by Anne Malcom
He plunged into me. Hard.
I screamed and almost came right then and then.
“You feel so fuckin’ good, babe, you’re like velvet,” he muttered into my ear, hands holding me securely while he thrust into me.
“Harder,” was all I managed.
He complied and I scratched my hands down his bare back, reveling in the sharp hiss he emitted. Strong hands bit into my hip while the other held my hip. I held onto him for dear life as he pounded into me, plates smashing on the floor.
His hand went to my neck and he grasped it tightly, his eyes on mine. We stayed like that, staring at each other while he fucked me within an inch of my life, no words needed.
My orgasm washed over me without warning and I cried out as I felt him empty himself inside me. He rested his forehead against mine; we were both breathing heavily.
“That’s what I call a good morning kiss,” I whispered.
Brock chuckled lightly and the vibration made me twitch as he was still inside me. His gaze then traveled down my body to reveal we were both covered in flour.
All of a sudden we were off the counter, Brock still inside me. I squealed.
“We need a shower,” he growled.
After a very long and satisfying shower I stood in my walk-in closet, contemplating an outfit for the day. I was meant to be in the store about twelve. It was only nine now so we had plenty of time for a breakfast date. My head snapped up from a perusal of heels (I started my outfits from the bottom up, considering shoes to be most important). Date. Brock and I had messed around for months on and off. We had fought, made up, slept together, woke up together but did not go on one date. I was too busy trying to maintain emotional distance to even entertain the idea of a date. We hadn’t even shared a proper meal together. How could I be in love with a man when I didn’t even know if he liked mushrooms?
`“Want to run something by you, baby.” Brock’s voice penetrated my thoughts.
I whirled around to see him leaning against the door to the closet. He did that well. Leaning, I mean.
“Do you like mushrooms?” I blurted.
He furrowed his brow. “What?”
“Mushrooms,” I repeated impatiently, “do you like them?”
He looked at me a second before answering. “Not particularly.”
“Good,” I nodded. “Me either, they gross me out. What’s your go to breakfast? Are you a toast and jelly man or do you go full hog with bacon and eggs?” I asked. “Or do you forgo breakfast altogether and just suck down a coffee? On that note, how do you take your coffee?” I shot at him, pacing.
How could our relationship have been so shallow and so deep at the same time? I knew. It was because of me. Me and my fucked up-ness keeping Brock at arms’ length, then keeping him away altogether.
Brock stepped forward putting his hands on my arms. “Take a breath, Sparky, and tell me where all this is coming from,” he said easily.
I took a deep breath. “We hardly know each other! We haven’t been on one date and I don’t even know what your favorite color is. Please don’t say something like black. That’s just stupid and it doesn’t even technically count as a color,” I babbled.
Brock’s finger brushed against my lips, silencing me. “We know each other, Sparky. I know the sound you make when I make you come with my mouth. I know you come from a fucked up family but still manage to have a sense of humor and be a good person. I know you would do anything for your best friend.” He cupped my face. “I know when faced with situations that would make grown men quiver in their boots you shoot your mouth off and show no fear. I know you, baby. The important stuff, anyway. The stuff that makes me know I want you.” He paused. “I also know you’re a crazy fuckin; driver, you hardly ever stop at pedestrian crossings, and you don’t like kids apart from Belle.”
I stared into his eyes, letting all that information sink in, trying not to sniffle like a girl.
“And for the record my favorite color is red,” he said, playing with the strands of my hair. “Now can I run something by you?” he continued.
I nodded, still mute.
“Since it’s Sunday and the garage is closed I got no work today. Plus club business is quiet so I was thinking after breakfast we could take a ride.”
“Where to?” I asked, finding my voice and finding excitement at the prospect of riding with Brock. Wow, I was the new and improved, Amy. Usually I would be grumbling about damage to my hair or limited outfit options.
“Anywhere, down the coast. We’ll stop somewhere for lunch, just ride.”
“That sounds awesome,” I told him, getting excited at the prospect of an entire day with Brock. Then my mind caught up. “But I can’t,” I said, watching his eyes harden slightly. “I’ve got to work at the store at twelve,” I explained, not wanting him to think it was because I didn’t want to.
He relaxed. “Babe, you own the place. I’m sure you can take the afternoon off.”
I bristled slightly. “Yeah, but I’ve been a shitty owner lately. I took off for six weeks and pretty much left Gwen and Rosie to deal. I’ve got a lot to make up for.”
“Well, for a week of that you were being held prisoner, so I doubt they’d hold that against you. Plus you’ve worked all of this week when you should have been fucking resting. Take the day, babe.”
I contemplated it. It had been relatively quiet lately and we had hired a couple of new girls in addition to Rosie and Lily. I was only there to do some office stuff today so I could take the day.
“Okay,” I said and Brock smiled.
I stared at him a moment. It wasn’t as if Brock didn’t smile a lot. He wasn’t like Bull or Cade. He smiled around me, even laughed at me most of the time. But he had never directed a soft, tender smile at me like the one right now. I almost melted in a puddle at his feet.
He smacked my butt lightly. “Get dressed then, babe,” He kissed me firmly then sauntered over to the chaise lounge in the middle of my closet to sit down.
I followed him with my eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Waiting for you to get dressed,” he replied.
I frowned, puddly feeling gone. “You can’t sit there and watch me get dressed—you’ll distract me. Go and do some man thing to keep you occupied.” I waved my hand in the direction of the door.
“How much attention do you need to get dressed, Sparky? Plus, I consider watching my woman getting dressed as a ‘man thing’ since I get to check out her rack while she does it,” he said with a playful glint in his eye.
I stood my ground. “Have you seen my outfits? They require careful consideration. I’m not like a guy who can just throw some jeans and a tee on and look like a biker version of a Greek god. This takes work. Plus, I need to find motorcycle appropriate clothing, I doubt couture would cut it.” I glanced at my racks.
Brock smirked full on. “Greek god?” he asked. I glared and he carried on. “I’ve seen what you wear, babe. And as hot as you look in all your fancy shit I’m more interested in what’s underneath it. And I have no fuckin’ clue what couture is but jeans and a tee would suffice for bike wear. We’ll get you a leather jacket on the way out,” he decided.
“I don’t do ‘jeans and a tee’,” I informed him. “And I’ve already got a leather jacket,” I pulled out a Balenciaga tan biker style jacket that held a special place in my heart.
Brock didn’t say a word. He just raised his sexy but judgmental eyebrows and folded his arms, leaning back on the chaise. I decided to ignore him and turned around to find something else to wear.
Turns out I did do jeans and a tee. So maybe they were three hundred dollar jeans, and the tee shirt was designer. Baby steps. I even wore flats. Granted, they were beautiful biker style boots tucked into my skinny jeans, but it was still a change for me.
After calling Rosie to let her know I wasn’t coming in and eating a breakfast of French toast, Brock and I set out for the day. The feeling of being on the back of his bike, hurtling along the coa
st was one that rivaled anything else I had done.
The sore butt after an hour of riding was not fun though. Plus, my thighs hurt slightly from being at a weird angle, but I wasn’t telling Brock that.
We stopped every now and then to wander around little towns we passed through. To get the substance necessary for my existence, or as other people called it, coffee. We finally stopped at a little shack on the beach. “What’s this?” I asked, looking at the corrugated iron building that looked like a food truck.
“Lunch,” Brock declared, stowing our helmets.
“Lunch?” I asked disbelievingly.
“Taste the crab cakes before you judge, Sparky. They’ll change your life.” He grabbed my hand, tugging me toward the shack.
“They’ll change my gut bacteria, more like,” I muttered.
“These are the shit!” I declared after swallowing my first mouthful.
Brock merely smirked at me. I was getting used to this fun-loving smile of his.
We were seated at a picnic table on the beach. There were only a few people scattered around, It was peaceful and beautiful.
We ate in compatible silence, enjoying the food and the tranquil sound of the waves. “This is nice,” I said, watching the waves.
“Yeah,” Brock agreed quietly. I kept watching the waves while Brock’s tattooed hand played with mine.
After our amazing lunch Brock drove us down a depleted-looking road and parked his bike in the shade of a tree. We had driven away from the ocean and now we were in a huge field, with no civilization to be seen. I pulled my helmet off, confused.
“What are we...” I started to ask, but Brock snatched my helmet and tossed it on the ground. Before I knew it Brock had pushed me back so I was half-lying on his bike.
“What are you doing?” I tried to protest again. The erotic glint in his eyes had me staying still, although I worried about the bike toppling over.
“Remember me telling you I was going to fuck you on the bike, Sparky?” he asked hoarsely, standing so he could yank off my jeans.
“Here?” I stuttered slightly, feeling immensely turned on but also hugely exposed. What if a nice young family decided to come for a Sunday picnic under this very tree and I scarred some child for life?
“It’s just you and me here, baby. You think I’d let anyone else see that beautiful pussy?” he murmured, pulling me up once he had divested me of my panties. He maneuvered me so I was straddling him, my bare core rubbing against his hard length. I moaned slightly before Brock clutched the back of my head to kiss me. I ground up against him.
“What if the bike falls?” I asked when he had released my mouth for a moment.
Brock gave me a dark look and his hand moved to stroke me between my legs. “You think I’d let you fall, babe?”
I shook my head slowly, trusting him.
His hand moved in circles as he built me up, not saying anything, not kissing me, just watching me. My breath started coming in pants, the combination of his gaze and doing something so private in the open turning me on like crazy. I moved in rhythm with his strokes, the fire from his touch overwhelming me. “I need you inside me,” I said brokenly.
Brock stared at me a beat before freeing himself from his jeans.
“Ride me, baby,” he commanded roughly, lifting me.
The cords of Brock’s neck were tight as he filled me to the hilt. I wrapped my legs around him tightly, finding my balance on the bike. Once I got it I started to move, slowly at first, then faster as my orgasm crept up on me.
“Fuck yes, Sparky,” Brock grunted as I clutched his neck and rode him relentlessly. I cried out through my climax, throwing my head back, Brock’s hand steadying me. Brock thrust into me hard as I came down, filling me with his own release. We were both breathing heavily and Brock rested his forehead against mine. “Love you, baby,” he said softly.
I stared at him for a moment. “I love you too,” I whispered.
I was curled up watching TV as Brock cooked us dinner and I felt it. Happy. Content. It wasn’t like my life before love and loss and heartbreak wasn’t good. It was. I had friends. I had money. I had a nice apartment. I had nice things. But there was a little piece of me that none of that could fill. A piece of me that in the darkest recesses of my mind I would only admit was a need for love. That was something that had been sorely lacking in my childhood. I watched my parents around each other and saw no affection, only duty. I received bouts of it from my Uncle Garrett and I treasured it. But I spent so much time desperate for attention and love from the two people who are meant to give it unconditionally that I thought that there was something wrong with me. I tried to be perfect, to look perfect, to act perfect. But that didn’t work; in fact my mother always found some kind of fault in my behavior or appearance. So I changed tactics. I acted out, I caused trouble. Broke curfew. Cursed. That didn’t warrant any more attention, not even discipline. So I decided to just be me and pretend it didn’t kill me just a little inside that I couldn’t get love from my family. Since then I vowed never to be that vulnerable little girl, changing everything about herself in order to receive love. I made it impossible to feel that rejection by picking men I would never love; hell, I hardly even liked them. I used them then threw them away.
Even when I had Ian it was a whirlwind kind of love, one that I knew couldn’t last, but it took me by surprise and I went with it. And to my horror I became that little girl, pleading for Ian’s love, for him to stay with me, for us to be together. When he broke it off, although his reasons were honorable and ultimately because he loved me, all I saw was his rejection. So then again I vowed to not let that happen again, to let that need for love turn me into a vulnerable mess. That’s what fucked up everything with Brock. Now it was fixed. Now I was taking the risk. I’d said the words, I’d jumped off that ledge. And he caught me. And here I was doing something as domestic as watching TV with him and I was happy. I wasn’t in a fancy apartment in my glossy city. I wasn’t clad in overpriced albeit beautiful clothes. But I had everything I needed.
“Amy?”
I shook my head. I had been retreating into it far too much these days.
“Yeah?” I glanced up at Brock, who was shirtless. My gaze didn’t get past his midsection as I drooled over his tattooed six pack.
“My eyes are up here, babe,” he said playfully.
I didn’t move my gaze. “I know,” I replied. I heard his chuckle and I licked my lips.
He knelt down and grasped my chin. “Keep looking at me like that and our dinner’s going to go cold,” he stated in a low voice.
I ran my hands up his rock hard abs. “Food’s overrated,” I declared.
Brock’s eyes flared. “As much as I would rather eat your sweet pussy instead of dinner, you need it.” His voice was firm and I pouted.
He sighed, pulling me off the couch. “You’re going to kill me, woman. Eat. Then back to bed.”
I smiled at him. It was genuine and it was full of all that love I felt.
He stilled and his face turned tender. “You’re fuckin’ beautiful, baby.” He kissed me firmly and directed me into his cluttered dining room.
“So,” I said, chewing my amazing dinner. Brock could cook. And he had a hot body and a hot face and was great in bed. Oh, and I loved him. I guess I’d keep him.
“So,” he replied in between mouthfuls.
“The Sons killed Jimmy, right?” I asked casually. I had wanted to talk about this with Brock or Cade at some point, but with Ian’s death and all the drama that followed it had kind of fallen by the wayside. Now that Brock and I were together I wanted to lay it all out. I wanted to know everything about the club.
Brock had stilled and was staring at me.
“Don’t worry. I don’t have a wired stuffed down my bra, considering I’m not wearing one,” I joked, forking some more food into my mouth.
Brock had put down his fork and I had his full attention. His easy gaze had gone and he was in full on biker mode. It wa
s kinda hot. “How do you know?”
I chewed. “I’m not an idiot. Gwen shacks up with Cade and Jimmy mysteriously gets shivved not three months after they get together. I’m assuming you called in a marker or something like that.” I waved my fork. “Is that what it’s called? A marker? That’s not important. I just wanted to thank you. Off the record, of course. Gwen would go gonzo if she knew I was condoning vigilante justice. She’s a rare person who believes in justice and karma and stuff like that.” I paused. “I don’t. I believe that a person who tortured, scarred and almost raped and killed one of the most important people in my life deserved to die.” I shrugged. “If that makes me a bad person then I’m guessing I’ll be sunbathing in hell.”
Brock was staring at me with that blank look on his face but it was tinged with shock. I decided to solider on.
“I kept my promise on the first night we met. I promised that I wouldn’t go poking around into the clubs business since I was satisfied you guys weren’t a bunch of misogynists who liked to hurt women.” I stared at Brock. “But now we’re—” I paused, “now we’re dating officially. I guess I need to know more. You know me too well to know I’m not okay with ignorance. Or lying by omission. I need to know it all. I suspect Gwen’s the same, but she hasn’t uttered a word about the club to me. So I guess what I’m saying is, if we’re going to do this, it’s full disclosure.”
“Of all the things that I thought would come out of your mouth, that was probably the last thing I expected,” Brock said after a second.
“Really? What about if I said I like to dress up like a clown and spank you with a paddle?” I deadpanned.