Nickel's Story: A Steel Bones Motorcycle Club Romance

by Cate C. Wells

“Where did you go?” Her voice is higher, breathier as she struggles to come full-awake.

  “Club business.”

  She pushes her wild hair back, and she scrubs her face with her hands. And then—like the sun bursting out—she smiles.

  “Are you naked?” she asks.

  “One way to find out.”

  And I guess I thought I’d have to start from zero, explain myself, find words to make her come to me again, but I don’t. One minute she’s eyein’ my bare chest, the next she’s straddling it, her bare ass cradling my stiff cock. She bounces, making the coils squeak.

  She fucking bounces. And giggles. The sound goes straight to my dick, and it’s throbbing now, and my hips are straining to find a hole to push in because her warm, slick pussy is home, and I’m lost ‘cause I ain’t there. I have mind enough to reach under the bed, grab a condom, and slide it on.

  She’s bent forward to kiss me, and when my hands are free, I plunge my fingers in her hair, hold her still while I plunder her mouth, and all the while her unrestrained body is goin’ crazy on me, writhing and rocking as she rakes her tits up and down my chest. She’s tryin’ to seat herself on my cock, but I’ve got her calves pinned with one of my legs, so she can’t get enough height.

  Somewhere along the line, her hungry amped up my control. I chuckle. This is gonna be fun.

  “Come on, Nickel,” she begs.

  I ignore her. I free one hand, fisting and wrapping her hair around the other, and I slap her hard on the ass. She shrieks and bucks against me.

  I slap the other cheek. “Be good.”

  Her chest is heaving, and her eyes are shining in the dim light. She calms, and I can feel every inch of her silky skin from her belly to her thighs, her slight weight pressing on me, and I want to roll her and pound into her again until she screams my name, but this is too sweet. I take a sip from her lips, stroke up and down her spine with my fingers and chase the shivers.

  “Nickel,” she whimpers. “It hurts.”

  Those are magic words. I don’t want my girl to hurt ever.

  I cradle her and twist, landing her on her back, eating up her happy shriek of surprise. I slide down, wedge my shoulders between her thighs, and wrap my arms around her hips, lacing my fingers and resting them on her belly so she can’t squirm an inch.

  “Nickel,” she whines, trying to peel my hands away or scoot her ass back and failing. “I haven’t had a shower.”

  I nestle my nose in the curls dusting above her pussy lips and breathe deep. She yelps and slaps my back.

  “I can tell,” I growl, and she yips and beats at me harder. I can smell myself on her, and my cock punches so hard against the mattress I bet I left a dent. “I love how you smell, baby.”

  I slip my tongue through her soft folds, exploring, searching out her wet hole and lapping at her hard clit. She’s really bucking now, but she can’t get anywhere, and she’s panting heavy, moaning my name, over and over. She’s left off slapping me.

  I flatten my tongue and lick her asshole-to-clit and back again, and when a fresh gush of pussy juice leaks from her hole, I lap it up.

  “You taste so good.” There’s a little latex aftertaste, but it’s fading with each gush, and I’m drawing the cream out of her. Her thighs are quivering against my shoulders, clenching, and her belly’s tightening under my grip. She tries so hard to grind her clit into my mouth, but I hold her steady, make her take what I give.

  She jerks her torso, and I have to press down harder to keep her where I want her while she gasps, “Nickel, I want to cum. I want to cum.”

  And now that she’s mine, going wild in my arms, I have to give this woman anything she asks for. “Okay, baby.”

  I suck hard on her clit, let my teeth graze her, and she flails so much as she cums that I can’t keep hold of her anymore without hurting her, so I push up, and I look down and watch her full body seize and jerk through her orgasm. I seen this in porn before but never real life.

  She’s so beautiful. Her hair’s a mess, she’s flushed pink head to toe, and her legs are squeezed together and bent at the knees as she cries out her pleasure.

  My dick is hard enough to pound nails, but I can’t move. I can only watch.

  Her blue eyes slowly blink open, and as her legs relax, she points her toes. She has the muscles of a dancer, firm thighs and tight calves, and you can see the defined line of each one as she raises her legs and wraps them around my waist.

  “I want you, baby,” she sighs. “Quit teasing me.”

  I don’t think I’ll ever be able to tell her no again. I grab my cock and guide it into her slick channel, stretching her while she adjusts to let me in deeper.

  “Yes,” she hisses, her eyelids dropping again as she bites her lip.

  I go slow because this is heaven, the highest high. The air up here is crystal clear and my body’s at peace with itself for once, every part of me working to make this woman moan and whimper and beg and smile and gasp. The hot grip of her pussy on my cock is amazing, like nothing I’ve ever felt before, but it’s nothing to watching her.

  I see her frustration rise, bit by bit, as she urges me faster with her hips and slips her fingers between us to play with her clit, but I’m too selfish. This peace is too perfect. I draw her hand away and pin it on the pillow beside her head.

  “Unh!”

  I guess she’s had enough. She uses her other hand to grab me by the scruff of the neck, and she tugs, trying to roll me with her legs and torso. There’s no way she could dislodge me—I’ve got at least sixty pounds on her—but I’m afraid she’ll hurt herself, so I let her put me on my back.

  She climbs back on, taking my cock in an almost painfully tight grasp and shoves it between her legs, slipping down, and then she rides me hard, using me, her head tilted back, the tip of her hair tickling my thighs. She has her hand shoved between her legs, working her clit so hard I don’t know how she hasn’t already cum.

  I’m gonna spend any second, my balls drawn tight and tingling, my hips slamming up to go deeper, and she keens my name, and I’m lost. I cum so hard my gut cramps, and then her pussy spasms, the flutters along my spent dick sending jolts of life back into it like I’m sixteen again.

  A satisfied smile curls the corners of her lip, and for a second it seems like she’s gonna collapse on my chest, but then it’s like she remembers something.

  “Gotta get this right away. Don’t want a repeat of last time,” she mumbles and holds the condom at the base as she hops off.

  Then she ducks into the bathroom, and I hear the sink running. I’m punch drunk, a mile high, and it takes her words a long damn time to register.

  By the time they do, she’s out of the bathroom and across the room, digging in her bag. The sun’s come up enough that the room’s filled with a grey light.

  I swing my legs over the side of the bed so I don’t miss a second of her bent over naked.

  “What do you mean? Don’t want a repeat?”

  She finds what she was lookin’ for, her makeup bag, and she straightens. “Oh, yeah. You were zonked out the first time. The condom broke.”

  “The condom broke?” My chest constricts so hard my heart skips a beat. I shoot to my feet.

  Story’s oblivious, rummaging around in her bag. “Yeah, last night. And it got stuck. We’re gonna need to change the sheets.”

  My gut sours. Why is she so calm? She must be on the pill.

  “You’re on the pill, right?”

  She turns, finally catching on that I am freaking the fuck out. She slowly shakes her head. “No. It makes me nauseous and bloated. I wasn’t fucking anyone so I went off.”

  And it’s like a dam breaks. All the shit from last night with Ike that I’ve shoved as far down as I can comes crashing back, and my skin blanches cold and clammy.

  “I didn’t even mean to hit her. She walked into it by accident.”

  Ma huddled on her hands and knees in the middle of the living room, baby Markie under her trying to cra
wl out while she desperately tries to shield him from the flying fists and boots, me on my knees hiding behind the arm of an ugly brown couch.

  An older me bashing in Markie’s face as he punches me in the kidneys, over and over, cracking my ribs. Knocking over the curio cabinet and dozens of figurines of happy boys and girls crashing in a mess on the floor.

  This can’t be fucking happening.

  Furious energy bursts from my skin. I throw on pants and a shirt, jam my feet into my boots, not bothering to lace them.

  “Where are you going?” Story’s eyes widen.

  “The pharmacy. To get a morning after pill.” I yank on my cut.

  Story pulls a top from her bag, tugs it over her head, and moves in front of the door.

  “Calm down, Nickel. It’s okay. I just got off my period, like, the day before yesterday. And it broke at the top. It got on the sheets more than anything.”

  “Get out of the way, Story.”

  My lungs are seizing and sights and sounds are flipping through my head like a shuffled deck of cards: Jeannie’s fat lip and black eye, Ma’s head snapping back from a punch she couldn’t block cause her arms were wrapped around her rounded stomach, my fists pummeling flesh and breaking bones, the smell of men pissing themselves and the taste of blood in my mouth.

  “Let’s talk about this,” Story begs. “Take a shower. We can go together after.”

  She’s in my way. I have to get out of here.

  “Move.”

  She reaches out to touch me, and I flinch back.

  “Baby,” she says. “We’ve got time. It’s still the morning after. Let’s talk. What’s going on?”

  She won’t move, I’m trapped, and the ugly is free, crackling through my veins, turning everything red.

  “Fuck, Story. Move!”

  She shakes her head, and that’s it, the ugly wins. I swing for the wall.

  The air whistles. She cries out.

  My knuckles crunch as my hand slams into the dry wall beside the door. The silence is so loud I can hear both our hearts slamming.

  A hunk of blonde hair is caught between my fist and the cracked plaster.

  Oh, God. She moved. As I swung, she moved away from the door. Right into the arc of my swing. I missed her face by a quarter of an inch. Less. Ice flash-freezes my guts, and my mouth goes dry.

  Story backs off now, taking slow steps backwards toward the bed. Her eyes are blown so huge I can see myself in the shine of her pupils. Her hands are trembling. She’s terrified.

  I’m garbage. And I am weak. I know what I am—what made me—and I’m so fucking weak that I couldn’t stay away and then I couldn’t stop—

  If I’d hit her, I could have killed her. Damaged her brain; made her like Hobs.

  I search her face, her body. Is she hurt? Oh, God. She’s frightened, but there’s no bruise. No blood. I missed her, except for that hunk of hair. I missed her. The relief is as powerful as it is sickening.

  She holds her palms up like she’s trying to appease me. “Nickel. Talk to me.” Her voice shakes.

  My mind churns up a hundred images of Ma, hands in the air, begging, pleading, apologizing for shit she never did and promising things she could never do. My stomach lurches. I’m gonna puke.

  I bolt out the door, the devil on my heels, and I don’t stop until I’ve put a state between me and what I’ve done. What I’ve become.

  What I’ve always fucking been.

  CHAPTER 15

  STORY

  i m so sorry. don’t be scared, i won’t ever come near you again. i’m so fucking sry story.

  I get the text three hours after Nickel loses his mind, punches a wall, and then rides off alone in the middle of a lockdown.

  And that’s the last I heard from him cause he’s a coward, and he’s gonna get himself hurt, and how can he give up so easy like that? Like we ain’t been inchin’ toward each other for years and years?

  nick answer the phone. talk to me.

  nick im not scared. i don’t understand what happened. you have to talk to me.

  nick im scared now. what’s going on?

  nick why you leav me on read???

  Now I want to punch a wall.

  The brothers rushed up as soon as Nickel fled—Charge and Forty and Heavy—three huge men crowding around the door, worry in their eyes. I showed them the hole, but I didn’t tell them why Nickel lost his shit. That’s our business.

  Not that there’s an “us.” You need two people for an “us,” and all I have is myself and a ghost.

  The brothers let me be after they made sure I was okay, and I appreciated that. Forty and Charge are definitely pissed enough to beat Nickel’s ass, but Heavy looked how I feel. Disappointed. Bone-tired. Powerless.

  They say if I want to leave, they’ll take me to Sunny’s. Apparently, Larry is more badass than I knew ‘cause the brothers talk like “the Dentist” can handle any comers. I don’t want to leave, but what else can I do? I’ve been left.

  Last night was perfect, sweet in a way I always knew the world could be, but that I’d never seen for myself. Now’s it’s all a stupid hole in a stupid wall.

  And what am I going to do? Sit on this bed and stare at it in between staring at my stupid phone? I need to face facts. He told me, and I should have believed him.

  Not about him being some kind of abusive rage-aholic who can’t be trusted with anything nice. That’s a bunch of crap. He’s a bouncer at a strip club, for fuck’s sake. He beats down pervs who try to hurt women for a living.

  But he told me loud and clear that deep down, he believes he’s a hopeless case, and he’s not gonna try for even one day to be better than the piece of shit he thinks he is. My stomach aches, and my heart’s a black hole, but what else can I do but believe him?

  Even if eventually he comes back, if he agrees to sit down and talk about whatever crawled up his ass, and if we get back to the perfect place we were last night through some kind of miracle, it would only be a matter of time.

  I showed him my tits, and he tossed me out. I kissed him, and he punched a truck. I went after him, and he threw another woman in my face. I gave him everything I have, and he ran off and left me.

  I know I’m a bit of a stalker. I know I’m not a winner. I’m in a dead-end job, about to fail out of community college ‘cause I can’t read a book about teeth, and I can only do what I love one night a week in a dank rec center basement ‘cause how I make rent makes me unsuitable for normal, decent folk.

  I’m not much, not in the world’s opinion, but I have always played the hand I’ve been dealt. No giving up. No giving in.

  Electric shut off? Move the food from the fridge to the freezer, and it can last two or three days longer.

  Can’t read? Sit next to the kid with the adult aide and listen when she reads it aloud to him.

  Everyone in school hate you? Join dance and pretend only those hours of your life count.

  How do you handle a man who won’t even try? You pack up your bags and go home. You can’t win a game when the other person won’t play. And sometime over the past few weeks since I kissed Nickel in the parking lot, this turned into something way more than the world’s most frustrating game of tag. It became real.

  I was wrong the night I saw him kiss Danielle. I thought I knew then what heartbreak was. What over felt like. I didn’t have a clue.

  As I sling my duffle bag over my shoulder, my entire body feels creaky and awkward, like I’m beginning a dance without warming up. My body is still sore from taking his cock, and he’s in the wind. How sad is that?

  I don’t bother looking around the room one last time. There’s nothing here.

  When I get downstairs, it’s pretty low key. It’s not even noon, yet. Shrieks filter in from the yard out back where the kids are running loose, and all sorts of good smells are wafting from the kitchen. A glance out the huge bay windows shows brothers working on their bikes. It’s a real family vibe with the whole club here at once.

&nb
sp; The sad drags at me even harder. I been around this club my whole life, but it’s never really been mine. And isn’t that a sign?

  I drop my duffle by the bar and wander back to the offices to find Forty. He’s the one who offered me a ride to Ma’s. I pass Heavy’s office, but I don’t peek in. He’s a real busy man, especially now, I imagine. Besides, we’ve only had maybe two conversations in my life, and I can’t say I understood most of what he said either time. He favors real big words.

  So it comes as a surprise when I hear his deep, bass voice ring out. “Story?”

  I’m already down the hall, but you don’t ignore Heavy Ruth. I go back and linger in the doorway, unsure. Heavy runs all the businesses from this corner room overlooking the garage and the fire pit. He has a big wooden desk and swivel chair like a boss, but the rest of the room screams biker.

  There’s a greasy engine sitting on a drop cloth on a side table, and beer bottles littered on a coffee table and the windowsill. There’s a poster of a lady from the 70s with feathered hair, propping herself up on a Super Glide, her feet on the handlebars, flashing a very bushy beaver. It’s eye-catching, that’s for sure.

  “Sit.” Heavy gestures to a chair. He’s on his phone, and he barks orders for a few more minutes while I wait, picking at my nails. This room, this man, makes me feel like I’m in the principal’s office, if the principal is a hairy giant who dwarfs the furniture and clacks a message out on his computer with massive meat paws.

  I’m surprised when he gets up and comes around the desk, taking an overstuffed chair across from me. He’s got to be deep in this Rebel Raiders thing. Don’t know why he’s made time for me.

  “Story,” he sighs, and I’m listening, but he doesn’t follow it up with anything.

  Eventually, I feel like I have to fill the silence. “I was looking for Forty. To take me to Ma— Sunny’s place.”

  He nods, still skewering me with his brown eyes, as dark as Nickel’s but so different. Where Nickel’s eyes are windows, Heavy’s reflect the light, a mirror catching in the sun. Disorienting and freaky as hell.

  “You sure you can’t hang out?” he asks.