Torched: A Dark Bad Boy Romance

by Paula Cox

  It’s from Zeke: Five headed your way. Get off the highway NOW. More coming. Police scanner is getting word of the flock coming down. You’re on your own until they’ve passed.

  I want to type back, “Yeah, we fucking know that now, you stupid son of a bitch!”—but I stop myself. I know he’s honestly only trying to help.

  And that’s all that Mack is doing as well. Sure, my way would have been going into witness protection and getting the hell out of this city weeks ago, but the boys were on my side, and I have to just understand that this chaos is part of the ride.

  The phone vibrates again. Another message from Zeke comes in. This time, it’s just the address to the cabin with some instructions on how to get inside past the security system. I force myself to stick my head outside the passenger side window to call for Mack. “Mack! It’s Zeke. He’s got info for us on the—”

  Mack appears around the corner. His eyes trace his steps with his shoulders heavy and worn. He takes the phone from my hand and scans the message. But seconds later, he hands it back to me before turning away to clutch his stomach and spit on the ground. Whatever he saw was enough to make even him sick. My mind travels in a million different directions, keeping it distant from where it almost certainly should be.

  He finally breaks through the silent noise clattering in my brain. “We’ve got to go,” he snaps hurriedly. “Now. One of these fucking bastards isn’t dead.”

  “We should help him then!” I cry. “Mack, we have to—I don’t know, to call the police or something! How bad is it?”

  “Bad enough that we need to leave him be. I handed him his phone so he could call his people. No use in letting him die out here alone with the rain coming. But we need to make a run for it before he manages to do it. They can’t be far behind.”

  Oh God—now I feel as if I could hurl. He did enough describing with the limited words he used. I point back to the phone with a shaking hand as I explain, “Zeke says there’s cops coming. You think we could outrun them?”

  “I don’t know. I never know. But we have to try. We’ll try the van first, and if that doesn’t work, we’ll ditch it and take the Harley. You’re game to go?”

  “Do I have a choice?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

  Mack runs back towards the drivers’ side. He keeps his eyes away from the carnage just outside the van, but I wonder if it’s unavoidable at this point. What he has seen would damn near destroy any man, no matter what their occupation may be. Still, he manages to keep it cool, starting the engine and revving the gas as we struggle to back out of the ditch we have fallen into.

  After we sit there spinning motionlessly, he pounds his hands on the dash. “We don’t have fucking time to waste. You’re going to have to drive and I’ll push. I’ll go out front, and when I tell you, you’ll back us out of this.” He doesn’t give me a chance to argue this one. His head reappears at the front of the van, his hands placed on the white metal frame. He lets out a shout as he pulls them back. I can only imagine how overheated this van has gotten in the time between him hitting the road block signs until now. But he has no choice but to strip down, peel the shirt into several layers, and wrap the scraps around his palms and fingers.

  “Okay!” he shouts as he positions himself again. “On the count of three, punch the gas and reverse back. One… two… three!” The van struggles at first, digging up dirt and mud. Rain trickles down on the windshield, but I can see Mack pushing back against the front of the van with all of his might. Finally, the van leaps backwards onto the road while Mack staggers into the pile of grass and gravel where the van used to be.

  He looks up at me through the windshield, his head shaking, his arms up to his elbows in muck. For a moment, everything seems to evaporate with his shaking, booming laugh. I get swept up in the noise, letting myself go. Tears trickle down my face, following the same patterns as before, when I laid in the back of this van praying to God that I would survive. Now, even with sirens bursting through the rolling thunder, nothing seems so heavy anymore.

  We linger there for a few moments, unsure of what comes next. How do you go on from what just happened? But we need to. Time isn’t on our side. Mack opens the back of the van and pulls out the spare tire hidden in the compartment near the backdoor. I listen to him go to work like an expert, quickly replacing the wheel the bikers had shot out.

  When he’s finished, Mack hops into the truck, pushing me back to the passenger side. He glances down at the address one more time before guiding the van back on the highway and around back where we came. I close my eyes as we pass where the bikers are left on the side of the road. The scene fades away quickly with the fields becoming forest thick with ancient sequoias. The campground is miles into the new landscape, hidden off a trail already closed for the season. Mack has to break the chain with a tool in one of the cases in the back of the van just to pass through.

  When we finally find Cabin 8, the rain has turned from a sprinkle to a downpour. With the van turned off and the lights shining on the cedar cabin, we both sit back in the leather seats, listening to the pounding rain splatter on the metal van. “Stay inside. I’ll figure out how to get inside first, and then I’ll come get you.”

  He lets go of my hand. I hadn’t even noticed we were holding one another while he was driving, but as he pulls away, the warmth of him disappears. The spark that seemed to be keeping me alive and focused disappears into the blackened early night and out and around the side of the cabin. I don’t know why, but I run out. I forget about the rain and the sweatshirt I left behind. I forget about my sneakers sinking into the soft ground with each step. I call out, screaming his name above the whistling storm, “Mack! Where are you?” I can barely see a foot in front of me with the rain and howling wind whipping into my eyes and lashes.

  There’s a burst of sound, a screeching wail. It pierces my ears as I run back to the front of the house. Everything has suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree. A flood light flashes above a garage or tool shed area. I cover my ears for protection as I continue to scream, “Mack! Mack?” Everything fades into darkness with the noise. I spin over and over again until I’m dizzy, looking for an escape. The van… it was… right there. I can’t seem to find my balance…

  Red streaks against white. That popping sound of a tire being blown out. Screeching tires. Sirens… so many sirens...

  It stops. Everything just stops. There are large, warm hands around my hips, picking me up off of the ground and cradling me into his arms. He goes over the steps to the front porch and through an open door. The rain stops. The wind stops screeching in my ears. That sound is gone. Weakly, I find the back of Mack’s neck and cling as tightly as I can despite my wet, slick hands. All I can seem to say is “I’m sorry… I…”

  “Shh. You’re okay now. It’s fine. I’m here. We’re safe.” I ignore the flashes of blood I spotted seconds ago on the van that can’t seem to go away. Instead, I look at this man’s face with the v-shaped jaw and a scar that runs from his ear to his chin. His eyes glow like emeralds in a cave, lighting my way back to reality. I breathe in again, relaxing myself to his body.

  Together, with him still holding me tightly and close, we sit in an old, wooden rocking chair near the entrance of the home. Silently, he begins to undress me, pulling the sopping wet t-shirt up and over my head and tugging off the thin jean capri leggings. I feel like a child in his arms as he goes, but there’s something else to it. The expression on his face has become less comforting, more urgent. It’s impossible to ignore.

  I prop myself up so that I can reach for his shirt too, remembering that he took his off to touch the hood of the smoking van. I instead reach for my shirt, toweling him off with the few dry parts. Through the thin fabric, I can feel the ripple of his muscles, the line of his chest trailing down to his abs and hips, the tiny bits of hair along his tattooed arms. Like a spark, something fires within me. The dam within my loins bursts as I drop the shirt to his side and reach towards the small patch of
stubble along his cheeks. Together, we pull in towards the other until our lips find another.

  He kisses me hard, with a power that can overcome every other sensation I may have. His lips turn and dash as if they are fighting me to stay, but I can’t even begin to resist this. I am melting in his arms. The cold and wet that shook me dry against the embers of his chest and arms. As we dizzily embrace, he peels the thin, lacy bra off of my breasts, finding their soft mounds in the palm of his gritty, calloused hands. This is not like yesterday or the late hours last night. The way he touches me is with such tenderness that I feel as if I’ll break if he continues or collapse if he lets me go.

  I lean myself back in his arms, letting him study me. A long finger circles the oval around my neck and then makes its way between my breast bone. It circles the diminishing loops of my breast, centimeter by centimeter, until it finds the tip of my nipple. He leans down and gently kisses at the darkened skin, warming it with the moisture of his own mouth. Shivers cascade down my spine and I hold on even tighter to him to prevent myself from pushing him away.

  He comes up soon after, too soon. Those emerald eyes force me to stare him down. A thumb lightly strokes against my flushed cheeks as he whispers, “You are so beautiful.” I let the smile explode across my face. I can’t remember the last time anyone called me beautiful, but his words are sincere. They dance on the surface of my skin as he again leans down to plant gentle, sweet kisses along my own arms and shoulders till he rests at my belly button.

  Mack slowly scoots both of us off the top of the chair, rolling it forward so that we softly fall onto a cream colored carpet. He leans over me slightly, kissing my forehead, before moving down again to my hips. He follows the line of my panties, leaving a wet trail around the elastic band. The touch is agonizing; the wait is worse. Every bit of me cries out for him to go for it, to make something, anything happens. By the time he finally uses his teeth to latch onto my underwear, I’m ready to scream. He manages to unfurl them down my thick thighs and past my knees where he lifts my legs up to his shoulders to take them off the rest of the way.

  Totally exposed to him on this carpet, I should feel like covering myself up or at least turning to the side, but it’s different with Mack. My legs fall to the floor, opening slightly for him to see. My arms raise above my head, bringing my breasts to attention. The small of my back curls up and my hips push into the ground. Those hands, those large, strong hands wash over my hips and thighs, kneading gently at my flesh.

  Mack hooks his hand around my folds, covering the entire area with his warm palm. My breath hitches in my throat, only to stick there as he begins to rub the top of my clit with the inside of his hand. His head scoops down towards my stomach, kissing the line between my ribcage and moving down, down, down towards his hand. My hips lift off of the ground, offering myself to him. He pushes my legs fully apart so they drape themselves back down to the carpet. I feel the moist, heated air tickle my inner thigh before his thick, pink lips close themselves upon my pussy.

  “Mack!” I cry out, my hands twisting in the waves of his hair. “Oh my God…” There are no words to describe the leathery softness of his tongue or the scratch of his unshaven cheek. My entire body becomes completely one with the feeling of openness between my legs. It’s as if his mouth is forcing back the legs, opening me up completely, splitting me at my core. My hips sway into his head, pushing him further into me, begging him to not stop.

  Below his mouth, his two fingers gently slip inside of me. I barely register they’re there until I feel the friction of them sweeping in and out of me with the same veracity of his tongue. I pull my fingers into the weave of the carpet, forcing myself to hold on. Wave after wave flows over me, forcing the center of my body to move with it. It’s as if I am floating and falling all at the same time.

  Then finally, a crash—hard and violent, I erupt. There’s tension and relief all in one long, perfect moment until it fades softly back into my body. Mack comes up from his place between my legs, licking his lips with a self-satisfied, smug look. He opens his mouth to speak, but I can’t stand to hear his voice. Using all the energy I can, I grab him by the neck to spin him down and around towards where I lay. We flip until I’m on top of him, my legs pinning him in place, my hands holding him back from wrestling me away. If he could do that to me, I could certainly do it to him.

  From behind, I unbuckle those jeans. My eyes stare daggers into him the whole time until the job is done. I release him for only seconds so that he can pull them down the rest of the way. Lowering myself to him, he opens his mouth to a kiss, but I don’t waste time. My drenched pussy eases its way on down to his hips, gliding past his cock so that it hangs sticks itself up against my pubic bone.

  Mack uses the back of his arms to watch me take hold of him. Massaging up and down the length of his cock, I compare it to the size of my own pussy. How I ever fit a man this size in my tiny body is beyond me, but I’m eager to try again. He hardens under my grip. The moans he releases tell me that it’s just about time.

  “Let me fuck you,” he says, his voice thick with anticipation. A hand moves to my bare side, ready to push me back down to the carpet.

  I move that hand up and over the roundness of my breast, towards my neck, and then to my lips. Sucking gently for a second, I pull it away to position it back around the underside of my tit. “No,” I reply. “This time, I’m taking you.”

  I rock forward so that my hips place themselves so all he has to do is push himself into me. He growls and I curl back with his cock pushing past my folds and into the cavern of my body. Again, I feel that instant unfurling and peeling, but this time, it isn’t him controlling it. For the right balance, I place my hand on his chest, covering a tattoo of a black and gray Celtic cross, and my thighs begin to pump around his hips. In circles I move around and up the line of his shaft.

  Mack follows me, moving the opposite direction to up that feeling of tension. I can tell he wants more from me. A simple, naked lap dance around his pole isn’t going to do. Hoisting myself to a squat, I begin lifting myself off of him, just enough that I am centimeters away from flying off, but I manage to control myself. I’ve never done it this way, never felt the strange sensation of letting go enough to feel as if you could lose it all with one wrong move.

  My body bounces quicker, diving him in and out of me. I feel his legs come up, his knees resting on my back. I place my legs around the back of his thighs while he continues digging himself into me, unceasing despite our loud, husky breathing. I can barely hold on. I let out a scream I didn’t even know was in me as I push forward and off of him.

  Collapsed on his chest, I feel the sticky-sweet cum drip along the curve of my thigh. I bite down on his skin, not caring for if I hurt him. My only orgasm is seconds away, spilling itself onto him. When I finally have the courage and the strength to look up at him, he’s smiling. It’s not smug or wicked. He’s not scowling or smirking either. This is the first, genuine, full smile I have ever seen him make.

  It’s contagious like a burst shooting through my heart up until my lips. I fall back on his chest savoring these small and big moments, hiding my blushing face in his skin. When I come up for air, I look around the cabin for the first time. Still dark, I can manage to make out the outline of a couch covered in a deep red blanket. For the first time, I notice just how cold I am. The rain had chilled me to the bone, but making love to Mack had brought my body over the coals.

  “Should we move?” I ask, my head pointing in the direction of the couch. “I’m guessing it isn’t comfortable to be on your back on this ground.” I push myself up to seating, my arms naturally dangling over my exposed breasts. I’m tempted to grab from the pile of clothes resting at our feet, but he pulls me back in so that I rest on my side in the crook of his long, muscular arm.

  “No. We shouldn’t,” he says matter-of-fact. “We should stay down here and do that again. If you give me about five minutes to restock the juices, I could get going again… es
pecially if you ride me like that.” He strokes my cheek with playful fingers. I listen to the sound of his heartbeat firm against his chest.

  “While that’s tempting,” I say as I pick myself up again, “I am more worried about getting hypothermia from laying out by the door of this drafty place. Any idea on how to turn on the heat or…”

  Mack stands and walks towards the end of the black room. I hear a few clicks and then a small woosh. The smell of gas fills the air followed by a blue, red, and orange spark. A fireplace I had no idea was there turns itself on. The room sparkles in a soft, yellow and gold glow. I stand quietly and move towards the old country style couch closest to the hearth.

  “That’s so much better,” I say as I hold my hands out toward the fire. “It reminds me of my mom. There were a lot of nights she couldn’t afford to run the heat. Thank goodness we had a fireplace at our old home for those days. We used to sleep on the couch, feet to feet, under piles of blankets.”

  I don’t know where that came from—I don’t usually open up about my past like this. I hated to be a pity case. Even Riley never knew the extent of the poverty I grew up in. Putting up that bubble around me always felt necessary. But tonight, it seems to be sliding off.