True North: A Wordsmith Chronicles MC Standalone

by Harlan, Christopher

  “I want ice cream.”

  It’s not the combination of words that I’m expecting. I wanted to hear something more like, I want your cock right now, but I guess she has ice cream on the brain. “No shit?” I ask. “We just had that cake.”

  “I had a bite. I don’t love cake.”

  “Don’t like cake? Are you a communist spy?”

  “Not last I checked,” she jokes. “I just don’t like cake, especially chocolate cake.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “If you keep going I’m going to have to kick you out of this vehicle and insist you get your own ride home.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Keep talking shit about cake and chocolate and see what happens.” I have trouble keeping a straight face when I say that.

  “I’m sorry, but I wanted to save room. I love ice cream. Can we stop?”

  “Alright,” I agree. “Where do you wanna go?”

  “There’s a little stand just up the road.” She points to the right. “Driver, can you make a right and go straight down Main a little? Thanks.”

  “You got it, miss.”

  This whole thing seems a little weird, but I’m going with it. If the woman wants ice cream then she’s gonna get ice cream. Our driver does what he’s told, and the place is right where she said it would be. It’s not a stand, but a little store with balloons on the outside. “Just pull over here, thanks. I’ll be right back. Want anything?”

  “If you ask me that again I may vomit on you.”

  “Can’t have that, can we?”

  She crawls over me instead of getting out of her side of the car, and I get a full view of her ass in my face as she does. That wasn’t an accident, I think to myself. Her whole vibe has been seductive since we left the place, but this ice cream thing has me thinking my ideas of screwing her one more time when we got back to her place might be my own fantasy.

  Five minutes later she comes out with a little white cup and a spoon in her hand. This time she goes around the passenger side to get in. “That was fast.”

  “I got Italian ices instead. It’s lighter. I don’t want to feel too full.”

  She gives me that look again and I’m not sure if I’m reading her correctly, but I like what I’m seeing. The driver asks if we have any more stops, and Delilah jumps in before I can answer. “No, to my place, but can you take Jefferson Road instead of getting on the highway? The scenery is better.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  I look at her and raise my eyebrow. Jefferson Road is more scenic, but it’s also a longer ride home. Usually when you take a cab you look for the shortest—and cheapest—route you can take. She’s looking for the longest one, and I’m not sure why. She’s being a little strange, but not necessarily in a bad way.

  As we take the long-ass way back to her place I can’t help but stare at her eating those ices. She’s making eye contact, and putting the spoon in and out of her mouth methodically and slowly, putting it in almost up to her fingers, and pulling it out slowly, her lips pursed as they run their way along the length of the spoon. She does this a few times, and my eyes are locked on her mouth. The moisture from her spit and the melting ices is just barely perceptive around the edges of her lips, and I couldn’t look away if I tried.

  This little performance goes on a minute or so, until my pants get a little tighter than they were a minute ago. Unlike some lesser men with little dicks, when I get turned on there’s no hiding it. No putting my hands over my lap. When I get hard it looks like someone put the branch of a tree up my pant leg, and right now Delilah’s looking down at it like she wants it for dinner. She smiles, but it’s a devious one, not a happy one, and I like the way it looks.

  She takes one more slow spoonful of ice into her mouth, and when she swallows she turns to me and says, “My head is killing me.”

  “Brain freeze?” I ask.

  “Not sure. I get headaches a lot.” I notice that she’s speaking louder than she needs to, considering our legs are touching. Once I realize that she’s doing it for the driver to hear, I play along. “I think I need to rest my head until we get home, is that alright with you?”

  “Fine with me.”

  Now I get it, and my partial hard on becomes full on wood. I check the rear view to make sure our driver is minding his own business, which he seems to be. The second I feel her head on my lap my cock jumps like it’s competing in the Olympic high jump. She runs her hand over the outside of my pants, rubbing my erect cock slowly, like she’s petting an animal.

  At first, I’m worried the guy will see us and pull over, but he really doesn’t seem to give a shit what’s going on back here, and Delilah is doing a good job of being as discreet as you can while playing with a giant cock in the back of a cab.

  She’s driving me crazy. I can’t make noise, and I can’t yell out. I have to be as still as possible or I’ll tip the driver off to what’s happening back here, but it’s hard—in more ways than one! Her fingers dance their way to my zipper, and I feel the pull again, just like at the bar the other night. This time she reaches in, pulls out my cock, and goes to work. There’s only one difference this time—and it isn’t just the geography. Her mouth is freezing.

  When the head of my cock slides inside I feel the cold sensation of her tongue and I almost jump. I’m not sure if I like it at first—it’s different, and it takes some getting used to, but at the end of the day my cock is in her mouth, so I take a deep breath and try to embrace it. It doesn’t take too long.

  The mix of that initial cold, coupled with the eventual warmth that follows is a combination that I’ve never felt before. She pulls me out and takes another scoop of her Italian Ices before putting the cup on the floor and gobbling my cock one more time. The cold hits my throbbing head hard, and my body jumps at the sensation. Luckily the driver’s still paying no mind, just following the long, winding route that Delilah put him on. All the better for me. More time to enjoy what’s happening right now.

  I look down and see her soaking my lap—a combination of saliva, ices, and my own juices—all pouring out the side of her mouth as she moves her lips slowly up and down my hard cock as though it were her spoon. I reach over and grip the material on the back of her dress as I gently thrust my hips up every time she bobs her head down. She holds on to my shaft with one of her hands as she slowly sucks every inch of me.

  My eyes start to roll. I can’t take much more of this before I come, and I think she knows. We haven’t been together that long, but she already knows my body well enough to know just the right amount of everything it takes to bring me to orgasm. And I’m there right now. I tap her on the back discreetly, signaling to her that I’m about to explode like Vesuvius in her mouth. It’s a courtesy warning so she can pull me out of her mouth, but to my surprise she doesn’t. She doesn’t even move except to keep bobbing her head gently over my manhood.

  Then it happens. It’s sudden, powerful, and explosive. I erupt like never before—my cock spasming three or four times as my whole body stiffens. She creates a suction with her mouth to keep all of me in, and I feel the sensation of her swallowing my warm cum. When it’s over, I’m still turned on, even though my body isn’t ready for another session. She hasn’t just stimulated my body, she’s found a way to keep my mind engaged no matter what.

  Just the idea of what happened keeps me hard after I come. I look down as she leaves me in her mouth a few seconds longer, licking gently around the tip, and getting every drop taken care of. When she’s done she wipes the corner of her mouth and sits up.

  “My head’s feeling much better.”

  “Good,” I say, without missing a beat in our little act. “Guess that little nap did you well. All you needed was some rest.” And an eleven-inch cock down your throat.

  “Yup,” she says. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

  Fifteen minutes later we’re back at her place, having taken the scenic route with a killer BJ to accompany the meter charge we ra
n up. But I don’t care how much it cost, that was easily the best ride I’ve ever taken, bike or car. I pay the man and he leaves us there. We’re not out five seconds before I’m reflecting on what just happened.

  “Holy shit, Delilah. That was fucking. . .”

  “What?”

  “Incredible. That was easily the best blowjob I’ve ever received.”

  “Oh yeah?” she says, pretending to be humble about it. “That’s funny, ‘cause that was only about a five out of ten of what I’m capable of.”

  She turns and walks inside, leaving me stunned and staring at her back like an idiot. I think I’m in love with this chick.

  Nah, fuck that. No thinking required.

  I am in love with this chick.

  Thirty Four—Delilah—Now

  I can’t believe that I’m dealing with all of this.

  North is missing. From all accounts he was taken by Travis, who North and I both thought was dead. And on top of that, he doesn’t know what I know. He’s been touring so much with his books that I haven’t had the time to say the words that I’ve always wanted to say to him.

  I’m pregnant.

  I didn’t think I was able to have kids after all the crap with my ex. We tried a million times and a pregnancy never kept with me. North and I have wanted to start a family forever. We’ve been to more specialists than I’ve ever seen in my life. We discussed adoption at length. We even went through a time where we discussed the what if that no couple who wants kids ever wants to consider—what if we can’t?

  But North never gave up hope, even during the times that I did. We kept trying, again and again, and even when nothing took, he was nothing but positive and supportive. People think North’s some badass ex biker guy—which he is—but underneath he’s the kindest, gentlest man I’ve ever met. That’s why I love him. That’s why I married him. And that’s why I wanted to have children with him.

  He doesn’t know that I’m pregnant—that we’re pregnant. I was going to tell him when he got back from the wedding. I made an excuse to not go. I told him it was book stuff, but really I was beyond nauseous. I’ve been sick a lot, and he’s been away with book events so much that I was able to tell him I had the flu or something.

  And now this.

  Emily is on her way to take me to my OB visit to make sure everything’s okay. My phone is busted. I dropped it in the toilet after I threw up the other day. I told North that I was careless, but it was really the worst morning sickness ever. After the doctor I’m going to have Emily drive me to the Verizon store so that I can get a new phone. I need it just in case North tries to contact me.

  Moments like this are the definition of bitter sweet. I’ve never been so happy and so sad at the same time. I need to figure out a way to find North. I can’t just sit here while that psychopath has him, but at the same time I need to be really careful because I’m early in the pregnancy. I only told Emily because she’s my sister and I’m not superstitious like some women are, but really, I’m in the miscarriage time frame, and any little thing could terminate my pregnancy.

  I hear the doorbell ring.

  Emily must be here early.

  Thirty Five—North—Now

  I finally lost those goons.

  I always thought that Siri was a bullshit app, but it saved my ass today—saved our asses. I stopped across the street from the local precinct and they drove right past. They don’t want the heat. It’s bad enough that they let me escape. They know Travis would have their ass for that alone, only I’m going to take care of him once and for all.

  But right now, I have a bystander with a gun shot wound sitting next to me who’s repainting the inside of his car a crimson red with all of the blood he’s losing. “Hold on, kid, stay with me.” I reach inside my pant pocket and pull out a bandana I have on me. I tie a quick, shitty tourniquet just above his wound and pull as hard as I can.

  “Ah, fuck!” he yells. I don’t blame him for yelling. I’ve never been shot before, but I can only imagine how much that shit hurts. Lucky for him it’s a shoulder wound, but he still needs medical attention to avoid infection and other complications that could come from this.

  “I’m sorry, I have to stop the bleeding.”

  I use his phone again and Google local hospitals. There’s one five minutes away. I drive away from the precinct slowly so as to avoid attention. For a second, I think of alerting the cops. I fantasize about going in there, telling the captain what’s going on, and having Delilah saved by the local PD. But that scenario could just as easily cause her death as avoid it. If the Leviathans get there before the cops do, then there’ll be a hostage situation. It’s even possible that Travis would just kill her and go out in a haze of bullets himself. He’s that fucking crazy.

  No. I have to handle this myself.

  But first I need to get this kid to a hospital.

  Thirty Six—North—Way Back When

  The ringing of my phone wakes me up.

  I don’t know what time it is. I’m barely awake, and it takes a few seconds for me to adjust to the fact that someone’s calling me in what seems to be the middle of the night. I get my bearings. Delilah’s next to me, asleep. We fell asleep around eleven after watching some TV together. I remember now. What time is it? And who the fuck is calling me at whatever hour it is?

  I look to my phone to answer all of these questions, and when I see the time and who it is my heart sinks. I pick up right away. “Ana? What is it?” I listen to her frantic voice on the other end. She’s speaking a mile a minute, and because she’s upset her accent comes to the forefront of her speech. “Wait, wait,” I tell her. “Slow down. What happened to Joaquin?”

  Delilah pops up at the sound of my voice. I’m doing my best to stay calm on the phone so that I can get the full story from Ana, but the fact that my best friend’s wife is even calling me at what’s apparently three in the morning is freaking me the fuck out. Delilah mouths ‘what’s wrong’ to me, but I don’t answer. I just put my finger up to tell her to wait and jump out of bed with the phone still pressed firmly against my ear.

  “Ana, listen to me, baby, you’ve got to slow down, I can’t understand you. Just take a deep breath and. . .” She doesn’t follow my advice, but she does manage to get a few words out clearly enough for me to understand the situation without much detail.

  Joaquin.

  Hospital.

  Critical Condition.

  I only have one question for now. Many to follow later. “Where?”

  She tells me the name of the hospital, and I get off the phone. My clothes find their way onto my body without me even realizing it. I’m a walking zombie. Delilah wakes up. I’m not taking any precautions to be quiet whatsoever, and when she sees me about to leave she yells out.

  “North? Where are you going? What time is it?”

  “Those are all good questions. I don’t have time to explain the question of why that you’re going to ask me, but I need to go to the hospital right now.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s Joaquin.” She doesn’t ask any follow ups. She jumps to her feet and starts throwing whatever clothes are closest onto her body. “What are you doing?”

  “What am I doing? I’m coming with you.”

  “No, no. Stay and get some sleep, I’ll go.”

  “I’m not asking you, North. I’m going. End of story.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I know I don’t fucking have to. It’s your best friend. I’m not letting you go alone.” She stops getting dressed and walks right up to me. “I’m in this with you, North. We’re not just fuck buddies. I’m in this. Now stop arguing and give me two minutes—no more or less.”

  “Alright,” I say, a little emotional that she’s so willing to jump into this—whatever this is—headfirst. “Two minutes. Then we’re out of here.”

  Thirty Seven—North—Way Back When

  “. . .All I see is darkness.”

  “Did you see t
hat?”

  “What?” I ask.

  “Nothing. Guess I’m being paranoid. I thought I saw some guys across the street.”

  I look over like an animal ready to pounce. I’m so in my own head right now that if there were an invading army standing on the other side of the road I would need them pointed out to me. But once she says those words my protective instincts take over. I let my eyes scan the area across the street, but nothing.

  “All I see is darkness.”

  “Sorry,” she says. “Let’s go. I’m just being crazy.”

  She jumps on the back of my bike, and I no doubt wake her entire neighborhood with the roar of my engine. I peel out as fast as the bike will carry us, and by the time I get to the hospital I’ve had time enough to imagine the absolute worst. The bad part of a creative mind is that it can envision both Heaven and Hell at any given time, and right now it’s all Hell.

  I drop my bike off in front, not giving a fuck if I’m parked legally or not. A parking attendant yells something to me but I don’t listen. I make my way to the ninth floor ER waiting room, and when the elevator opens to the waiting area I see a hysterical Ana sitting among a crowd of random people. When she sees me, she jumps up and runs over, grabbing onto me with ferocity. “North,” she says. “They hurt him so bad. He may not make it.”

  Her words get my heart and my anger going. I don’t know the details yet, but I already have an idea of what she’s about to say to me. “Who?” is all I ask. “Who did this?”

  She tells me the story. He went off to see Travis, just like he told me he was going to do. The fool went alone and didn’t come back when he was supposed to. She tried calling, but he didn’t answer. When her doorbell rang around eleven at night she ran downstairs, frantically, hoping for Joaquin to be waiting at the door. He was at the door, only not in the way that she expected. When she opened it following the doorbell ring, she didn’t see her husband standing there, smiling at her, waiting to come to bed. She saw his bloody, beaten, swollen form in a heap on top of the mat they kept outside on their porch. In the distance she heard the sounds of bikes driving away from her, and on her husband’s body, a patch from the Leviathans.