by Amo Jones
I look over my shoulder, my brain buzzing with the alcohol, and when my eyes clear into focus, my mouth damn near drops to the ground. Two big, burly bikers stand there watching us. The bigger one nudges his head. “Hey, Phoebs.”
A loud gasp escapes Meadow. I whip my head around to her. “You okay?” I ask just as her head falls, hitting the picnic table, and her eyes roll to the back of her head.
Did she just faint? Holy shit.
Before I could get to my feet, Meadow comes back to consciousness, rubbing her forehead. When recognition of what happened comes back to her, her rubbing pauses, eyes going wide. Meadow gets up quickly, so Nettie and I begin to escort her inside the bar. Something had obviously freaked her out. Meadow is quiet, reserved, and holds many secrets deep inside. Phoebe has never told me much about Meadow’s past, but she did say one day: “Think of the worst possible thing you could ever think of, multiply that, and then you’ll get Meadow’s past.”
Pushing open the door, she shuffles out of our arms, placing her hand on her forehead. “It’s okay, I’m alright. Shit. Shit,” she whispers, her eyes darting around the room with her eyebrows drawn together.
“Are you okay? What was that about?” I ask, pulling out a stool for her at the bar.
“That was a huge throwback right there, in my face,” Meadow answers, rubbing her temples. She takes a seat on the stool.
“Huge he is. My God, he’s beautiful and large. So was the guy next to him… I wonder if he’s that big every—”
“—Melissa!” Meadow snorts, reaching for a bottle of vodka from behind the bar. The sound of the front bar door slamming shut vibrates the glasses. I look to Meadow for silent approval. She nods her head. “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you guys in a bit.”
“Are you sure?” Nettie asks, her light turquoise hair falling over her shoulders.
Meadow nods again with a small smile. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”
Nettie and I both walk back out of the bar, now with a fresh bottle of rum in my hand. I take a sip before offering Nettie some. She laughs, shaking her head. “No, thanks.”
“Oh, come on…” I tease.
“I’m at a biker party. There’s no way I’m getting shitfaced.”
“Hey, Judge Judy.” I tsk at her comment. “These bikers are a lot of things, but trust me when I say, you’re safe from rapists here.”
“Don’t be so quick to say that,” a low voice growls, walking past me. My eyes slant. He looks over his massive shoulder, smirking at me, displaying a dimple. I recognize him as the other guy who was standing beside Beast. He’s wearing a black and white NY flat baseball cap turned backwards, a white t-shirt underneath his cut that reads “The Devil’s Own” on the top and then “Nevada” curved on the bottom, and he’s deliciously wrapped up in big tight muscles and tattoos that should be on the cover of Skin Deep magazine. He walks back to the table where there are a few other guys from his crew sitting and laughing. His eyes find mine as he brings the rim of his bottle of whiskey to his lips, a smile curving around it.
“I want one,” I declare, dropping back onto the table where Phoebe is sitting all while keeping my eyes locked on the table of bikers.
“One what?” she asks, turning her head to follow my line of sight. She laughs, shaking her head. “Nope, definitely not, Melissa.”
“You don’t even know who I was referring to!” I semi-slur, taking another drink.
“I don’t have to!” she declares. “It won’t be Hannibal. You don’t do beards. It won’t be Ripper, since he looks too boyish for you—though I can assure you, there’s nothing boyish about him. There’s a reason he’s called Ripper, and it has a lot to do with his namesake, organ removal and all. Frost isn’t your type. You like men with at least a bit of hair, and Nyx is a little too friendly for you; you’d friend-zone him faster than I could count to three, so that leaves Hella.” She picks up her drink, taking a long pull and watching me closely. My mouth falls open before I snap it shut. She laughs, pointing to me. “Your face! I wish I had my phone.”
“We’ve been friends too long.”
A few hours later, I push off the table. The trees that were scattered around the property start spinning, and I hold down a laugh before making my way toward the garage where all the bikes go when they’re broken. I’m rounding the corner when I walk into a back of muscle.
“Shit, sorry,” I slur. He turns, zipping up his jeans. “Were you just taking a piss?”
He laughs before turning around to face me. Fuck all men who wear MC cuts and are covered in tattoos. This man was the delicious package that I should stay away from because, no doubt, it has a bomb wrapped up inside it. From a distance, he was hot, but up close, he looks lethal.
“Yeah, so?” he slurs, flipping his cap backwards again and taking a long pull of his whiskey. “What’s your name?” He nudges his head at me with a smirk.
I cock a brow. “Melissa. Should I ask what yours is?” Tattoos cover every inch of his body that I could see, his eyes are deviously dark, and he rocks a crooked grin that can bring the devil himself to his knees.
He walks toward me, the orange hues coming off the bonfire casting light over his chiseled jaw and plump lips. I take a step backwards until my back hits the hard concrete wall. Tilting my head, I bring my eyes to meet his. Strong arms come up to either side of my head, caging me in. I swallow loudly, pulling my bottom lip in between my teeth. His mere presence causes a thin sheet of sweat to bead on my skin.
“Well, considering you’re going to be screaming it in a few seconds? Yeah, I’d say you should ask mine.”
My chest lifts and falls, the alcohol surging through my blood stream, heating me from the inside out.
“Cocky much?” I whisper, peering up at him with my shoulders squared.
He chuckles, both of his legs slipping in between mine. I open my legs wider, the bulge he’s sporting pressing into my stomach.
His mouth grazes over mine. “You have no idea.” His lips cover mine in a second before his tongue invades my mouth with dominance and self-assuredness. I bring my arms up to his neck, pulling his face down toward mine, a light moan escaping.
“Wait, wait, wait!” I throw my hands up, my eyes glossing over. My brain attempts to pull together a sober line of thought, but fails miserably. His eyes search mine, watching me closely. The corner of his lip tips up and I can’t help but wonder if this is a challenge.
“Oh fuck it.” I wrap my hand around the back of his neck, pulling his lips back down to mine.
His strong fingers grip around the back of my thighs, lifting me off the ground, and I wrap them around his waist. He flicks the top of my strapless dress, pulling it down, as my tits fall out everywhere. The cold night zips over my nipples briefly before his warm mouth covers one at a time. His pierced tongue glides over each, his teeth clamping down roughly as he pulls away. He catches my nipple in between his teeth, his eyes looking up to mine before he drags it out of his mouth, a hiss escaping him at the same time. Hooking his fingers under my panties, he sweeps between my folds and I moan, throwing my head back against the concrete wall just as he lowers me to my feet. My eyebrows draw together in confusion before he drops to his knees in front of me, hitching my leg over his shoulder and swiping my panties to the side.
“What—?” I whisper, about to ask what in god’s name he’s doing when his tongue dives inside of me, and I moan louder. A loud slap sounds around the place at the same time a stinging sensation begins on my right ass cheek.
“Shut the fuck up.” His growl vibrates against my clit before the tip of his tongue glides down my folds. A cold glass bottle presses against my pelvic bone and my eyes fly open. The lip of the bottle presses against my clit before alcohol pours over my folds, his tongue following the trail of the icy hot burn. I’m not entirely sure how I would handle it if he tries shoving that bottle inside me, but I would guess it would go something like… my foot in his face. My hips begin to rock against his mouth, the music dying
out into the darkness. Just as his tongue presses against my clit and his finger slips inside me, explosions set off deep in my core with little colorful dots releasing behind my shut lids.
“Holy fuck!” I pant as he drops my leg to the ground, rising in front of me. He wraps his glistening lips around the rim of the bottle with a grin and takes another swig before unclipping his belt buckle and dropping his jeans to the ground. “Bend over.”
“What?” I look down to my heels and do the math. I guess if I was on my tippy-toes I could reach.
He walks up to me, gripping my panties in his hand and tearing them off. “Did I stutter?”
I raise my eyebrows. Turning around, I place my hands on the cold brick wall. A dash of wind zips past my back, setting off a stinging sensation over the cuts I had gained from the friction of the brick on my back. His hand grips around the back of my neck, bending me over before his thick shaft glides over my ass and my eyes roll to the back of my head, my hair falling to one side. His fingers glide to the front of me, his thumb pushing against my clit as he presses inside me, and when he pulls out slowly, my walls contract around his shaft, clenching around him. My hands wrap around my ankles and I turn my head over my shoulder, smirking at him as he continues to pound into me relentlessly.
Pulling up his jeans, he does up his belt buckle and I take a sip of my drink, wiping the excess vodka off my lips. “My name’s Melissa.”
He snatches his bottle back off the table muttering, “Don’t care,” before walking back around the corner to the party.
Running my fingertips through my hair, I pull it all up into a ponytail before making my way back to Phoebe and the girls. I didn’t expect a friendly exchange, but I wasn’t expecting an asshole one either. Is that one of the requirements to patching into a motorcycle club? You must be an asshole? “Fuck it.” I brushed off my shoulders and walked back out to the party.
Melissa
“And I quote, ‘Don’t care’.” I suck the cake batter off my finger as I relay the events from last night to my chief baker, Peter Rodriguez. The man can bake.
“Mmmm, well, girl. I think you got played.”
I scoff, taking another swipe of the side of the bowl just as the front door to my bakery dings. “Played?” I jump off the counter. “No way, honey. Melissa never gets played.” I unhook my apron that hangs on the back of the door, which separates the kitchen from the front counter and dining area, before wrapping it around my waist. I’m tying it behind my back when I walk out and see the same five bikers from last night sitting in the corner. One of them pulls another empty table toward theirs to join them together and I roll my eyes, trying to busy myself with something other than the dark blue eyes that are peering at me like I’m his breakfast for this morning. I know how that mouth eats and the appetite that comes with it.
I walk towards Carrie, the waitress I had hired a couple weeks ago. She’s reliable and hardworking. I don’t know how I got so lucky. “Hey, you serve them?” I ask, hitching my thumb across to their table.
She nods. “Yes, they just got coffees for now though.”
I take the notepad out from under the cash register, swearing under my breath before I plaster a fake smile onto my mouth when I reach their table.
“Hey, you guys need anything else?” I look around at all of them.
“Not for me, thanks,” Beast replies with a smile. I nod my head, just about to make my way back to the counter when the man from last night clears his throat.
“You look familiar,” he says, running his eyes up and down my body. I tilt my head, observing him, wondering if he’s being serious or not. We were both drunk, but really? Is he really going to act like he doesn’t remember who I was?
“That’s because I was at the clubhouse last night, and…” I pause, realizing that he probably doesn’t remember who I am. Swallowing past the bile of rejection that was building in my throat, I shrug. “Never mind,” I answer, collecting the empty cups that were on the table and stacking them into my arms.
The asshole laughs. “You a sweet butt?”
“No, I’m not. I’m Melissa, Phoebe and Meadow’s…” I drag my eyes over Beast before smiling back at the asshole, “…best friend. Thanks for making me aware that I look and feel like a whore, though, I appreciate that.” His smile grows wider. Asshole. I turn around and walk back to the counter.
“What was that about?” Carrie asks with a smile, nudging her head towards the table.
I shake my head. “Nothing. That was… nothing.” Untying my apron, I fold it, bend down, and place it under the counter. I’m standing back up when Beast is directly in front of me, fishing cash out of his wallet with an absent look on his face.
“You look confused, Beast.”
“Not confused. Sorry about not remembering you… I was a little distracted,” he replies.
“I know,” I answer, wiping my hands off on a towel before placing them on my hips. “It wasn’t you who should’ve remembered me. Anyway, what can I get for you?”
He pauses briefly, considering what I had just said, but shrugs it off. “The address to Meadow’s work. I wanted to catch up with her later, but I might go down there now.”
Nodding my head, I pull out some paper and a pen from under the cash register before scribbling down the address to Meadow’s work and handing it to him.
Just as he’s about to turn around, I yell out, “Beast?”
Spinning back around to face me, he raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?”
I fold my arms in front of myself and swallow every single inch of my inner thoughts that is screaming at me to leave this alone. “Look. I’ve not known Meadow for as long as Phoebe, but there’s one thing about her that I’m absolutely sure about.” I step through the little door that separates the workers and the customers. “She hasn’t been with any men. She doesn’t bat an eye at any men and, trust me, she has had tons of opportunity. Tommy, for one.”
I pause, watching his reaction to my bringing up Tommy and Meadow. Nothing, zilch. He’s like an emotionless human.
He waves his hand as though I’ve already taken enough of his precious time.
“If you hurt her, I don’t care how big you are. A .50 will cut right through all that bulky muscle.” I flick my fingers up and down his monstrous form.
“Yeah, I don’t plan on hurting her. You can retract your claws, feisty one.”
I smile. “Good. I’m glad. Have a good day, y’all!” I holler before walking back towards the kitchen.
Hella
Bringing my beer to my mouth, I watch as Travis, the bitch boy in the Sinful Souls, grinds his dick up against one of the club whores. Laughing, I drop my beer to the table, push my chair back, and walk toward the epic failure.
Gripping my fingers around hers, I pull her body into mine and out of Travis’ grip, the scent of cheap perfume and tobacco washing over me. Bringing my face down to her ear, I push her platinum blonde hair out of the way before bringing my hand to her stomach and sprawling it out. “You wanna fuck a real man?” I growl into her ear, my eyes locked onto a devastated Travis.
The curving of her cheek presses against my nose as I rub my dick into the back of her ass. Travis folds his arms in front of himself, his Justin Bieber hair dropping over his forehead. “Fuck you.”
My eyebrows shoot up and I chuckle, taking my hands down to the waist of her little miniskirt that hugs her figure like skin. “Fuck me?” I taunt with a smirk, gripping her shoulders in my hands and turning her around. “Don’t mind if she does.”
I grip the back of her thighs and lift her up. Peering over her shoulder, I watch as Travis pulls at his hair in frustration before making his way out the door, slamming the palm of his hand into the dry wall on his way out. I smirk at whoever the fuck this is, looking down at her hot pink lips.
She says, “Come on, I have a room here that the boys let me use.”
I laugh, my smirk staying on my mouth.
“Aye!” Travis yells from across t
he room as he reenters. He came back. Maybe I should give the little dweeb more credit. I scan his body up and down. Or not. “That girl I saw you with last night? She’ll be riding on my dick tonight.”
I throw my head back before running my piercing over my bottom lip. “Like I fucking care. I can give you a play-by-play of what she tastes like. You’ll still be able to taste my dick all over her.”
He retreats back out the door, slamming it as he exits again. Bringing my eyes back up to the slut in my hands, my smirk drops at the same time as her body falls to the ground.
“Ouch!” She squeals, getting back to her feet.
“Fuck off.” I point toward the door.
She walks toward me in one last weak attempt, placing her hand on my chest and running her tongue across her lip in a way that’s supposed to be seductive.
My hand flies up to her throat and I pull her face towards mine. I tilt my head and run my eyes over her face. Blue eyes, bleach blonde hair, tig-ass bitties and a fucking Monroe piercing. Bringing my lips to her ear, I whisper, “One, don’t ever touch me again. And two, you won’t be able to handle the kind of rough I play,” I tell her before shoving her back until her ass hits the floor again. I turn around and make my way to the table where Frost, Nyx, and Ripper are sitting there drinking their beers. Pulling out my chair, I take a seat and smile at them. “What?”
They all shake their head in muffled tones. “Nah, nothing, brother.”
Pulling out my phone, I text Beast.
Me: What’s that girl’s name again?
Beast: Who are you talking about?
Me: The girl from the bakery.
Beast: For fuck’s sake, it’s been 15 minutes and you’ve already forgotten?
Me: Yeah, quick.
Beast: Why quick?