He’s used me to get to know one of the other girls.
Idly I wonder, which one?
Beth herself? Could be. A lot of men don’t mind a girl being taller than them.
I can’t help my eyes going to the entrance to the backyard, and my heart flutters—or part of me does anyway—as the man clad in leather despite the heat of the day comes into sight.
Oh, my God. If anything, in daylight he looks even more attractive.
He saunters in without a care, even though everyone here are virtual strangers. He pauses to survey the crowd, seeming to look for someone. As his eyes come my way, I turn my head, but not before I see a smile cross his face.
“Did you get that report finished in the end?” Ian, one of my co-workers asks me.
“What? Oh, yeah. Eventually. Getting figures out of the other departments was like getting blood out of a stone, but I got it done in the end.”
“You know,” he remarks, conversationally, “you’ll have a ton of questions to answer.”
I purse my lips looking glum. Yeah, any report prepared for the lawmakers results in hours of digging for information you know they don’t really want. But it’s the result of any committee meeting, asking for detailed follow-up data is just a way to prove they’ve read the report, and me, as the author, will be expected to provide it.
“Par for the course,” I begin to tell him, as I become aware of a large shadow falling over me.
It’s Skull. He’s made his way across to where I’m standing, having taken the chance to fill himself a plate while passing the food-laden table. It could be coincidence or deliberate, but he’s managed to snag a few of the items I brought.
“These muffins are great. Beth said you made them. Mmm mmm. Very good.” The last is barely distinguishable as he speaks through a mouthful of crumbs, then wipes the back of his hand over his lips.
Ian has exchanged a nod with Skull, and with an interested look back my way, has walked off to talk to someone else, leaving me alone with the biker.
“So, how have you been since I last saw you?” Skull is now attacking one of the pastries I made.
“Busy.” I point to his plate with a sardonic grin.
A quick grin comes to his face. “There’s a mountain of food in there. Any left over, I’ll offer to take back to the clubhouse.”
My food ending up feeding the Satan’s Devils? My eyes widen in surprise.
“What about you?” I ask, slightly sarcastically. “Been scaring kids? Robbing banks?”
He throws back his head and laughs loudly. “Yeah, something like that.” Then his face grows serious. “Seems you need some educating in what my club stands for.”
“I need no education,” I snap. “I know as much as I need to.”
His face hardens slightly, and he looks around. Beth and Patsy have a beautiful backyard. While people are milling around, most of the guests are keeping closer to the grills and the tables laden with food and drinks. There’s empty space down at the rear of the yard, including, a secluded gazebo. Skull nods that way now.
“We need to talk,” he tells me.
“I have no idea what about,” I say back, my teeth worrying my lip, uncertain whether I should give him the opportunity. But to do what? I too survey the gathering. My co-workers are here with their families, the yard is crowded with my friends. Nothing can happen to me, even if we’ll be tucked away in a corner. A shout would bring people running.
I have no idea why this young man has become focused on me, but perhaps this is the chance to find out and knock any unsavoury ideas on the head.
“Okay.” But I flinch and shake off the hand that lands on my arm possessively and take the lead instead.
At the gazebo I sit on a comfortable chair, moving the cushion slightly so it better supports my back. Instead of taking the other chair, Skull leans against one of the upright supports, one knee bent and the flat of his sole against the wood.
He grins, easily. “You don’t like me, do you?”
“I like you fine,” I counter. “I don’t know you, is all. And I don’t know what you are after.”
“Melissa, you seem to have some doubts about me. Let’s get a few things straight. I saw you at the bar and was immediately interested in you, not anyone else.”
“I’m almost old enough to be—”
“Stop it.” It’s nearly a snarl. “How old do you think I am, Melissa?”
“Twenty?” I hazard.
He barks a laugh. “I’m twenty-five, almost twenty-six, and you’re what…”
“Thirty-four,” I admit, grumpily. “Just.” I add, accusingly, “You look younger.”
“I don’t know whether that’s good, or whether it’s the bane of my life. It earned me the handle of Runt when I was a prospect, hated that fuckin’ name. Thank fuck they changed it to Skull when I was patched in.”
Runt I might be able to understand, he’s skinny and probably not the tallest biker I’ve seen, but, “Why are you called Skull?”
His lips narrow and his eyes flicker with something which looks like a bad memory. “Because I’ve got a hard head.” He taps his forehead. “Can take the knocks well.”
I lose interest in his monikers. “Skull, okay, you’re older than I thought. But look at you.” I wave my hand toward him, wanting to get all this out in the open now. “You don’t have an ounce of fat on you, you’re good looking and could probably have any girl you want…”
“Good looking?” His eyes crease, then instead his brow becomes etched with lines. “And I can have any woman I want? What if I want you, Melissa?”
He’s actually said it. His question makes me fidget. I decide to point out a few things. “Are you blind? Look at me. You look like you keep fit, while I’m allergic to exercise. I bake and sample my products. I have a sedentary job while you… you… you probably ride around on your bike all day. I know just what I look like, I’m homely and curvy…”
“And you’re just my type.”
Suddenly he moves. Instead of standing, he’s now sitting beside me. I’m relieved he’s keeping a respectful distance, but his hand covers mine. “Melissa, I’m not proposing or anything, but from the moment I saw you, you intrigued me. What’s the harm in us getting to know each other a little more? Go out on a date or two…”
“Bikers date?” I huff incredulously, not able to imagine it.
Another laugh. “Bikers are people, Melissa. We eat, drink, and do what anyone else does. Oh, and we fuck.” He winks.
It shouldn’t, but his easy reference to sexual pleasure starts a tingling in my body that it shouldn’t have. The gleam in his eyes makes me doubt it’s an empty promise.
“I don’t,” I say, sharply. “If all you want is to get in my panties, I’m not the woman for that.”
“Melissa, Melissa, babe. I want the whole package. Yeah, I want sex. I want to feel those magnificent tits in my hands, I want to see you come on my fingers and on my tongue. I want to know if you’re a screamer, and if you’re not, what I need to do to hear you scream out. You made my cock rock hard the first time I saw you…” He breaks off, and grins again. “But I also want to take you out, show you off. Date you like you deserve to be dated. Spoil you and have you on the back of my bike. Yeah, Melissa, I want everything. When you’re ready, I want you riding my cock, but not until that’s what you want too.”
Jesus H Christ. My eyes widen at his declaration. I’ve never heard anything of the like. I’m the woman men want to cosy up to as I remind them of their mother and they think I’ll provide the comforts of home. Or, they want to bed a curvy woman just to see what it’s like. I’m not the woman men fantasise about, and I certainly don’t get offered the whole world, which, in my eyes, is what Skull’s offering.
I object once more. “You want to show me off? Are you listening to yourself? What kind of couple do you think we’d make?”
“A great one,” he replies without missing a beat. “You’re gorgeous, Melissa. You’re just t
he woman I want.”
Chapter Four
Melissa
God help me, but I had agreed.
As Skull continued to promise the world to me, my doubts began to slide away. He seemed so adamant, so sure of himself, and, that it was me he was determined to win. While doubting I was the prize he really wanted—was it because I was playing hard to get, that made him so sure? I found a hesitant yes coming out of my mouth. Sometimes in life you have to take a gamble, and if I expected the worst, what did I have to lose?
It was too soon to worry about my heart being broken. Skull intrigued me, but he wasn’t the man I could see as my life partner, so the organ that pumped blood around my body wasn’t involved. My lady parts though, well they were something else altogether.
I’ve read books, sure, but have never experienced the intensity of orgasms that were usually described within their pages. No, mine were polite little ripples and not particularly explosive. Already the thought of sex with Skull was turning me on like never before. Sex was something expected after you’d been dating a while, a culmination of a man and woman giving each other time. A few minutes of activity, a cuddle after, and then back to watching the game or, in my case, cooking to satisfy another appetite.
Skull though, there was heat in his eyes. Along with a promise he wouldn’t rush me, his whole being signified that when the time came and I was ready, I wouldn’t be left wanting or disappointed.
What harm would there be in having a date with the man?
Which brings me to today, and why my stomach is full of butterflies. Yes, I’d agreed after he’d worn all my objections down. Me, Melissa, had caved and accepted to go out on a date with a biker.
All week I’ve had doubts about my decision, my hand going to the phone several times to cancel it, but a little voice at the back of my head constantly asked, why should I be the one always missing out? It could be something wonderful would come of the date and we’d have many more, however much I thought one night in my company would end it.
How our conversation had finished on Sunday kept echoing around my head.
“Melissa, I must warn you. I’ll take you out Friday. We’ll have a meal, conversation, and then I’ll drop you back at your door. However much you beg me, I don’t put out on a first date.”
“Skull!” I batted his arm with my hand.
“What, babe? You disappointed?”
A loud laugh escaped me. “No. I…”
“Tut, tut. You thought you were going to corrupt me?”
I bristled. “It’s the other way around, surely?”
His face filled with cockiness. “You know you want to, Melissa. Say you’ll come on a date with me. Friday.”
I wasn’t agreeing to an abstract concept, by adding on a day he was making a concrete proposition. And heaven help me, I was interested enough to agree.
It seemed easy on Sunday. Something to look forward to Monday and Tuesday. On Wednesday the worries began to creep in. By Thursday I had serious misgivings—which made me bake three trays of cookies which were received gratefully at work the next day, well, what was left after I’d tested them. When I woke today, I seriously doubted I could go through with this.
Wear jeans, he’d said. Does that mean he expects to take me on the back of his motorcycle?
No, of course he wouldn’t. Just look at him, then me. I must weigh much more than he does. I’d unbalance his bike for certain. Do curvy women like me even ride? I’ve never been on a bike or taken much notice of them.
I’d rather wear a dress that would hide my large hips, I muse, as I struggle with the zipper on my jeans. I turn and look over my shoulder critically in the mirror. Yes, just as I thought, they show off my fat ass.
My top, though, he didn’t issue any instructions for. I go with a flowing shirt that disguises the size of my tits. Why on earth people get enlargements I’ll never know. Who would willingly put themselves through the back ache that comes with carrying these bazookas around? And the boob sweat… Perhaps I should consider a reduction?
The top also hides the roll of my muffin top.
It has to be a joke. What would a man like Skull see in me?
I should cancel. Yes, I should. But there’s a part of me that is curious how this evening will go. I’ve a broad enough back that if I find out I’m the butt of a joke, it wouldn’t overly bother me. And, there’s a chance, albeit a very slight one, that this strange relationship might actually work.
Fat chance.
A ring on my doorbell signifies it’s now too late. I’ve lost my chance to back out.
Picking up my purse, I check I have my phone and my wallet, then open the door to find Skull waiting there, and behind him like a lurking beast waiting, his motorbike.
“Looking good, woman.”
I stare but can’t see anything other than appreciation in his expression. He seems to be genuinely pleased by the way that I’m dressed, and the light makeup I’m wearing.
He’s wearing a button-down shirt under his leather vest, the contrast with the black leather and his tanned skin is striking, making him look… edible in a word. My tongue licks my lips automatically.
As he smirks, I step around him and point my finger. “You parking that here?”
“What?” He turns in the direction I’m indicating. “No, that’s our transportation.”
I stare at the motorcycle as though I’m looking at a hangman’s noose, and before I’m aware of what I’m doing, take a step back. I would have taken another, had his hand not landed on my arm with just enough pressure to prevent me.
“Look,” he starts earnestly. “You give it a try. All you need to do is to put your arms around my waist, and lean as I do at the corners. You don’t like it? We’ll come straight back. Don’t care if we’ve only gone a few hundred yards, but please, for me, give it a chance.”
I hang onto him?
My glance meets his eyes. “Lean with you? What if I lean too far and over balance us? I’m no lightweight you know.”
He leans back his head and laughs. “You’ll be fine. I know what I’m doing.”
It’s his confidence that gets me moving forward, then turning and locking my door and sliding my keys into my purse which he eyes carefully, before taking it off me, and slinging it over my neck so it hangs slanted over my body.
“Safer like that.”
He leads me over to the chrome and black beast, then dips into a saddlebag and takes out a helmet which he’s soon fastening on me.
“Stop shakin’. You’ll be fine.”
“At least you will be. You’ll have a cushion to land on.”
Another hearty laugh, but offered with a shake of his head, and his hands touch my arms gently as he looks into my face. “Sweetheart, you think there’s too much of you, I happen to love it myself. And I won’t need a cushion, I don’t intend to drop the bike, with you on it or not.”
Well, okay then. Guess I’m going motorcycle riding, or at least as far as the end of the road. “You will turn back?” I ask, biting my lip.
Skull might look young, but now I’m up close to him, there’s an ageless depth to his eyes, and an earnestness in his voice that persuades me. “Melissa, I’d love you to enjoy this, but if you hate it, you just tell me. I promise I’ll bring you right back, and we’ll get an Uber or taxi instead. Now, you gonna give this a try?”
Taking a deep breath, I give a little nod. I notice he must’ve backed his bike onto the driveway as he’s parked facing out.
He gets on, then takes the stand up. “Okay, slide yourself on behind me.”
I do. The seat is slightly higher than his, and when I take the leap of faith, I find I’m on the cushioned leather with my feet dangling off the ground. Yikes.
“Put your hands around my waist darlin’, then put your feet on the pegs to keep them clear of the pipes.” He glances down, left side then right, to make sure I’ve done as he’s asked. Then throws a look over his shoulder. “Keep your hands where they are.
No sneaking them down to feel the size of my cock. I’ll show you it later if you’re that impatient, but don’t want anything distracting my riding.”
As I breathe in a gasp of disbelief at his audacity to even suggest I’d do such a thing, I realise he’s started the engine and is already pulling off my driveway. As I cling on for dear life, it dawns on me his comment had been made to distract me from any last-minute doubts I may have had.
It worked.
At the end of the road he stops and again turns his head. “You okay?” he shouts over the rumbling thunder of the engine.
Suddenly it hits me that I am, very much, okay. Even though I'm out of my element, having to trust a man I really don’t know, I already feel a thrill that I don’t want to end. “I’m fine. Why have we stopped?”
The revving of the engine almost drowns out the sound of his laughter, but I feel his body shake as he gives a carefree chuckle. Then he lets out the clutch, and the bike moves slowly forward, gradually picking up speed as he kicks through the gear changes.
I have fresh air cooling my face, an exhilaration like the one you get when riding a roller coaster, the feeling that you’re perfectly safe, yet absolutely not as the pavement rushes by beneath us. At the corners I lean with him, making sure my body moves with his, scared in case the bike continues to tilt right over, but the rider I’m holding onto for dear life feels totally relaxed with no tension or worries.
After a moment, I too allow the tension to seep out of my muscles. I’m enjoying this.
All too soon he pulls into the parking lot of a restaurant just outside of town. It’s not fancy, so jeans will be perfect, but not a dive either. I’ve been here before, and the food is amazing.
A very good choice for a first date.
Devil's Dilemma: Satan's Devils MC Colorado Chapter #4 Page 3