by Naomi West
“You gonna search a burnt-out hellhole in that?” He looks down at my legs. His eyes turn hungry. He wants me. I ache when I realize I want him too, want him bad.
I tell him about my change of clothes.
“So you thought of everything,” he mutters.
“There’s nothing more unattractive than a bitter man.”
Maybe I’m trying to needle him. Maybe I’m trying to really piss him off. He takes a step back, looking at me like he might slap me. Slap me or fuck me. There’s a thin line between the two right now. He grinds his teeth, watching me closely. “You need to leave,” he says finally.
“No,” I shoot back. “I’m going to get changed, and I’m going in there. You can’t stop me.”
“I can,” he counters. “It wouldn’t be hard.”
I march back to the car and grab my duffle bag full of clothes. He follows me, arms crossed. He stares at me as I unzip the duffle bag. His eyes keep going to my bra. The strap falls down over my shoulder. I shrug it back on. That only seems to make him hungrier.
“Could you give me some privacy, please?”
He waves a hand at the surroundings. Nobody is around. There aren’t even any buildings near the bar. It sits in the middle of a parking lot, completely alone. The gate is up the road a little way. The fence is high, and covered in barbed wire. A few cars pass by the gate, but I only know that because I can hear them. I can’t see them and they can’t see us.
“You’ve got plenty privacy,” he says, grinning. Evil. He looks evil. Evil and hot as the devil.
“Are you seriously just going to stand there?”
“Yep,” he says, with that same grin. “That’s pretty much the size of it.”
“You’re a jerk.”
I stare down at the clothes. I can just pull the sweater over the tank top. I do that. But I don’t want to pull the pants over my shorts. It’d be ridiculously uncomfortable. Plus, it’d be letting him win. I shoot him a look and then wriggle out of my shorts. I don’t mean to bend over seductively. I don’t mean to look at him over my shoulder. Maybe I just want to tease him. Maybe I want something more. I’m not even sure myself. It just happens, my aching pussy driving me to wildness.
Suddenly, he’s right behind me. He grabs onto my ass, squeezing the cheeks together with both his hands. I turn, meaning to push him away. Instead, I grab onto his shoulders.
“You’re a jerk!” I snap.
“Yeah, you said that.” He grabs my panties in a bunch, eyes locked on me the whole time. He yanks. The panties dig into my skin, and then snap painfully. I let out a gasp. He grunts and tosses them to the floor. A light wind tickles my bare pussy. I glance in the direction of the gate. Nobody, nothing. Just us.
“You expect me to just stand here, eh?” He presses his hand against my pussy, crushing my lips. “With that tight ass?” he growls. “With that tight pussy.”
“Don’t,” I whisper.
He rubs my pussy even harder. I let out an involuntary gasp. It feels so, so good. Wet, and hot and close.
“Do you mean that?” he asks, voice low.
“No,” I admit.
Suddenly he grabs me and lifts me up into the trunk. He sits me down and yanks his pants down. I stare down at his cock. It springs up massively, looking like some sort of weapon. He’s so hard for me. He grabs my thighs and pulls them apart. Then he pulls my sweater and my tank top over my head in one swoop. He yanks down my bra, wedging it underneath my breasts. There’s something incredibly naughty about this, him almost fully-clothed and me fully naked. My pussy screams. All thoughts of stopping him fade away.
“You want it,” he says. It’s not a question.
“I want it.” I nod, staring at his cock. So big, so hard. For me, so hard for me.
He moves forward, one hand propping my back. With the other he guides his cock inside of me. I’m just wondering when this mad exchange started when, suddenly, I’m incapable of wondering anything at all. His cock grinds deep inside of me, right up to my sweet spot. I let out a gasp. A week and a half of waiting, imagining, fantasizing …
I throw my hands around his shoulders and squeeze on tightly.
“Come for me,” he whispers in my ear. “Come for me right fucking now.”
On ‘now,’ he pounds his cock into me, almost sending me into the trunk. There’s something animal about his demand. It taps into something primal in me. It’s like he breaks down a dam in my pussy.
All at once, everything rushes through me, whirring pleasure that would usually take foreplay and half an hour of sex to reach. He crushes it into me, demanding that my body follow his instructions. It does, without my say-so.
I come harder than I ever have before, than I believed any woman could.
As I come, I stare out at the emptiness around us. We’re rutting like animals. That just drives me even crazier. Somebody could catch us. My orgasm twists in my belly, his cock like liquid fire deep inside of me. I push my hips down on him. With my hands around his shoulders, I lift myself. He grabs my ass, holding me aloft as he pounds in and out of me. I close my eyes, kissing blindly at him. In a mess of kisses and sweaty limbs, we finish right here. Both of us coming hard.
It’s the second time I’ve ever had sex in public.
When it’s over, I’m left panting and stunned in the trunk, his come sliding warmly down my thigh. And a deep satisfaction running through me like a balm.
6
Scarlett
I get dressed quickly, looking toward the gate and unable to believe that, moments ago, it didn’t seem to matter. Even more than that, it was part of the mad, whirring lust. I clean his come with some tissue from the glove compartment. He hands it to me, grinning sideways. Then I hop from the car and straighten myself out. The whole time he stands slightly back, watching me closely. I wonder if it’s just lust. Or something else. It’s difficult to tell; he keeps his emotions hidden so well … most of the time.
“Are you going to tell me what happened here, then?”
He groans. “You know I’m not gonna do that. Come on, Scarlett. It’s club business.”
“Do I look like a whore to you?” I snap.
“What?” He narrows his eyes. “No, you don’t.”
“Really? So what do you think I am, then? You’re just going to fuck me in a parking lot and then—”
“Wouldn’t it make you a whore if I paid you?” he says. He’s grinning in victory. He’s right. “If I gave you something now, that’d be making you into a whore, wouldn’t it? Since whores get paid. So I reckon I’m doing you a favor by not telling you anything.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I hiss. “Just tell me if it was arson, at least.”
“I’m not telling you anything, Scarlett. I’m sorry if that pisses you off, but …” He shrugs.
“I don’t believe you’re sorry at all.”
He shrugs again, still with that grin on his face. “It’s damn hard to be sorry after …” He gestures at me and the car.
“So what the hell is this?” I walk up to him. “You’re just going to fuck me in public places for the rest of my life and not tell me anything? Or at least treat me like … I don’t know, like a real person. Not just some fucking hole for your personal pleasure.”
He looks at me silently for a long time. Finally, he sighs. “I reckon you’ve got a point. I’ll take you out on a date, a real date. We’ll have food’n everything. How’s that sound, eh?”
“I’m not a little kid,” I mutter. He’s looking at me coaxingly, the way an adult looks at a child they are trying to win over.
“So you don’t wanna go on a date?” he asks.
“I didn’t say that, did I?” I roll my eyes at him. “I think somebody should set up a bus that tours the whole country educating men on how to read women.”
He laughs gruffly. “I reckon that wouldn’t be such a bad idea,” he agrees. “You’re coming on the date.”
“Am I? What if I say no?”
He
shakes his head. “You’re not saying no.”
A date does sound nice. It interests me massively. Especially with my body aching from the sex. Especially since he’s lived in my mind for almost two weeks now. And if we parted ways now, he’d live in my head until I saw him next. At least a date guarantees that we’ll see each other again. This was just dumb luck.
“What if I didn’t come here today? Would we ever have even talked again?”
He flinches. “I don’t know,” he mutters. “That’s the truth. But we’re seeing each other now, so what the hell does it matter?”
“Yes, Cage. I’ll go on a date with you.”
He smiles. He looks so handsome when he smiles like that. It’s so devastating that, for a moment, I almost leap on him again. I control myself. So does he, though I can tell he’s thinking the same.
“I came for a story,” I whisper. “Not to …”
“Not to what?” he prompts when I fall silent.
Not to fall for you.
But I don’t say it. Instead, I ask, “What are you doing now? Have you finished searching the bar?”
“Yeah, we’ve finished.”
“Did you find anything?”
He cocks his head at me. “You really don’t give up, do you?”
“Nope, never.”
“We’ll go out later tonight,” he tells me. “I’ll take you to a restaurant.”
“I’m a lucky girl, aren’t I?”
“I reckon so.” He touches my face. The contact is so unexpected, I nearly step back. But then his callused fingers move over my cheeks, down to my chin. He moves his thumb over my lips. Tingles dance across me. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he whispers.
I reach up and touch his hand. I press it harder against my face, savoring the contact. “You’re just saying that. You’re trying to distract me.”
“Maybe. But it don’t make it any less true.”
“Let me search the bar,” I say. “If you’ve already been over it, what harm can it do?”
“We don’t half-ass shit,” he says. “You won’t find anything.”
“So what’s the harm?”
He takes a step back. Then he turns toward the bar. “Come on, then.”
We go into the bar together. He helps me over some of the rubble, offering his hand.
“What a gentleman.” I giggle.
“I’ve never been called that before.” He laughs along with me.
“There’s a first time for everything, right?”
I go around the bar, sorting through the ash in my gloves. Cage stands nearby, watching me. I intuit that he just wants to spend more time with me. Then I realize that I just want to spend more time with him, too. I believe him when he says he doesn’t half-ass jobs. I know I won’t find anything. But this is a happy accident. Or maybe it’s fate. Whatever it is, I’m glad I’m here with him.
“So what sort of restaurant are you going to take me to?”
“What sort of food do you like?” he asks.
“Oh my God, Cage.” I turn to him in shock.
“What?” He’s suddenly alert. He moves forward, looking down at my hands as though I’ve found something.
“That sounded suspiciously close to a personal question.”
He growls out a chuckle. “Fuckin’ hell. Yeah, I guess it is. Are you gonna answer or not?”
“I like Chinese food. I like Mexican food. I like sushi. I like all kinds of food, I guess. Except for spinach. I really don’t like spinach.”
“Dammit.” He winks at me. “I was gonna take you to an all-spinach restaurant.”
“Ha, ha. What sort of food do you like?”
“I don’t know if I give a damn, truth be told. A man’s hungry. A man eats. I reckon people make it too complicated these days. Have you seen those shows on TV? A bunch of people standing around talkin’ about how to make the best burger. Just cook it; burn it if you want. I don’t care.”
“For somebody who doesn’t care, you seem to have very strong opinions about it.”
I finish searching behind the bar and go into the back room. He follows.
“What about books?” I ask a while later. The silence between us isn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it’s the opposite. It’s like we’ve known each other for far longer than we have. That happens sometimes with people, doesn’t it? An odd connection that springs up out of nowhere. Silence is supposed to be awkward, especially with strangers.
“What about books?” he counters.
“Do you read them?”
He considers. “I’ve read some. A few biographies of outlaws. Billy the Kid. I read that book about Bonnie and Clyde. Westerns, sometimes I read them. But I don’t read much.”
“What do you do for fun, then?”
“Drink. Ride. Fight.”
“You can’t spend all your time drinking, riding, and fighting.”
“Can’t I?” He sounds confused. “Then what the hell’ve I been doing for all these years?”
“How much do you drink?”
He throws his hands up, turning slightly away from me. “I drink as much as I want to fuckin’ drink.”
“Do you drink in the mornings?”
“Is this AA?”
“Do I need to take you to AA?”
“Are you fuckin’ …” He cuts short when he sees my smile. “You’re busting my balls.”
“Maybe a little,” I admit.
“What about you?” he asks as I lean down to search the half-burnt cabinets. Everything reeks of smoke. I’ll have to throw these clothes out, I bet.
“What about me?”
“Do you read?”
“Oh yes. I love reading. I don’t want to be melodramatic—”
“Liar,” he mutters.
I scowl playfully at him. “I don’t want to be melodramatic, but I don’t think I could live without books.”
“Well, what sorts?”
“Um, let me think. I really like Charles Dickens. F Scott Fitzgerald. Emily Brontë. People like that, I guess. Classics.”
“Fancy lady. Dickens did that one about the ghosts, right?”
“The one about the ghosts?”
“I don’t know. The one with the man who hates Christmas. Grinch?”
I burst out laughing. It’s not that he doesn’t know the name of the book or the character. It’s the way he says ‘Grinch.’ He tosses it out there like it’s a curse word. He sounds disgusted with it. Aggressive for no reason. He laughs with me. Then the laughter mutates into something separate from the joke. We’re laughing now just because the other person is, caught up in the moment. The infectious quality of it. His laughter could easily be coming from a carefree family man, someone completely separate from the biker life.
“I’ve never heard you laugh like that before,” I comment.
“Can you tell me somethin’, Scarlett? Why the hell do women feel the need to pick apart every little thing?”
“That’s something you haven’t mentioned.”
“What?”
“Women.”
“Why would I mention women?” he demands. He’s standing over me, peering down as I sort through the filth. He was right. They’ve searched this place expertly. I haven’t found anything, nor will I.
“You said you spend your time riding and drinking and fighting. Surely there are women in there as well? That sort of life must lend itself to having lots and lots of women, right? Don’t you have club girls?”
“Why the hell would you ask me that?” he growls. “I don’t wanna talk about women with you.”
“But I’m right, aren’t I?”
I don’t even know why I’m asking him this. It just comes out. Suddenly I can see him on some drunken night, surrounded by women in short skirts. The image makes me sick.
“No, you’re not fuckin’ right. I steer clear of women as a general rule. Too much damn hassle.”
“So you’re a virgin?”
“Yeah, I’m a virgin. Tha
t time in the booth was my first. You took my flower, Scarlett. I hope you’re happy with yourself.”
“Ha, ha, ha.” I roll my eyes. “Do you really expect me to believe you steer clear of women?”
“Believe what you want. It’s the truth. I’ve had women. Of course I have. But not as many as you’d think. Not as many as you seem to think, anyway. Women bring problems.”
“Do they, now?”
“Yeah, they do,” he says firmly. “They bring problems like asking you questions you don’t wanna hear. As soon as they start in on that shit, I get the hell outta there.”
“But you’re not running away now.”
Like a spring uncoiling, he leaps at me. I squeal. He picks me up, squeezing me close to him. His lips crush against mine. I somehow manage to gasp, then I kiss him back. I kiss him hard. My heart drums up into my throat.
“No,” he says, breaking it off for a second. “I’m not.”
“Put me down,” I whisper.
“Do you mean that?” he asks.
I glare at him. He knows I don’t.
This time I’m the one who kisses him.
7
Scarlett
Krissy sits on the edge of my bed, nursing her hot cocoa. She drinks hot cocoa all year round. She was the same even when we were girls. There was a heatwave once that had everybody on their couches, blasting themselves with the air conditioning. Krissy sat outside in the sun, hot cocoa in hand.
“Is it just the sex?” she asks. She can tell how nervous I am. How excited. She knows me well enough for that.
“I don’t know.” I try on two pairs of heels. One is miniature two-inchers. The others are six-inchers. I decide on the two-inchers, which are difficult enough to walk in.
“I’ve never seen you like this before,” she says, blowing on the cocoa. “It can’t just be a story anymore, right? If it was just a story, you wouldn’t have that look on your face.”
I glare at her. “What look?”