Ropes

by Jack Davenport

  Her hips arched into my hand. “Ropes,” she rasped.

  “Tell me you know what I want.” I slid my middle finger through her wetness again.

  She shivered and pushed back into my cock. “I want your cock in my pussy.”

  “We can finish there.” I shoved a finger inside her. “But I also want to show you how badly you ruin me when your pussy covers my dick.” I shoved a second finger inside her tight heat. “And then, I want you to scream my name when you come.”

  She growled and arched her back. “Hurry.”

  I pulled my fingers out and growled out, “Ass up, Devlin.”

  She complied immediately.

  I slid a condom on and grabbed her hips, pulling her to me, not that it took much effort, she was already arching her back, her ample ass perfectly on display. “Fuck, baby,” I breathed out as I slid into her. Jesus, she felt incredible. “You’re so tight.”

  She mewed and pushed back against me and I gave her ass a light tap. She hissed out and her walls contracted around me. I grinned. “You like that, apparently.”

  “You got another one in you?”

  “I can slap your ass all day long, Devlin.”

  She chuckled. “I was talking about your boner, but, I’ll take that, too.”

  “That was all about you, baby,” I said, pushing further into her. “I’m like the Energizer Bunny, I can go all night.”

  She gasped and arched up again. “Yes.”

  “You want harder?”

  “Definitely,” she rasped.

  I slammed into her, keeping her anchored to the back of the sofa, but it wasn’t giving me enough room to move, so I slid out of her and turned her to face me. “Bedroom.”

  She nodded, and I lifted her so she could wrap her legs around me before carrying her back to her bedroom. I dropped her gently on the bed, replaced the condom, and fisted myself as I pushed into her. Devlin whimpered with need as I hovered over her, sucking a nipple into my mouth and thrusting into her.

  “More,” she begged.

  I grinned, kissing her gently, then buried myself deeper before rearing back and slamming into her over and over. I felt my sac tighten as an orgasm built, and tried to hold it at bay, but when her pussy contracted around me, I lost my self-control, exploding into her and grunting as she milked every ounce from me.

  I allowed her to catch her breath and then kissed her once more, deeply before rolling onto my back, and Devlin settled her head onto my chest.

  “How did you get the name Ropes?”

  “It’s a stupid story,” I said dismissively.

  “Come on, don’t be like that. You promised you’d tell me.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, it’s just that you’ve built it up in your mind to be some big thing and it’s not.”

  “Then, tell me,” she said, slapping my chest.

  “You smack my chest a lot, you know?”

  “Do I?” she asked sheepishly. “I will confess that it’s kind of my favorite part of your body, so I probably just can’t keep my hands off it.”

  “Your favorite part, huh?”

  “Yes, now don’t change the subject, Ropes. Spill now.”

  “Alright, but I’m warning you, it’s a dumb story.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “I like to dress nice,” I began.

  “Nooooo, really?”

  “Do you want to hear this or not?”

  “I’m sorry,” Devlin said and brought her lips to mine for a kiss. “I won’t interrupt again, I promise.”

  “It’s true, I grew up with money. My family is pretty well-off and I always grew up wearing high-quality clothes. When I moved out on my own, I lost my appetite for most of the so-called ‘finer things,’ but not clothes or jewelry.”

  “Jewelry?”

  “Nothing too crazy. Just nice watches, the occasional gold chain, that kind of thing. No big deal as far as I was concerned. Well, it was a big deal to the guys I live with at the Sanctuary.”

  “How many of you live there?”

  “Including my brother and me, usually about a dozen or so. Most of the officers and old-timers don’t, but Sweet Pea and I had nowhere to go when we hooked up with the Saints, so we were more than happy to move in. I guess I’ve just never had a reason to leave.”

  “And the name?”

  “One of the best and worst things about living in a house with a bunch of bikers is the constant tormenting of one another. It’s how ninety-percent of club names are earned, and mine was no different.”

  “Please don’t tell me this is an autoerotic asphyxiation story.”

  “Why do you keep assuming the story is sexual?”

  “Sorry, shutting up.”

  “I came to breakfast one morning without a shirt on and Ringo, Wolf, and a couple of the other older guys started calling me Mr. T and 2 Chainz because of the gold chains I was wearing. They kept it up all day, working every slang for necklace they could think of into their juvenile insults, until finally they’d resorted to simply calling me Ropes.”

  “That’s a pretty stupid story,” Devlin said, then broke into hysterical laughter.

  I pounced on top of her and tickled her sides making her squeal and giggle uncontrollably while I rained down kisses on her neck.

  “Stop, stop! Okay, you win, I’m sorry.”

  “You know, for being my muse, you’re pretty mean to me,”

  “What does it actually mean to ‘be a muse’?” Devlin asked sweetly. “The job has to be more than just being an inspiration for something, right?”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  “Is there a job description or something? Do I have official duties?” she asked playfully while she gently stroked my chest.

  “In Greek mythology, the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne were the muses. They were tasked to inspire the great artists of Rome. But they did more than inspire artists. They compelled the art into being. The writers, poets, painters and musicians would go mad if they could not bring these creations to be.”

  “You think I’m a goddess?”

  “As close a description as I’m able to come up with.”

  “And you really think I’m your muse?”

  “Do you want to know who I think you really are?” I asked.

  “Who?” she asked, looking up at me.

  “The woman I’m falling in love with.”

  “Please don’t say shit like that,” Devlin said, sitting up, grabbing my kutte to cover herself.

  “Don’t do that,” I said stopping her. “Don’t hide yourself when you’re alone with me.”

  “Ropes—”

  “And don’t say that my feelings for you are shit. I’m falling in love with you, Devlin, whether you like it or not. In fact, I’m probably more than just falling—”

  “Stop right there,” Devlin said, scrambling to her feet and collecting her clothes. “This has all been really fun. You are a great guy, especially in bed, but I have to get out of here right now. In fact, I need to put an end to all of… this,” she said waving her free arm.

  “What?”

  “You know what I’m talking about, and you also know just as well as I do that things could never work between us.”

  “I do?” I asked with a chuckle. “That’s odd, I don’t recall thinking that at all. I thought we’ve been having a great time.”

  “We have, but really, what kind of future do you really see us having together? In your version of the story, do the struggling tattoo artist and biker/romance novelist ride off into the sunset together on a Harley?”

  “Indian.”

  Devlin scrunched up her nose. “Who’s Indian in this story?”

  I laughed. “No, my bike. You said we’d ride off together on my Harley, but I ride an Indian Chief Dark Horse.”

  “I never said we’d be riding off on anything. The only one headed outta Dodge is me.”

  “So that’s it?”

  “Yes, I guess it is.
”

  “Okay, then,” I said, and began to dress.

  “Really?”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I guess I just thought you’d be more upset after what you just said to me.”

  “I’m not happy about it, but I’m not going to stand here and beg for you to feel the same way about me that I do about you.”

  “Good.”

  “Great.”

  “We’ll just get dressed and go our separate ways,” she said in a tone that sounded more like she was convincing herself of her plan, rather than informing me.

  “I already know where I’m headed next,” I said sliding on a boot.

  “Headed next? It’s late. Where are you going?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but after I fuck, I’m usually starving, so I’m gonna go get some donuts.”

  Devlin’s eyes widened. “Donuts?”

  “The best imaginable,” I replied.

  “What donut shop is open at this hour?”

  “None of them, but I know a guy.”

  “You have a donut guy?”

  “I have the donut guy, but none of this information matters now because you and I are done,” I said plainly as Devlin finished dressing. She was beautiful in ways that I didn’t know a woman could be beautiful. There were a million little, ordinary things about her that turned me on, from the way her nostrils flared just a little when she laughed, to the shape of her lips. There was nothing about her that did not seem as if it were tailor-made just for me. The more I got to know her, the more I wanted to know her, and if she thought I was just going to let her walk out of my life now, she was even crazier than I’d hoped, but she didn’t have to know that.

  “I know we’re done. I’m the one that said we’re done, so we’re… done,” Devlin said matter-of-factly.

  “Yup, super clear on that. So, I’m going for donuts, you want to come with me or what?”

  “I thought you said you were clear?”

  “I am. I’m also hungry and could easily destroy three of Omar’s glazed twists right about now. I see no reason why you couldn’t join me.”

  “But we just broke up, or whatever that was.”

  “So, we’ll just be two friends getting donuts late at night.”

  Devlin’s eyes narrowed. She stared at me as if I were a Jackson Pollock painting that she was trying to get a handle on.

  She finally replied with, “Just donuts.”

  “Just donuts.”

  Devlin

  WE PULLED UP to Top O’ the Morning Donuts a little after two in the morning. I’d insisted on the two of us driving separately, not only because I wanted there to be clear boundaries between Ropes and me, but because I was also scared to death of motorcycles and never had any intention of getting on one as long as I lived.

  As I slid out of my car and watched Ropes climb off his bike, I forced back tears. What was I thinking letting this guy go? Warding Ropes off before things got any more serious felt like the right thing to do, so why did I feel like complete shit?

  It took more than a few convulsive swallows and a vivid imagining of fat old men mud wrestling to stop wishing he was riding me instead of his bike. Ropes walked to me and smiled. “You okay?”

  No, sir, I’m not okay. I want you to rip my panties off and eat me out on the sidewalk in front of your friend’s donut shop, which is extremely inconvenient for me considering I just dumped you.

  “Yep.”

  “Why do you look like you just threw up in your mouth, then?”

  Danny DiVito just pinned Hurly from Lost to a muddy mat, that’s why.

  “I have no idea,” I lied. “I’m good.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

  “Yep.”

  “Alrighty then, you ready to destroy some donuts?”

  “Hells, yes, I am.”

  Hells yes? What the fuck, Devlin? Are we stuck in 1999?

  I shook my head and followed him to the side entrance and Ropes quietly ushered me into the building. Ropes put a finger to his lips and we crept silently through the most wonderful smelling kitchen I’d ever encountered. As we made our way to the front of the shop I could see a slender man with salt and pepper hair sitting at one of the dining area tables, hunched over an old-school accounting ledger, scribbling away furiously with a pencil.

  “Did someone here order an anchovy and pineapple pizza?”

  The man at the ledger jumped in his seat and spun around before leaping to his feet to greet us.

  “Dough Boy,” he exclaimed cheerfully, as he pulled Ropes in for a bear hug.

  “Dough Boy?” I snorted in surprise.

  “That’s what Omar has always called me. When I was a kid, I worked at Sparky’s Pizza, which used to be right next door. If we were there late enough after closing, we could smell Omar baking his first batch of donuts. We’d bang on the common wall between us, and if Omar banged back we’d fire the oven back up and bake a large anchovy and pineapple pizza. In trade, Omar would give us two dozen donuts straight off the line. The Devil’s Cut.”

  “And Dough Boy would always be the one to bring me my pie.”

  “Fucking anchovy and pineapple.”

  “Light cheese, and extra sauce,” Omar added, wagging his finger. “Extra sauce is key.”

  “Good ol’ Sparky’s,” Ropes said. “We had some good times there.”

  Omar scowled. “Now there’s a fucking Jumpy Juice next door. All day long, women in yoga pants park their Priuses in my spaces,” he said in a thick middle-eastern accent.

  “You need me to talk to the owners?” Ropes asked, and the two men laughed.

  “I’m just a grumpy old man. But why talk about such things when we have beautiful lady in room?”

  “Devlin, this is Omar,” Ropes introduced us.

  Omar smiled with his entire face as he greeted me. “It is so nice to have you in my brother’s store. You are most welcome.”

  “Thank you so much. It smells amazing in here. Is your brother baking with you today?”

  “Always,” Omar said, gently patting his heart. “My brother Asim died when we were very young men in Sudan, but he is always right here with me.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  “It was Asim’s dream to come to America. He had a crazy idea about selling coffee and donuts to Americans.” Omar smiled and shrugged. “When he died, I left Sudan and came to America to fulfill my brother’s dream.”

  “That is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” I said, as tears welled up.

  “Perhaps,” He looked around. “But now, there’s giant green sign on every corner, and still only one Top O’ the Morning Donuts.” Omar laughed heartily.

  “Your coffee is better than that corporate crap any day of the week,” Ropes said. “And I’ve never had a better donut in my life.”

  “Speaking of donuts,” Omar said, excitedly. “I’ve got a chocolate Bavarian cream with your name on it, little lady… if you like chocolate Bavarian cream, that is.”

  “You had me at Bavarian,” I said.

  “Oh, I like you.” He dropped his head back and laughed. “I have fresh batch coming up. I’ll go back to the kitchen and leave you two.”

  “Corner booth okay?” Ropes asked.

  “Always for you, anything,” Omar replied, and disappeared.

  “He’s adorable,” I said.

  “Omar is the best.”

  “What did he think when Dough Boy became Biker Boy?”

  “Omar was the one that introduced me to the Saints,” Ropes said with a smile.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. When I first got to town, I was just a kid. I didn’t have a job or even a place to stay, so I applied at every place I could find but no one would hire me. I could hardly blame them. I was sixteen, looked like a ninety-nine-pound wet sack of turds, had no address, and zero work experience. The only guy that took me seriously was Dave Bracco, Breeder of Fine Hunting Dogs.”

 
“Who?” I said with a laugh.

  “Dave Bracco. He was the manager of Sparky’s pizza. He gave me my first job and he became one of my best friends in the world.”

  “And he bred hunting dogs?”

  Ropes smiled. “No, but according to him, the name Bracco is Italian and translated to ‘Breeder of Fine Hunting Dogs.’ He got a big kick out of this and had it printed on his business cards and everything.”

  “Even though he never actually bred hunting dogs?”

  “Fine hunting dogs,” Ropes corrected.

  I smiled. “Sounds like a funny guy.”

  “He was a lunatic, told the corniest jokes, and was one of the best souls you ever could have met.”

  “Was?” I asked.

  “He passed away when I was nineteen. He was murdered.”

  My hand covered my mouth. “Oh, my word, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay. It was a long time ago,” Ropes said with a look in his eyes that told me that it may as well have been yesterday. But before I could find out more, Omar arrived back at our table with an assortment of freshly baked donuts on a tray.

  “A little of everything, and a Bavarian cream for the lady,” he said with a wink before noticing the wetness in my eyes.

  Omar looked to Ropes for an explanation.

  “I was just telling her about Dave Bracco,” he said.

  “Oh. Poor, poor David,” Omar said, shaking his head. “Such a shameful thing to happen to such a good man.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “The owner of Sparky’s Pizza was a Russian mob guy named Rudy. He owned this whole building complex back then. Omar was the only one who owned his own business, and everything else in the complex was run by this scumbag.

  “And I still had to kick up to that piece of shit,” Omar said.

  Ropes continued. “Apparently, one night, Dave saw Rudy do something that he shouldn’t have, and it cost him his life.”

  “That’s horrible. Did the police ever catch him?”

  Omar and Ropes shared a look. “The matter was handled, justice was served,” Ropes replied.

  “How?”

  “Omar was aware that the Burning Saints were known to help out business owners who were being hassled. After what happened to Dave, Omar was afraid for me, so he reached out to them, and the Saints took care of everything. Omar vouched for me, told Cutter I was a good kid, and the Saints took me in.”