Rowdy: A Scorched Souls Spinoff

by C. L. Riley

  “Never. Call. Me. Princess.”

  The malice behind her words shocks me. And why shouldn’t it? Minutes ago, we’d been ready to rip each other’s clothes off in public, but now she looks ready to slap me instead.

  Before I can think up some deep, meaningful response, the words rush out. “I should have known better, M’ lady. You are no princess. You’re a fucking queen. Forgive the insult.”

  Her expression transforms in rapid succession, from one extreme to the next. First, she looks like I slapped her. Then her eyes widen, and a silly smile replaces her snarl. Next, and most unsettling, her bottom lip quivers and she bursts into body-racking sobs.

  “Babe, fuck. What have I done?” I reach for her just in time for her collapse against me. She clings to my arms, her fingers digging into my biceps.

  We’re both damp and sandy and in need of showers, but until we resolve this, we’re going to stay damp and sandy.

  With gentleness I didn’t know I was capable of, I pick her up and stagger to the couch. She’s light, but I’m not used to carrying anyone’s bodyweight. My knees aren’t thrilled with the running and fighting either. It takes all my concentration to keep the left one from buckling. Somehow I manage to get us both safely to the sofa.

  I keep Trina on my lap, where she continues to convulse, her tears joining the salt water that has already soaked my shirt.

  I’m not sure what to say, so I hold her.

  I wish I was a mind-reading, super hero, because I can’t imagine what is going on inside my nurse’s head right now. By calling her princess, I somehow unlocked a door that had been keeping back an avalanche of feelings, confirming everything Olympia suspected.

  Trina Templeton has been though her own version of hell.

  The wall she fought to keep fortified was in place to prevent an emotional eruption, and I’d been so careful not to push past the limits she had erected between us. But one misplaced word, spoken as a compliment, had been enough to not only crack her protective wall, but to annihilate it.

  “I’m sorry, Trina. Fuck. Forgive me. I didn’t know,” I whisper against the top of her head. I can’t help but inhale the sweet, fruity scent from her shampoo while at the same time noticing more sand left behind from her Twila-tussle.

  I’m not sure how long we stay like this—her crying and me stroking her hair. But it is a good while, because my shirt begins to dry, the fabric sticking to my skin, which has started to itch from the salt water and sand.

  Despite my discomfort, I continue my ministrations, waiting for her to make the next move, no matter how long that might take.

  Just when I’m certain she’s dozed off, she whispers, “Queen is just fine. As long as you’ll be my King.”

  Unsure I heard right, I look down. She’s gazing up at me, her eyes red, the skin around them puffy and streaked with tears and traces of dirt.

  “Really? Your king, huh? You sure you want an old biker for a king? There are probably some younger, less broken options out there for a gorgeous, young, educated, and very sexy queen.”

  She graces me with a slight smile. “No, if you can handle what I’m going to tell you, I’ll know you’re the right one. Mind if we shower first, before we talk? I’m really starting to itch, and I think the cats are probably starving.”

  Afraid she’ll disappear if I let her out of my sight, I make a bold suggestion, “Maybe we should use my in-suite bath. It’s big enough for eight and subs as a Jacuzzi too. If you wanna rinse off and throw on your swimsuit first, I’ll understand.”

  “Rowdy, here’s the deal. After we talk, if you still want me, you’re going to get me. All of me. So I think a mutual bathing session, without swimwear, is an awesome idea, and your tub sounds like the perfect place for us to have this conversation.”

  I shake my head before kissing her forehead.

  Whatever bitterness and betrayal she released in that tsunami of tears has already made a difference. She seems more confident in her own skin and definitely more relaxed. I can’t explain the difference, but that doesn’t make it any less real.

  In the middle of my analysis, her stomach gurgles softly. At least hunger is a need I can satisfy without difficulty.

  “I’ll grab something to drink and a few snacks. If I remember right, you haven’t eaten and I’m hungry. You can feed the cats, if you don’t mind.” It’s only then I take a look at the clock.

  It’s pushing 3:00pm.

  I know for a fact Twila left before noon. The whole beach fiasco couldn’t have lasted more than an hour or so from when Trina first bolted from the house to our return, which means, we’ve been cuddled on the couch for close to two hours.

  In all my years, dealing with the opposite sex, I have never held a woman the way I held Trina. And we haven’t even had sex.

  “Did you hear me? I said I’d be happy to feed our feline friends while you grab some people food.” She pauses like she has more to say. “You got lost there for a second, and it wasn’t a memory lapse.”

  “You’re right. Not a memory issue. I was just thinking. You won’t be the only one talking today. I’ve got shit to share too, some seriously dark shit, if you’re okay with that.” It only seems fair if she bares her soul, I should do the same.

  “I can’t wait,” she says, entirely serious. “Meet you in the tub in ten.”

  “Anything you want, my queen.”

  On her feet now, she looks down at me. My ass is still glued to the couch. I shrug and she finally offers a full smile that reaches her eyes. “Anything?”

  It’s my turn to smile. “Within reason.”

  “I’m looking forward to defining what is within reason.”

  “I’m looking forward to you, Trina Templeton.”

  Trina

  I’ve never felt so free.

  Releasing a generous chunk of my hidden suffering, into Rowdy’s shirt—in the form of tears and snot—shifted something deep inside of me.

  This improved condition makes me wonder if Catholics feel the same way after a good, old fashioned confession. Granted, in my case, there is no priest waiting in a box, but there is a bare-assed biker in the bathroom ready to bear my burdens.

  My core clenches at the image of his muscle-packed body and the generous manhood he’s been blessed with.

  Down girl! There’s still business to take care of. I have plenty to reveal to Rowdy before that happens.

  It has been one hell of a day so far, and there is plenty of daylight remaining. A day with tears and laughter, snot and sand, and an actual cat fight...had I not experienced it all myself, I might not believe such chaos could lead to my current elation.

  Even after the scuffle with Twila, I feel lighter, no longer wound so tight I might snap. And we’ve only just started our conversation, which means I have more freedom to look forward to.

  Scrooge head butts my shin and reminds me what he is looking forward to and why I’m leaning over his dish with a box of cat food poised to pour. Fur Face, on the other hand, waits patiently, letting her eyes do the pleading. “Feed me, lady!” they both seem to demand at once, no words necessary.

  I do what they want and fill the bowl.

  “It’s not every day the sexiest man alive calls you his queen,” I say before adding, “as if you two care.”

  They don’t care one bit, evidenced by their current feeding frenzy. They have their faces buried in kibble and are crunching away like it’s their last meal.

  To ensure they don’t interrupt our tub-time, I freshen up their water and sprinkle the cat tree with an abundance of kitty-approved cat nip. Trusting it will keep them stoned and busy for a few hours. Long enough to do whatever it is kings and queens do when left to their own devices for the first time.

  I check the doors, making sure they’re locked, and then quickly key in the alarm code.

  My roll-in-the-sand with Twila served as a good reminder danger lurks and can come from any direction, any time, and from the most unlikely people. At least with
our alarm system’s bells and whistles, no danger will be getting inside without permission.

  So why am I hesitating?

  I take a final glance around.

  Despite all the security measures and my new, free-er demeanour, I’m nervous. Maybe my anxiety isn’t due to any potential outside threats but rather from what comes next with Rowdy.

  After spending two hours wrapped in his arms, I’m still jumpy.

  It’s been a seriously long time since I’ve been intimate by choice and with someone I’m truly attracted to. And like I told Rowdy, in so many words, if he can accept all my dormant demons, we are undoubtedly having sex—today, tonight...tomorrow?

  No. No. No. Stop thinking about sex.

  In answer to the rush of anxiety-laced-lust, I’m prepared to check the locks all over again, but my itchy skin intervenes, acting as a driving force, propelling me down the long hallway that leads to Rowdy’s master suite, a room worthy of royalty.

  I let out a highly unfeminine snort, thinking about the parallel between royalty and the king and queen titles we’ve adopted.

  Who would’ve guessed the one word I hate, uttered as an endearment, by the one man I crave, would have such an extraordinary effect.

  Had someone told me today’s events would be the steps leading to my initial breakthrough, I would have told them they were certifiably insane. When in truth, I must have been insane to wait so long to start cleaning out my personal crap and trading my cramped cocoon for a pair of butterfly wings.

  Airing out the dirty laundry; coming out of the closet; cleaning up the cobwebs...all those silly allusions, with their double meanings, now make perfect sense to me. And today I have an opportunity to finish the “inner cleansing” once and for all.

  As I face the half-open bathroom door, my apprehension soars. The analysis of my new freedom has done nothing to relieve my fretting.

  Am I seriously planning to tell Rowdy everything? Dr. Martin-everything?

  “You know, queens are allowed to change their minds,” Rowdy calls out, his message clear, even over the running water.

  The fact he suggests I can change my mind is the final nudge I need to cross the threshold and acknowledge what I so desperately desire. Shedding my clothes, I review my list of wants.

  I want a future without a murdering sociopath hunting me or anyone else.

  I want to wear those colorful wings Olympia models with such confidence.

  I want Rowdy deep inside me, replacing my past painful memories with new, life-altering ones.

  And those desires can be mine...if I take this final step.

  As silly as it might sound, the next level of freedom waits for me in a jumbo-sized bathroom with a big, bad, but gentle biker, and a hot tub filled with bubbles.

  How do I know there are bubbles?

  I smell them.

  Rowdy

  I can feel Trina outside the bathroom door, hesitating while she over thinks everything we just experienced, looking for potential loopholes.

  I can’t actually hear her over the running water, but a shift in the air, a shadow, something alerts me to her presence.

  She is no doubt reconsidering the shared intimacy that will transpire between us should she keep her promise and join me in the Jacuzzi. I hope the shiny soap suds will help her feel less exposed. I have to admit they smell kinda nice.

  Bottom line, bubbles or no bubbles, I refuse to let this moment turn into another lost opportunity. Yet I tell her the exact opposite, inviting her to change her mind, if that’s what she really wants.

  I’ve never been patient when it comes to sex, used to taking who I want hard and fast. So this—everything that has transpired between us—is new for me.

  Crazy kinky sex was the norm before the explosion, and women were willing to do just about anything to stand out from the so-called competition, hoping to tame me and plotting to wear the coveted, Property-of-Rowdy rocker across their backs.

  The club girls even had a competition going.

  Whoever swallowed my entire release would win the ultimate prize, a prize the longest reigning club girl had come up with and managed to keep secret. With this unknown award to look forward to the game was all the more fun for everyone involved, mainly for me.

  To this day, no woman has been up to the task. Many tried. All failed.

  Twila came closest to winning. But, overall, the challenge didn’t really matter, because I made certain every woman who left my bed did so with a satisfied glow and the inability to sit comfortably for a day or two...or three; I’d been the real prize in their eyes.

  Helping Olympia recover from Ringo’s abuse changed me, putting a screeching stop to my sexual shenanigans.

  Fucking for fun and playing sex games seemed far less important when I discovered the intensity of my feelings for the mayor’s daughter. Those feelings didn’t matter in the end though. Boone ripped her right out of my arms, and then my whole world caved in, thanks to Pyro.

  Now, after surviving and suffering through the worst season of my life, I’ve found a woman who just might be the best thing for me. The next few seconds will determine if she shares my sentiment.

  Will she stay or will she run?

  I stare at the door, willing it to open.

  An unexpected rush of relief whips through me when her hand glides through the gap and she pushes back the last barrier between us, showing me exactly what I’ve been waiting for.

  My queen didn’t bother with a towel or any type of cover up.

  She stands with her head held high, hip cocked, in the bathroom entrance. Her naked glory is on display, and I am having a difficult time staying seated in the cloud of bubbles. I want to surge from the water and engulf her in my arms.

  I’d caught a glimpse of her that first night when she’d discovered the detachable showerhead. But that was different. That was a stolen glance that almost led to our relationship ending before it could even get started.

  This is no stolen glance.

  I’m openly staring with undisguised hunger. I feel like a predator that has been starving all winter and has finally found its succulent, springtime prey, and I allow myself the luxury of soaking in every curve, slope, and delicious detail of her body.

  Her breasts are full and round but defy gravity, and adding to that perfect picture are her tight nipples that pebble harder under my greedy gaze. As if to tempt me more, they sway slightly as she steps toward the Jacuzzi.

  Aware of my appraisal she lets out a sexy laugh.

  “See something you like, Big Guy?” She bites her lower lip and takes another tentative step, stopping when her toes curl over the tub’s edge, just above the steps.

  “I like everything I see when it comes to you. Right now, I’m seriously liking your glorious tits, though your mouth is calling for a kiss and that pretty pussy needs a good tongue lashing.

  “I’m serious, Trina, my self-control is gone, and I’m doing everything in my power not to tackle you and take what I want. But I’m holding back because we are supposed to talk first. If I start touching your body, we won’t be talking anytime soon.”

  She gasps at my words and grips the bar that runs the length of the stairs. I’m afraid she might actually tumble in and hurt herself. I start to stand, my hand already extended.

  Catching on to my intentions, she shakes her head and moves with cat-like grace down the three steps and sinks beneath the bubble-frosted water, hiding everything from the neck down.

  Even with her beautiful body no longer visible, her wide eyes, parted lips, and the uneven breaths she’s trying so hard to control, aren’t doing anything to sooth my inner animal. If anything, the combination of desire and innocence reflected on her face only makes me harder.

  What is this woman doing to me?

  How the hell are we going to carry on a serious conversation when all I want to do is bury myself between her thighs and make her scream my name while she thrashes against me in the water. I can picture the translucent b
ubbles on her dark skin as she arches, her legs wide, welcoming my length inside. Fuck.

  My talking in the tub idea just might be one of my worst ideas—ever.

  “Will you wash my hair?”

  Startled by her request, I meet her gaze. “You want me to wash your hair, right now?”

  “That’s what I said. I think maybe we should clean up, get dressed, and then talk. Or...we could clean up, fuck, and then talk.”

  My jaw drops at the same time she smiles. When did Trina start dropping F-bombs? The way she emphasises the word sends a signal straight to my cock. It swells to the point of pain.

  “You’re serious?” I practically growl, ready to pounce.

  “You should know I would never joke about something like this. I need you now. I need you to take me like I am your queen. Even if only for one night, I want to feel like the most important person in your life.”

  “I don’t think one night will be enough. A king like me doesn’t share and definitely doesn’t let go of treasure once he’s found it. I’ll make you feel like my queen tonight and every night. Because nothing you fucking tell me later will change my mind. I hope you can say the same, cause like I said before, I’m going to tell you some dark shit.”

  I’m on my feet now, my erection bobbing above the water.

  Her gaze drops from my face and fully absorbs my size. She forms an “O” with her lips, and her eyes widen even more. I don’t give her time to be intimidated by what she sees.

  I’m across the tub before she can object, standing between her thighs. I stare down, forcing her to look up.

  We stay frozen in the same position, a hundred unsaid things flowing between us. She gives me a little nod and wraps her legs around me at the same time she grasps my face, pulling my mouth to hers.

  That’s all the permission I need to unlock months of pent up sexual frustration with the woman who has not only helped heal my body and brain, but who has found a way to piece together my heart.

  Trina

  What have I done?

  My proposal set something feral and fierce loose in Rowdy. It’s like I’ve freed a man who was locked down on death row, and I’m the first woman he’s touched in decades.