Twisted Tales of Mayhem

by Sapphire Knight

  Samantha Clarke woke to bright sunlight, and the sounds of a construction crew jackhammer outside her building, and realized she had slept through her alarm.

  Groaning at the noise that had interrupted the best dream she had had in weeks, she rolled over and looked at the time. Almost eleven o'clock. Dammit, dammit, dammit -- how in the world had she slept so long?!

  Sighing, she sat up in bed and looked around her, mentally taking an inventory of the day. She had to be at work in five hours. Before that, she had errands to run. Better get to it...

  But her dream was still so real, filling her mind even as she tried to shake it off. She was still swollen with the memory of the mystery man, still aching for him to finish her off.

  Leaning over to the nightstand, she opened the drawer and removed her favorite trusty vibrator, easing back into bed with a contented sigh and closing her eyes.

  The man reappeared in her imagination, moving back between her legs and licking softly at her with his skilled tongue. Samantha's back arched, her legs straining to spread even wider to welcome the man's mouth on her clit. "Yes!" she urged him on out loud. She gasped as he found the spot that drove her wild and focused his attention on it, bringing her close to orgasm time and time again before backing off and grazing her just softly enough that he left her in agony. He toyed with her like this for what seemed like hours until finally, slowly, she felt his tongue return to caress her clit in earnest, bringing her to an earth-shattering orgasm that had her screaming and bucking, her cries lost to the outside world by the jackhammer noise. She came in wave after wave as he licked and licked her -- until finally, her orgasm subsided, leaving her spent and exhausted on the bed.

  Sated, Samantha slowly rose from her bead and padded to the kitchen. She started the coffee maker and then headed to the bathroom. After a quick shower, she returned to the kitchen, poured herself a cup, and then returned to the bathroom to finish getting ready.

  In the bathroom, Sam thought to herself how long it had been since any man had made her feel like the mystery man in her dream had. Well, let’s be honest – no man has made me feel that good! Staring in the mirror, she found herself wondering how she had never been able to attract a man who knew what to do to her in bed. A man who could drive her crazy, and could make her feel like a real, sensual woman.

  Sam took mental stock of herself as she dried her long, chestnut hair. She had always liked her wide, brown eyes, thought her nose was fine, was blessed with a fine, milky complexion. She had what she considered a nice, full bee-stung mouth. So far so good.

  Beyond that, though, was a body that she now contemplated with a critical eye. She had what could generously be termed "ample" proportions: breasts too full, too rounded for her own taste. Her torso tapered to a waist and stomach that were soft and feminine, but then flared out again to wide, sensual hips. Her best friend Emily said that she had a gorgeous figure, but Sam didn't see it that way at all. She longed to be model-thin and lithe like Emily herself. Or like some of the girls at work, who never seemed to have any trouble getting stylish clothing to fit them. Sam always seemed to be struggling with some article of clothing -- either her breasts showing too much cleavage, or her hips pulling a skirt tightly around them, revealing more than she wanted to reveal.

  Sam was having that problem this morning as well, as she dug through her closet. She finally chose a form-fitting dark red V-neck top and a black skirt that ended just above the knee. This would work fine for running errands and also for work later, she thought. She found some shoes with a small heel that were cute but practical and comfortable. After applying a hint of makeup and a swipe of lipstick, Sam grabbed her bag and headed out the door into the sunshine, not to return until after her shift that night.

  After a late lunch with Emily, an afternoon of shopping, and a quick trip to the library to return a book, Sam arrived at the Half-Moon Bar a little before four o'clock to begin her shift. She had been a server at the Half-Moon for a little less than a year. At first, she had worked part-time until she had to stop going to school for lack of money. For the last six months, though, she’d been at the bar full-time.

  Sam told herself that she would work at the bar for two years, tops, as she figured out what to do with her life -- whether she would be able to go back to school and finish her degree, or whether she should try another angle toward beginning a career. She had been taking classes toward a business degree, but she found that her interests were so varied that she didn't quite know what she really wanted to do with her life. As expensive as school was, she thought that she probably should have a better idea of her career goals before she went back.

  Sam said hi to the other girls, and then waved hello to Nick, the bartender and owner. Nick, a forty-something year-old man with short-cropped blond hair, was bent over a drink he was preparing. He gave her a look that was halfway between a sneer and a frown. Sam pulled in a breath, let it out slowly, and told herself to just let it go. A few weeks ago, Nick, after many months of Sam trying to deflect his increasingly suggestive remarks about her appearance, had cornered her in the back hallway and slid his hand up her skirt. Sam had struggled against him, and eventually managed to get away when a customer came down the hall looking for the bathroom.

  Since that night, things between them had been tense. Sam had been careful to avoid any situation where she might end up alone with Nick. And Nick had definitely noticed. Instead of being ashamed at his own behavior, or embarrassed, he was pissed. A few days ago, he had followed her to the parking lot after her shift.

  “You seriously think you’re all that? That you’re too good for me?” he smirked, cocking his head. “You were just convenient, Sam. A convenient fuck. And not even a very good one, I bet. You seem like the type that would just lie there like a cold fuckin’ fish.”

  Sam, outraged at first, managed to control her temper when she realized he was just lashing out at her because his ego was hurt. It wasn’t right, and it was really shitty of him. But unfortunately, she needed this job. So, instead of telling him off, she just turned away from him, got into her car and drove off. Ever since that day, Nick had basically made a show of ignoring her. Which, frankly was much better than any of the alternatives. Nick seemed to think he was punishing her somehow, but she vastly preferred the days when he pretended she wasn’t even there – even though sometimes it made getting rounds of drinks for her customers difficult.

  Sam went into the back to put her things away and get her apron for the beginning of her shift. On the way there, she bumped into Hallie, one of the other waitresses.

  "Oh, hey, Sam!" Hallie smiled as she went by with a tray.

  "Hey, Hal!" Sam called back.

  Hallie was, in a word, stunning. She had exactly the kind of looks Sam would have loved to have herself. Where Sam was voluptuous, Hallie was tight and toned. She always seemed to have a circle of men vying for her attention, too, which Hallie often said was annoying, but she never really seemed to mind too much. Still, for all the male attention she received, Hallie and Sam were generally about neck and neck for the amount of tips they received per night, Sam reminded herself with satisfaction. At least Hallie's assets didn't give her too much of a leg up over Sam in that category.

  Interestingly, Nick had never made a pass at Hallie, according to Hallie herself. Oh, Nick definitely looked, all right – it wasn’t hard to catch him leering at Hallie’s ass as she sauntered around the bar taking drink orders. But it was Sam’s opinion that Hallie was too gorgeous – that she intimidated Nick. Whatever the reason, Nick restrained himself to simply ogling her. And Hallie, beyond the occasional eye roll, pretended not to notice.

  Sam’s shift passed mostly without incident, in a blur of activity – except for Nick’s attempts to pretend she didn’t exist, of course. The Half-Moon did decent business in the evenings, and there usually wasn't a lot of down time, even on Sunday nights like tonight.

  Around ten o'clock, as their limited restaurant service was shutting d
own, a handful of people came into the bar. One of them, a man alone, sat down at a table not far from the bar and ordered a drink from Hallie. Afterwards, she came over to Samantha and said in a low whisper, "Holy balls, look at that guy! He is scary hot!"

  Glancing over, Sam had to agree. The man could have been anywhere from in his late twenties to early thirties. He looked at once out of place and absolutely at ease in the bar. He had on a worn leather vest with a number of patches that she couldn’t read from where she stood. Dimly, she realized he was a biker, and then remembered the low sound of an engine she had heard outside the bar just a minute ago. His black T-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, and the pair of jeans he had on seemed molded to his hips and upper thighs.

  The hot biker had longish, slightly scruffy dark hair that curled around his collar, dark eyes, five o’clock shadow that accentuated the squareness of his jaw, and wide, sensuous lips. But what really stood out to Sam, even from this far away, was how the tattoos lining his forearms and biceps accentuated his muscles. She had never thought one way or another about whether tattoos looked good on a man -- but from this one example, the answer was a resounding yes.

  Hallie grabbed his order from Nick– a bottle of beer and a shot of whiskey – and went over to take the drinks to him. Sam’s heart started to thud in her chest, actually nervous for Hallie. God, just looking this man in the eyes and addressing him would be an effort, he was so distracting. Sam was glad she could just sit back and sneak looks at him from the corner of her eye.

  The man leaned back in his chair and nodded briefly at Hallie when she brought his drink. Sam noticed that Hallie lingered at his table talking to him for a minute or two, and assumed that she was turning on her high-powered flirting especially for him. Interestingly, the man, though acting friendly, did not seem to be immediately taking the bait, like most men did when Hallie turned on the charm.

  Instead, as she turned away and headed back to the bar, his gaze shifted to rest on Sam.

  Meeting her eyes, he held her gaze and did not look away for a long moment. Sam, who at first had returned his look with a polite smile, now found herself blushing as his eyes continued to penetrate hers. Eventually she tore her eyes away and looked down, flustered. With some confusion, she composed herself and turned away.

  For the next ten minutes or so she was very careful not to look towards the man at the table, afraid she would reveal her discomfort and make a fool of herself. Hallie, who had gone back to his table and taken his order for another beer, passed by Sam at the bar and paused. "Sam, have you noticed the hot guy at the table over there has been watching you basically ever since he got here?"

  "No, I hadn't noticed," Sam lied. "Has he?"

  "Yeah, he can't keep his eyes off you! You should go talk to him!" Hallie said excitedly.

  "No!" Sam stammered. "Why would I do that?!"

  "Why would you do that?" Hallie gaped. "Are you kidding me? Why would you not do that?"

  "He's probably staring at me for some other reason. Like maybe I look like his sister or something." Sam had been in relationships and had her share of lovers, but generally speaking, she was fairly picky about whom she went home with. Not to mention, guys like that, in her experience, were not interested in girls like her. "Besides, I don't go home with guys I meet in bars." Especially guys who look like a sexy version of the Big Bad Wolf.

  "Oh, I get it. You wouldn't want to be a member of a club that would have you. You work in a bar, Sam,” she laughed. “You would be meeting him at work. Now get over there and flirt with him!" Hallie urged.

  But Samantha did not have the chance to refuse again, because at that moment the man stood up from his table and came to sit on the bar stool nearest to Sam.

  "Hey there," he said, looking at her again with his piercing dark eyes.

  "Uh... hi," she said simply, returning his gaze and willing herself not to blush again.

  Hallie, standing behind the man, caught Samantha's gaze and widened her eyes questioningly. Samantha looked away from her and back at the man, who was looking at her with an amused expression on his face.

  "So," he asked casually, "do you get off work soon enough for me to buy you a drink?"

  "Actually, I get off work in about twenty minutes," she said, looking at the clock, and then she realized that she had just accepted his offer without even meaning to. "I mean, um..." she began again in confusion, and then trailed off. Wow, am I smooth, she said to herself.

  "Must be my lucky day, darlin’. I'll be waiting right over there," he grinned, pointing back at the table where he had been sitting.

  Sam’s heart rate shot through the roof. Her face flaming, she almost called after him and said she had to be somewhere. Yeah. I have to be somewhere at eleven at night. Sure, that sounds likely. But this was craziness. After all, she knew absolutely nothing about this guy except that he was gorgeous and rode a motorcycle. But there was a part of her that was curious, and that found she wanted to have a drink with him. Besides, she realized that if she turned him down, Hallie would probably kill her.

  It was scary as hell to think about accepting a drink from a guy this gorgeous and out of her league. At the same time, it was a pretty big ego boost that he had basically looked right through Hallie and asked to buy her a drink instead.

  It’s one drink. Only one drink. And afterwards, I’ll scoot out the back door to the bar and get in my car and drive home. It’s harmless. It will do me good to flirt a little bit. Walk on the wild side, if only as a fun fantasy.

  Twenty-two minutes later, Samantha was out of her apron and had stopped briefly in the bathroom to brush her hair and apply some lipstick. She screwed up her courage, put on her I exude confidence face, and walked back into the bar.

  She sat down at the table across from the biker, who looked up with a sexy, self-assured smirk on his face.

  “What’ll you have?” he asked as she sat down.

  “Vodka tonic,” she replied.

  The man called out the order to Nick – who sneered and shot him a glare as soon as he wasn’t looking. The man turned back to her. "So, tell me about yourself, Samantha.” He chuckled at her surprise. “That other waitress told me your name."

  Of course she did. Sam shot an irritated look at Hallie, but she was busy serving drinks and didn’t see it.

  "Tell me about yourself, first,” Sam challenged, screwing up her courage. “What is your name?"

  "I’m Crow.” She blinked at the name, and he laughed. “That’s my road name, anyway. Real name’s Connor Kincaid."

  "Um...” she frowned. “Does road name mean like your biker name?”

  “Yeah.” He shot a glance at his leather vest, and the patch that said Lone Warriors MC. “You ever heard of the Warriors?”

  “No...” she confessed.

  He nodded briefly, then replied, “We’re based out of Austin. Got a couple chapters throughout Texas, but the Austin charter’s the main one.” He shrugged. “The club owns a couple bars in town. One of them’s Jack’s, down the street.”

  Jack’s was a large, roadhouse-style place, and yes, Sam had noticed there were usually a lot of large motorcycles parked out front. She wondered briefly what Connor Kincaid was doing here at the Half-Moon if he and his club owned the other bar, and asked him.

  “Just lookin’ for a change of scenery.” He held her gaze for a long moment, then let his eyes drop slowly downward. It was almost physical, the way they caressed her skin. When they arrived at her breasts, a deep rumble low in Connor’s throat made a warm heat begin to grow between her legs.

  “To be honest,” he continued, his eyes still caressing her body, “I saw you in here earlier, through the front window.” Thought I’d come in and take a closer look.” His voice turned low and intimate. You wanna finish up this drink and go someplace else for the next one?”

  "I'm not really dressed for going out," Sam protested weakly, looking down and hoping her clothes didn't look too much the worse for wear after her sh
ift.

  "I don't think you have anything to worry about," he grinned at her. “You look good enough to eat.” His grin turned slightly wolfish as he cocked one brow at her. The Big Bad Wolf, she thought again. Her whole body felt hot. It seemed that he wasn’t going to take any excuses from her. If she wanted to say no, she’d have to do it loud and clear.

  Trouble was... she didn’t really want to say no.

  As they both nursed their drinks and Connor asked her more about herself, Sam tried not to stare too obviously at him. Good lord, the man was gorgeous. She found herself breathing a little faster as she stared at his sensuous lips, wondering what they would feel like on her mouth... or tracing a line down her neck to her breasts...

  Sam came back to the present, realizing that she had not been listening to him at all. She looked down at her vodka tonic and realized that somehow, she had finished it. Connor’s eyes followed hers, and he pulled out his wallet and tossed a couple of bills on the table.

  “Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s get outta here. I promise, you’ll have a good time.”

  Amazingly, he stood up and pulled out her chair for her. Wow, he is not the kind of guy I would expect to be a gentleman, she thought in a daze.

  They turned to go, and Sam looked back and called goodbye to Hallie and Nick (and caught Hallie's frantic "thumbs up" gesture as the exited the bar). On the way out, Sam noticed the large, low-slung motorcycle parked in front of the Half-Moon.

  “I don’t have to ride on that thing, do I?” she asked nervously. “I don’t think I can do it in this skirt.”

  He was amused. “It’s a nice night. We can walk to Jack’s. Then I’ll walk you back.”

  Jack’s was rougher than the Half-Moon, as bars went. As they walked in the door, about a dozen bikers – each of them looking more dangerous than the last – turned to look at her and Connor.

  “Back off, you fuckin’ animals,” Connor called out. “She’s with me. You got that?”