by Lena Pierce
“Willa?” My voice gets louder. I can’t stop it. “What’re you doing?”
“What does it look like?” She speaks quietly, still not turning to face me.
“It looks like you’re gonna run out on me without so much as a fuckin’ explanation. That’s what it looks like.”
“Don’t get angry,” she says. “This isn’t the time for an argument. Let’s be civil about this.”
“Civil? Civil?” I throw myself into the living room, rage coursing through my body. Once I’ve smashed the TV screen and broken most of the cupboards, tearing one completely off the wall, I march back to the bedroom, vision red. “I never said I was civil!” I feel like an animal when I see her backed into the corner, clutching the cardboard box like a shield. “Why do you think I went in there?” I nod at the living room. “I’m not going to hurt you, Willa. Jesus fuckin’ Christ. What do you take me for?”
“An arsonist!” she breaks out. “That’s what I’ve always taken you for! You can’t expect that to change just because we fucked!”
“Just because we …” I bite down to stop myself from roaring. I take a deep breath, and then say, “This is damn cruel, Willa.”
“Cruel!” She spins around, tossing a T-shirt to the floor. “Are you really going to use that word, Diesel? Are you seriously going to use that word? Cruel, cruel … and what? It isn’t cruel to make an innocent, struggling family homeless? It isn’t cruel to risk their lives? It isn’t cruel to go around setting fire to shit without thinking about anybody but yourself!”
She walks closer to me with each step, until she’s standing a few feet away, lips trembling, hands shaking. She looks like she wants to hit me. She raises her eyebrow and I realize she’s actually waiting for an answer.
“Of course that’s cruel,” I mutter. “I’m not denying that.”
“So what, then? What did you think was going to happen? How did you think this was going to end?”
I lick my lips. My mouth is suddenly dry, my tongue stuck to the inside of my cheek. “I don’t know,” I mutter.
“Don’t tell me it’s cruel, then.” She marches back to her bag. “I’m leaving because it’s the only choice I have. I can’t stay here and …” She shakes her head. “No, I can’t stay here.”
“But you want to.” I walk into the room, closing the bedroom door behind me. My anger is fading now. Her words hit home. I think about the wrecked kitchen with embarrassment. “I know you want to stay with me. You can’t say what we shared last night—” The words “what we shared” are so far from something I’d usually say that I stop for a moment. I’m getting feelings for this woman. That’s the truth. That’s what I should tell her. And yet when I open my mouth again, I sound far less emotional than I feel. “You can’t say last night was a mistake.” My voice is cold, and I wish I was like other men who can act like a woman and think nothing of it.
“We were both drunk,” she says. “Isn’t that normally when mistakes happen?”
“Look me in the eye and tell me it was a mistake,” I say, walking around the bed and standing over her, staring down at her.
She turns her brown-flecked blue eyes up to me, her lower lip quivering. I think she might be going to cry but then she thumps me in the chest, in the belly, slaps me across the face. I step back, shocked. “I don’t have to say anything to you,” she says. “This whole situation is wrong, twisted. It makes no sense. None of this has any real connection to how things should be. It’s all upside down.”
“Upside down,” I repeat, smiling despite myself. “From what I know, Willa, our lives ain’t exactly been easy swimming right-side up, so what’s wrong with a little upside down?”
“You can’t do that.” She takes a step back so that she’s a few feet away from me, at the head of the bed. “You can’t smile and say that and think that everything’s just going to work itself out. That’s not how this works. I’m leaving.” She zips up her bag. “Now get out of my way, please.”
I want to tell her I care about her. I want to tell her how much she’s changed me. I want to tell her that meeting her that day is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. But the words won’t come out. I just stare at her dumbly, wishing I could let out something inside of me. I wish I was drunk, or at least tipsy. There wouldn’t be this block inside of me then.
I look her up and down. She’s wearing denim shorts and a tank top, her legs perfect, her calf muscles tensed and defined, her thighs making me want to kiss up them toward her pussy. My cock gets hard. I can’t help it. Emotion has failed me, but this never has. I want her. I need her.
I take a step forward.
“Get away from me,” she whispers, eyes flitting to my groin. I see the familiar quick movement of her chest, rising up and falling down as her heartbeats gets faster. I see her fists clench and then release, her fingers fidgeting. Lust rises in the air. I can smell it. Nothing makes sense except for this. We want each other. We need each other. That’s certain, even if everything else is confused.
I take another step forward.
“I mean it, Diesel,” she says. “Don’t come another step closer.”
I take another step closer, so that I’m looming over her. She cranes her neck back, looking up at me, lips parted, tongue between her teeth, breathing heavily. “I’m leaving,” she says.
I reach down and grab her wrist, guiding it to the front of my jeans, pressing her hand down on my rock-hard cock. Her eyes go wide; she’s biting down hard on her tongue now. I move her wrist so that she’s stroking my cock. I can see she likes it by the way her eyes flit around, her pupils getting that big horny look, her body vibrating as though a chord has been struck somewhere inside of her. I make her rub me faster and faster. Her hand feels so fucking good. And she looks so sexy as I jiggle her around, her braless tits bouncing in her tank top. She doesn’t want me to pounce on her but she’s going to dress like this, goddamn.
Quickly, she snaps her hand away, pressing herself into the wall, biting her lower lip. Releasing her lip, she says, “You’re a fucking animal. You’re a fucking beast.”
Maybe she wants to sound disgusted, or scared, as she says this. But really she just sounds as if she likes it, as if she wants more.
“Yeah.” I growl as I press her into the wall, pushing my groin into her belly. “I’m a fucking beast. How does that make you feel, Willa?”
My balls ache as I slide my hand down her leg. She’s hot to the touch.
Chapter Fourteen
Diesel
I grip her thigh near her pussy, grab and pull the flesh while staring into her eyes, watching the anticipation build in her face. Despite what she says, she wants it. She wants it badly. She closes her thighs around my wrist, trapping it between her legs, and her hand keeps twitching as though she wants to touch me but is trying to stop herself. I slide my hand up another inch, pressing my fingers against her pussy. Even through denim, her cunt feels fucking incredible. Warm, even a little wet through the shorts.
“I want those fuckin’ shorts off,” I say, removing my hand and tossing her bag to the floor. It lands with a loud thump. Both of us look at it for a moment, thinking the same thing, I reckon: is she still going to leave? She stares at it longer than me, and then turns away from it and hops into the bed.
“I’m so damn horny,” she whispers, her voice sweeter than any song. “I really … I’m just so damned horny.”
I stand over her. I think I could spend the rest of my life standing over this tight, sexy woman and die a happy man. “Take off those shorts,” I command.
There’s nothing better than watching a woman get undressed, especially when she’s the hottest woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on. I’ve seen what’s underneath her denim before, but that doesn’t make it any less incredible. She wriggles out of the shorts, her underwear caught up with them, and kicks both to the floor. When she lies back, her pussy is bare for me, pink and inviting, her tuft of blonde hair making her look like a real woman, a woman r
eady to be fucked, hard. I reach down and unbuckle my belt. Then I kick my boots off and pull down my pants, kicking them away from my ankles.
“Kneel up and take that top off. Fucking pose for me.”
I rub my bare cock as I watch her. She looks so damn good when she climbs onto her knees, sticking her ass out and pouting as she pulls the tank top over her head. When she’s naked, the nipples on her pert breasts hard, I can’t control myself. She’s too sexy. My mind hones down to one figure, and she’s it. Nothing else matters, not even the fires. I don’t care. This place could catch fire and I’d still need to fuck her.
I take off my leather and pull my T-shirt over my head so that I’m naked, and then walk to the edge of the bed. “Get on your hands and knees, stick your ass out, and suck my cock. Now.”
Her eyes glance at the bag briefly, but then she crawls to the edge of the bed like I tell her to. Her ass sticks right in the air, round and begging to be spanked, bitten, grabbed as I drive into her, and she brings her pouty lips to the tip of my cock. With one hand she grabs the base of my dick and with the other reaches down and rubs her pussy.
I slide my fingers into her hair and push her down, firmly, so that she has no choice but to slide her open mouth down the length of me. I can tell I’m too big for her, but she looks so hot with her eyes bulging, her neck going red, her cheeks trembling as I force my cock to the back of her throat. I hold it there, choking her, and then release it. Spit and pre-come fall from her mouth.
“I’m going to fuck your throat,” I tell her. “Get ready.”
She takes a deep breath. I fuck her throat hard. I can’t stop myself. I’m too horny. And she looks too perfect choking and gagging on my massive cock, spit dribbling down her chin, taking every inch of me in her mouth as she frantically rubs her clit. She looks like my own personal whore. I lean over and grab her ass cheeks as I drive to the back of her throat, feeling how round and peachy they are, the bouncy sort of cheeks a man can’t look at without thinking of doggy style, ramming hard and fast deep into the tight cunt between them.
I grab her by the shoulders and lift her up, tossing her onto the bed so that she’s lying on her front.
“That fuckin’ ass …”
I grab her hips, pulling her up. She arches her back, pushing her shoulders into the bed and sticking that ass up, presenting it to me, tight, pink, fresh, the most perfect ass I’ve ever seen. Her pussy is soaked. I don’t even have to touch her to know that. It glistens in the lowlight.
“You wanna be fucked,” I say. What I don’t say is: you say you want to leave, but you want to be fucked even more. Maybe that’d start an argument.
“I do,” she moans. “Badly. I want it so fucking badly, Diesel.”
“I’m going to drill your tight cunt,” I say, moving my hands over those perfect ass cheeks, bringing my fingers to the entrance of her soaking wet hole.
“Yes, yes,” she moans, shaking her ass from side to side. “I want that. I want that so bad.”
She can’t know what shaking her ass like that is doing to me. I guide my dick to her cunt, looking down, eyes fixated on the perfect shape of her ass. Then I slide into her as deep as I can get. She’s tight, so tight it feels like a hot-palmed fist gripping my cock, making me fight for every inch inside of her. She gasps and bites the sheets, stifling the noise. I push and push until her round ass cheeks are pressed flat against me, and then slide out, slowly. The fist begins to loosen, and soon it loosens enough that she isn’t gasping anymore. She’s moaning, and bouncing, and screaming.
I don’t think as I fuck her, except about how amazing she looks and feels, like her cunt was designed to make my cock feel like it’s going to explode. I fuck her hard, drilling her into the bed until the base begins to whine as if it could collapse at any moment. Neither of us would care if it collapsed, I know. We’d just keep on fucking, screwing madly until we were tired enough to stop. I grab her shoulders, pulling her toward me as I thrust at her, her ass cheeks slapping against my abs, my cock pumping deep inside of her. Her ass is tight, but it ripples a tiny bit. I love that. I love how she squirms, moaning and biting down on the sheets. Soon her cunt gets tight again, fist-tight, and I know she’s going to come for me. I pump her harder and harder and then go crazy as she squirts onto my cock, the thick white come pushing up into her asshole.
It’s so dirty. I can’t stop. All I feel is her pussy. All that exists is her—
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I slap her ass, leaving a red handprint there. “Fuck, Willa. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re my fuckin’ whore. Say it, say it.”
“I’m your whore!” she cries. “I’m your dirty fucking whore!”
“I’m gonna come in your whore cunt.”
“Do it!” she moans, bouncing as quickly as I thrust. “Do it! Please! Please do it! Come in my fucking whore cunt!”
I thrust into her faster and faster and then the tip of my dick is buzzing like crazy, tingling, and all the pleasure in my body is shooting out of the end of my cock right into her. I bite her, I slap her, and at the end I lean over and kiss her on the cheek. We fall aside, me one way and she another, and lie there for a long time.
We lie there for so long that at some point I fall asleep naked, on top of the sheets, a stupid smile on my face. I wake in the early hours of the morning in a dead-quiet room, not even the sound of another person sleeping anywhere near me.
I go into the ruined kitchen, into the bathroom, into the spare room, turning in circles, expecting Willa to materialize. And then it hits me. She’s gone. The only woman I’ve ever really wanted is gone.
Chapter Fifteen
Diesel
I sit on the kitchen floor, staring at the broken cupboards and thinking about Willa. She must’ve woken up when I was still snoring, wondered about what to do, and then crept out without saying a word. Maybe she stopped at the door and looked down at me, or maybe she didn’t. Maybe she just got out of here as quickly as she could. I think about her creeping down the hallway, wincing as the steps creaked, looking over her shoulder to make sure I wasn’t following her. Is that really what I am? A man who causes his lover to sneak out in fear? Am I really a monster?
One of the cupboards makes a snapping sound and then detaches from the wall and slams onto the counter, plates sliding down and smashing on the floor. I laugh grimly to myself. “No,” I mutter. “I’m not a monster at all.”
I get up, since sitting half-naked on the floor ain’t going to accomplish anything, and then sudden rage hits me and I punch the wall, leaving a small hole in it. That didn’t accomplish anything, either. But at least it felt good. I wipe paint and plaster and blood from my fist and go into the bedroom, looking for a note. There isn’t a note. There isn’t anything except the smell of her, fading now. I take a deep breath, let it out. It’s shaky, just like my fists, just like my lips, just like everything. I want to break something. More than that, I want Willa back here.
When my cell buzzes, I leap across the room, thinking it might be her. When I see that it’s Grimace, I think about not answering it. There’s nothing he can say that I want to hear, especially not at four in the morning. I think about throwing the phone through the window and letting it smash in the street below. Then I remember how Grimace would come to the slammer and sit on the other side of the glass and ask me, “How’s it goin’, kid?”
I remember Grimace slapping me on the shoulder when I first joined the Riders and telling me I had an eye for metal. I remember looking up at Grimace and thinking he was the coolest person I’d ever met, my dad … this was my dad, I remember thinking, not that evil policeman. This man …
I answer the phone, because there’s really nothing else I can do.
“Yep?”
“I need you to come by the burger joint.”
“In town? Do you know what time it is—”
“Come around the back. Knock on the boarded-up door. I’ll let you in.”
“All right, but Grimace—”
He
hangs up the phone, leaving me to stare at the screen and wonder what the hell’s going on. The burger place is where we sometimes eat after a job or a ride, or every now and then we’ll have a meeting there. But boarded-up doors? The place was open the last time I checked, which was a couple of days ago. I get dressed slowly, wondering if I should just go back to sleep and ignore him. I want to go and find Willa, but that’d really make me into some kind of boogeyman. I can’t go chasing through the night after her.
As I climb into my bike and ignite the engine, I think about this dream kid, think about whether or not he’d have to deal with shit like this, with women pushing him away and father figures twisting him into a weapon. He wouldn’t. I wouldn’t let that happen. If I had a kid, he’d be me but better, me but an updated version, with schooling and intelligence and the ability to talk about his feelings and all that important shit. I think about Willa holding a bundle in her arms, making cooing noises and smiling up at me. It’s an image that’s returned to me time and time again since I met her. A child would be like hitting the reset button on life. There’d be something of me left behind when I’m gone. Now all there’ll be are charred husks of buildings.