed a reprieve in the baby department. Damon continues to come off as a compassionate and understanding man. He does what he does knowing that it might carry consequences. I hate how much that turns me on. I also figure, with what I’m suddenly plotting, it’s okay to keep the pregnancy a secret a little longer.
I can’t remember a day in recent history where I felt and looked more repulsive. This doesn’t stop me, because my flame for Damon burns brighter than whatever self-image issues I might be harboring. He needs to know how much I still want him…
I strip off my clothes and take several snapshots of my full naked body on my phone. I send him two of them, along with a message:
I’ve been thinking about you a lot, too… Don’t think I don’t miss you.
He doesn’t respond immediately, and he explains why in his next text:
I’m masturbating to your pictures right now... I want that body.
