by Rylee Swann
Almost not registering the words, I vaguely sense my face blooming in renewed embarrassment. Sensations so intense are washing over me that I can’t think straight. He’s stroking up and down the length of me now, harder, with less teasing and more friction. My back is arching and I have this weird desire to curl my toes. With my hand, I press his head down harder onto my breast and he whips his tongue around my nipple before teasing again with his teeth. His fingers are pressing down on my clit as he strokes and I’m involuntarily writhing, my face contorting, muscles spasming. My breathing is ragged. I feel like I’m dying and have never been more alive at the same time.
I contract, my entire body going rigid, and Lobo presses down harder, wiggling his finger right over my center. “That’s it. Now, let go, baby.” His voice goes gruffer. “Suck hard now. Time to finish.”
I do as he says and let go, feeling like I’m spinning out of control. I don’t know which way is up or down and I think I might want to stay here forever. Lobo tenses and I hear him grunt but don’t open my eyes, not wanting to break the spell. I’m being split apart and still need more. Another spasm hits me and I float on a sensation so strong I feel like I’m lifted out of my seat.
At last, I collapse back against the booth, Lobo’s fingers retreating from my body. A mewl comes from my mouth. I can’t catch my breath.
Am I having a heart attack?
Lobo laughs and pulls away to zip up his jeans. “Nice,” he says to me, and I guess Violet, still under the table. “Next time, I’m going inside. You thought that was something? Just wait, little girl. Just wait.”
He laughs again as I hastily cover myself and straighten up.
“When’s your birthday again?”
“In a few days,” I manage.
“Good.” He nods and stretches his arms like he’s just had a marathon nap then sucks down the rest of his beer.
I glance around and spot Fringe at the bar and suddenly feel… what? What is this feeling?
Guilt?
Nah, can’t be. I have nothing to be guilty about.
“Catch you later.” I give a shaky smile to Lobo and scurry from the booth.
When I get to the bar, I try playing it cool. “Hey.” I upnod to Fringe with what I can’t help is a nervous smile. “How long have you been here?”
He looks down at me, a stony expression on his chiseled face. “Long enough.”
My high, both natural and artificial, vanishes.
CHAPTER TEN
Fringe
At Lucifer’s I nurse a beer as I try to get what happened earlier straight in my mind.
Frank stopped me before I tore apart his garage.
“What did they say?” Worry lines crease his forehead, no doubt in reaction to how I’m handling the conversation outside.
“It’s fucked up, man. Seriously fucked up.” I sigh as Frank waits for me to continue. Brushing my hair from my eyes, I take a deep, steadying breath. “They want me to sign up. In fact, they’re kinda forcing it, spreading the word that I’m already an associate.”
“Why? I don’t get it.”
“A couple of reasons. I’m a legacy.” I watch his eyes widen. “Yeah, my old man was an LA.”
“Was? If he’s not now, how does that make you a legacy?” He runs a hand down the back of his neck.
“He still is, once in you’re never really out, but he’s not active anymore. They want me. Dad still holds a lot of sway with them and he’s been whispering in their ears about me.” I bark out a laugh. “They kicked his ass out a few years ago. Probably didn’t want to put up with his shit anymore but he’s still honorary or some such shit.”
It’s Franks turn to sigh. “Alright, so there’s that. Doesn’t mean you have to join, does it?”
Shaking my head, I walk to Frank’s office and he follows me. Once there, I plop down heavily into a rickety old chair and he bumps an ass cheek up against his desk. “No, it’s supposed to be mutual and a big fucking honor and all, but I have a gut feeling that they’re gearing up to go to war with another club and I’m a pawn.”
Frank exhales sharply. “Fuck me.”
“Yeah.” Frank’s slowly getting the picture, but I spell it out anyway. “If I’m an LA, I won’t be working on any of the other clubs’ bikes. That’s a huge coup for them.”
“And, I lose at least half of my business. Fuck all, Fringe, it ain’t right. Just ain’t right.”
“I know, man, and I’m sorry.” My eyes drop to the floor. I can’t take looking at him anymore. “I’m trying to figure a way out of this, I just don’t know what it is yet. Believe me, I don’t want to join up.”
“You’re the best mechanic I ever seen.” Frank sighs, pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his mouth. “I’ll keep you on as long as I can.”
“Thanks, man. I’ll do whatever I can to make this right.”
We shake hands and I get my ass back to work.
That all happened hours ago. At the bar with a now empty beer, I wish to all hell that I had never set foot in the place tonight.
I walked in and got this spot at the bar just in time to see Dawn’s obscene and beyond stupid display.
I didn’t think this day could get any worse, yet the hits just keep on coming.
Half watching, because that shit isn’t made for the public eye, I saw her when she came. I couldn’t help it, couldn’t turn away.
She’s standing in front of me right now with a look of contrite horror on her face but all I can see is her come-face, like it’s superimposed over her skin. And, all I can think is that she looked so beautiful when she came. Damned if I know what that’s about.
“So, umm, you saw?” Her face is beet-red but she smiles through it to the bartender when he hands her a bottle of beer.
I grab the bottle from her as she lifts it to her mouth. “I think you’ve had more than enough.”
“What? I’m not drunk, Fringe. I only had a couple, for real.”
“Then what the fuck is your excuse for that… that bullshit?” I motion with a hand toward the booth that fucker, Lobo, still occupies. “I’d be happier if you were drunk.”
“What’s up your ass? I didn’t do anything wrong.” She’s talking a good game but she’s looking down, can’t meet my eyes.
I let her stew for a moment while I take a swig of the beer meant for her. Then I just stare at her until she squirms. “Dawn, you can’t do shit like that here. Or, fuck, anywhere in public. What if someone took pictures? Or a video? You want that kind of shit plastered all over the Internet?” I have to force myself to loosen the grip on the bottle, otherwise I might shatter it.
“I… umm…” She’s lost for a moment but manages to think of a retort just in time. “The club wouldn’t let that happen. They got my back.”
That’s it. She’s crossed a line, talking like she’s one of them. Like she’s one of the bitches, their property. She’s so damned clueless.
I grab her arm and yank her hard, making her follow me. I’m taking her out of this place. I have to talk some sense into her and it won’t happen here.
She digs her heels in and swats at my arm. I’m stronger than her by a country mile so I’m not worried that she’ll break free. What I am concerned about is— Before I can think it, it happens.
“Problem here, Fringe?” It’s Cutty. He’s in tight with Skull and was at the shop earlier.
I steady myself and pull Dawn to a stop behind me. At least she’s stopped struggling.
“Nah, brother. You know Dawn and I are friends. She’s just screwing around.”
“Yeah? That right, Dawn?” He raises an eyebrow at her.
Cutty is one of the older members, in his forties or fifties, and all muscle. I’m dead if Dawn doesn’t cooperate. I increase the pressure on her arm, not enough to hurt her, but to send a message.
“Yeah, we’re cool, Cutty,” Dawn says to my relief. “I gotta get home and Fringe is my ride.”
Cutty nods. “Alright, then.” He walks off wi
thout another word.
I get our asses out of Lucifer’s and once outside, I let go of Dawn. Immediately, she lets fly with a punch to my arm. I’m in no mood and sidestep it.
“What the fuck was that, Fringe? That was so not cool of you to drag me out of there like that.”
I’m stunned. “You’re pissed at me? At me! Oh, baby doll, you are so barking up the wrong tree.” I grab her again and haul her to my bike, clenching my teeth. “Get on and don’t say another word.”
“Where we going?”
I turn to glare at her and all I can see is the face she made when she came… when that asshole was touching her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Raven Dawn
Fringe whips around another corner and it’s all I can do to stay seated on the bike behind him. I peek up to see where we are and his hair flies into my face. I burrow back down against him, my arms wrapped tight around his stiff frame.
I’m sure that was a red light he just blew through.
It only takes a few minutes to see that he’s taking me to his place. By then, I’m already frozen solid. Bare legs, midriff, and arms are not a good combination on a Canadian winter night, especially riding a bike. I’m thinking the wind alone will kill me.
I’ve never see him so angry. I can feel how tense he is, and I hate that I’m the one who caused it. You don’t do that to your BFF if you can help it.
Thing is, I couldn’t help it. I didn’t know he’d go to Lucifer’s and see me with Lobo. I didn’t do anything wrong. Why is he behaving like a possessive papa bear?
At his apartment, Fringe cuts the engine and slams down the kickstand. He turns only to glare at me as I get off the bike without a word and make a mad dash for his door. I almost run into it headfirst when I find it unexpectedly locked. Looking back at him, I make motions with my arms for him to hurry up.
Of course, he takes his sweet time, strutting down the path like King Shit. I’d laugh if I weren’t so damn cold.
When he finally gets to the door and unlocks it, I rush in and pick up a ratty old throw and wrap it around myself. I’m shivering, my teeth still chattering, and I’m altogether miserable.
Fringe slowly follows me in and when he’s close, I come apart in a shuddering torrent. “I’m s-s-so sorry, F-fringe. Really, I am.” Tears burn my eyes and I’m afraid they’ll freeze to my cheeks if I let them fall. “I d-didn’t want you to see that. My p-parents. They… they banned me from seeing you. And…”
I can’t say anything more because he’s enveloped me in his big, strong and, thankfully, warm arms.
“Shh, it’s okay. I’m sorry, too.” He’s holding me tight against his chest and I nestle into his embrace. He smells so good. All leather and machine oil and the woods. Must be his shampoo. It all combines for a delicious manly scent that I want to devour. “Fuck, you’re shivering. Guess that’ll teach you to go out half dressed this time of year.” He pulls away to look at me. “Damn, get your ass to the bathroom and take a warm shower. Don’t make it too hot, hear me?”
I nod and scurry off, a shower sounding like the greatest idea ever.
Fringe’s bathroom is… well, let’s just say that he’s a typical guy. He and cleansers don’t seem to get along. I’m almost grateful that he doesn’t have a tub, just a shower stall. I couldn’t imagine what a tub would look like.
Taking my clothes off to get into the shower is hard. I’m just too damn cold and the thought of undressing is abhorrent. So, I don’t. Kicking off my shoes, I turn on the shower and wait for the water to warm up and then step in fully clothed.
The hot water hurts, and I realize why Fringe said not to make it too hot, so I adjust the temperature until I can stand it better. Then I wait for the water to work its magic on me, letting it cascade down my head and back. When I stop shivering, I strip off my soaked clothing and leave it bunched up in a corner to take care of later. I want… need to simply stand under the stream for a little while longer.
Shutting my eyes, my thoughts drift to what happened in Lucifer’s tonight. How Lobo touched me. How it made me feel. I’d never ever felt anything like that before. I know it wasn’t sex, I’m not stupid, but that indescribable feeling must have been an orgasm. If he could do that with his fingers… what would his cock feel like?
Heat rises in my cheeks that has nothing to do with the warm water and I laugh at myself for getting embarrassed when I’m all by myself. I’m such a dork.
Then another thought strikes me. If he could do that with his fingers, what would it feel like with mine? I’m not a total dolt and know about masturbation but it always seemed—I don’t know—too weird or dirty to do myself. Until now.
Biting my lip and looking around furtively like I suddenly might have an audience, I put my hand between my legs and cup myself. I hold it there a moment, getting used to it, then slowly push a finger between my lips and touch that sensitive spot that Lobo played with.
It feels good and makes me gasp so I flick my finger back and forth a couple of times the way he did, and am rewarded with the sizzle of a million fiery explosions across my skin. I’m stunned by how quickly my arousal starts peaking. I continue to flick and massage the knob of flesh as it gets harder and more sensitive. My breath is coming in shallow gasps and I brace myself with a hand against the slick shower wall. I’ve skipped the teasing Lobo started out with. A building sensation at my core expands outward until I’m feeling it from my toes to the hair follicles on my head. It’s overwhelming, taking me under much quicker this time.
I’m not just gasping now. I’m making all these little sounds, like my vocal chords have a mind of their own. I want to sit down. I want to bear down. I don’t know what I want. My mind doesn’t seem to be a part of my body anymore. Moving my fingers faster and with more pressure, a shudder explodes out of me, rocking me back against the wall. I need this to stop. Oh god, I can’t take any more. My legs are shaking and I need this to go on forever. I can’t catch my breath, I shiver but I’m hot all over.
“Hey, Dawn. You okay in there?” Fringe calls out as he raps on the bathroom door.
I scramble around in the shower, trying to gather my wits, and fumble to turn off the water. “Umm… yeah, I’m fine. Be out in a minute.”
Stumbling from the shower, I look around frantically for a towel. There’s a narrow built-in cabinet next to the sink and I find what I need there. Groping for the biggest towel, I wrap it around me as I catch a glimpse of myself in the corner of the steamed up mirror. My face is flushed. My body is still throbbing, and I feel wobbly on my feet. I clamp a hand over my mouth, not wanting Fringe to hear the giggles that are threatening to escape.
Do my girlfriends know about this? Of course they do. Do they do this to themselves? Fuck, I’ve been missing out. I should really talk to them more about personal stuff.
Leaning back against the sink, I grab a small towel and dry my hair. My limbs are like rubber and I feel like I could sleep for a month.
When I think I’m able to walk a reasonably straight line, I open the bathroom door a crack and poke my head out.
Fringe must’ve heard the creak of the door and appears in the hallway. He’s shrouded in shadows and I can’t help thinking he’s like a masked crusader, looking out for my safety. He takes a couple more steps in my direction and the image fades as his broad shoulders and shaggy mess of hair atop a face rough and sexy with five o’clock shadow become more distinct. He looks worried and that makes my heart swell.
“What the hell were you doing in there?” He makes a motion with his hand. “Fuck, thought you got lost or something.”
Oh, if only he knew what I was doing. Another bout of giggles try to crawl up my throat but I swallow them down.
“I’m a girl, Fringe. We take longer in the bathroom.” I wrap the towel tighter around me and step into the hall. “Do you have something I can put on?”
He stares at me for a minute and clears his throat. “I, umm, yeah… sure. Wait a minute.” He disappears into
his bedroom, coming out a moment later with a pair of sweats and a t-shirt in his hand. “Here, these should fit.”
I laugh. “No offense, but there’s no way I’ll fit into your sweat pants. They’ll fall right off me.”
He looks down and runs a hand through his hair. “They’re not mine. I seem to have acquired them.”
“Oh.” I’m blushing again and briefly wonder if you can die from blushing too much. “Oh.” I seem to be stuck on that word.
“They’re clean, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He’s still holding the clothes out to me, so I take them and dart back into the bathroom to change. He’s right, I see, as I pull on the faded blue sweats. They fit me just fine, but the tee is oversized and has a poop emoji on it. I don’t even want to know who was wearing this out in public. Quickly, I wring out my own clothes and hang them to dry.
I find Fringe on the frayed old couch in the living room. He smiles as I enter, and it lights up his face in the most becoming way.
“Good, they fit… poop head,” he says in a teasing tone.
I try not to laugh but I’m not very successful. “Hey, don’t start. I didn’t pick this.”
“Nah, you wouldn’t. You have more class than that.”
I’m not sure if he’s joking or making a crack about what he witnessed at Lucifer’s, so I let it drop. There’s a moment of silence while I take a seat on the couch beside him and he leans forward to grab a bottle of beer from the coffee table.
He takes a swig then motions toward me with it. “So, your parents have forbidden you to see me? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I thought it would blow over, I guess.”
“But it hasn’t?” I can’t read the expression on his face but his brow is creased.
“Not yet. Whenever I go out they make sure to remind me that I’m not allowed to hang with you. It’s so stupid.” I raise my hand in exasperation and let it fall limply back into my lap. “I mean, this is where they decide to draw the line? With you?” I shake my head.
Fringe stays quiet, opting to drink more of his beer rather than offer me comfort. “Maybe you should text them. They must be wondering where you are.”