Wild Side

by Cynthia Ayman

  “But… I need a kitchen. I can’t bake in a microwave.”

  “The clubhouse is huge. If it doesn’t work out for some reason, I have other ideas, too.”

  She worries her lip and shifts her eyes. “But, at the clubhouse…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are there… ugh… Apa, I don’t think I want to see your girlfriends.”

  “They’re not my girlfriends,” I snort. “Babe, I know it’s weird for you but really… it’s… I just fuck them regularly, like the other brothers do.”

  “That… doesn’t make me feel better. You fucked me too.”

  “You’re different.” Damn. Could I sound more cheesy? Only thing missing is some crap about how we share a special bond. “I mean, we went to a wedding together.”

  “We didn’t go to a wedding together since you didn’t bother telling me you were also invited, remember?” she deadpans.

  Smartass.

  ***

  Abby

  I say yes.

  God knows why, but I say yes. Is it the idea of facing my failure that makes me too depressed? I don’t know. I text Val, tell her I’m going on a vacay with a hot biker. At first, she thinks I stumbled on another one and has a text-meltdown about how she is never, ever letting me out of her sight anymore because I clearly attract the right males. Then when she finds out it’s Apa, she asks me to recon for a hot biker for herself, which reminds me that I’m heading to a freaking clubhouse.

  When has my life turned crazy enough to have me walk away from a bakery and straight into a house full of bikers?

  Apa helps me pack. It takes us more than an hour because I need supplies - I’m not sure this whole baking thing for the diner is worth it, but I love baking. Nothing calms me down like kneading dough, and my brain is free to roam when I pipe dozens of identical designs on a two-tiered cake. I also end up with all my leftovers in my car as well because Apa gave me puppy eyes when I told him about offering them to the school nearby. He does the puppy eyes really well, by the way.

  I almost turn around twice on the way, my brain screaming at me for my impulsive decision. I brush it off both times because it’s only for a week, maybe two. The story about my torrid affair with a bad boy is also going to be much longer when I tell it to my grandkids, and that’s always good. It would have been better if we had both ridden into the sunset, my KitchenAid safely tucked under my arm, but I have a few decades to come up with something more exciting than me and Bertha following Apa into the night.

  It’s dark when we arrive. There is a giant gate, which opens as soon as he approaches, and then a private, dusty road. It leads to something that looks like an old inn or at least a small hotel. He was right. The place is sure big enough. There are bikes parked everywhere, and I spot two buildings on the sides, with light coming from them. It looks like they store their vehicles in there, but I can’t be sure from afar.

  The nerves have been building low in my stomach ever since I sat behind the wheel and now that we’re here, I find my hands shaking a little.

  What am I doing here? I don’t have the time to change my mind, though. Apa is standing, walking to me and opening my door with a knowing smile.

  “Come on. I’ll show you around.”

  There are two bikers standing on the long porch, observing us while having a smoke.

  It doesn’t smell like cigarettes, not that I should be surprised.

  I wipe my hands on my jeans and grab my purse as he shouts for someone. A huge biker comes through the door and slowly walks down the few steps. He is tall and large, with a big beard and dark hair. His arms are gigantic, and he freaks the crap out of me. I instinctively take a step back, half-hiding behind Apa.

  “Bear, this is Abby. Abby, this is Bear.”

  “You wear it well,” I say, a little dumbstruck.

  Bear’s smile softens his features almost dramatically. Wow. It’s actually impressive. “You’re the baker?” he asks in a tone that sounds almost giddy - or as giddy a grizzly bear can sound.

  “Yes,” I reply in a small voice. I’m still behind Apa, who definitely knows why judging by the way he squeezes my hand reassuringly. I decide it would be smart to have the scary man on my side, so I add, “I brought you cakes.”

  “What kind?” Bear asks, lifting his chin and crossing his arms over his chest. His biceps are bigger than my thighs, which are already on the thick side.

  “A little bit of everything.” My voice gets smaller with every word and if Apa wasn’t holding me, I’d already be halfway back to Huntington.

  “Anything chocolate?”

  “Brownies and cupcakes?”

  Bear grins then shoves Apa away from me to engulf me into a hug. My feet leave the ground as my eyes bulge out of their sockets. “Welcome to the clubhouse, Abby.”

  He plants a loud kiss on my cheek then shoves me into Apa’s arms. I stumble a little on my feet, because even though Bear isn’t rough, he’s definitely strong.

  “Make sure everything is set for her in the kitchen, OK?” Apa drops a kiss on my head then opens the trunk. I have a suitcase and a duffle bag, and he grabs them both before letting out a loud whistle. A young black man, almost a boy really, runs out of one of the houses. I notice his vest is completely black. One of the prospects, I assume.

  “Jackson, get these to my room,” Apa says. “And be careful.”

  The prospect nods, not even glancing at me, and then takes off so fast I don’t even have the time to thank him. Bear follows with a box of pastries, which he opens even before reaching the porch. He shoves a brownie in his mouth and bellows about needing some milk.

  “OK, you met the scariest one,” Apa says in an amused voice. “You’re still alive?”

  “I’m not sure,” I murmur. “He is…”

  “Yeah. Don’t be fooled, though. He’s a teddy bear. That’s why he got his road name, not because he is dangerous. He’s probably going to follow you around and nag you for brownies. It’s his weakness.”

  He guides me to the porch where the two men are still looking at us. “This is Crash,” he says as he introduces me to the oldest one. He has grey hair and a mustache and seems to be around fifty years old. The great kind of fifty, like George Clooney.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say politely. It makes Crash smile and lift his eyebrows at Apa.

  “And this one is Jimmy, his son.”

  Jimmy seems about my age. He has blond hair and brown eyes and I’m pretty sure he must be a heartbreaker. Apa is hot, but Jimmy is one of those men with a boyish face. He gives me a charming smile and I have to admit, I’m swooning a little. He reminds me of Ryan Gosling.

  Val would be drooling all over the porch if she was here.

  “Prez already knows?” Crash asks.

  “Nope. Do you mind keeping Abby company while I find him?”

  Oh God. Apa didn’t ask his president if I could stay over? What if they kick me out? I’m tired, I can’t drive all the way back to Huntington. And leave me here? Alone with two bikers I don’t know??

  I’m about to protest but the words die on my lips when a petite woman with a pink pixie haircut runs onto the porch and jumps in Apa’s arms, her mouth landing a big fat one on him.

  I’m shocked. So much that all I can do is stand there with my jaw hitting the floor. Apa’s hands automatically reached out when she jumped and he’s palming her ass.

  He. Is. Palming. Her. Ass.

  OK, whatever. I can’t do this. I don’t want to be dramatic but… I can’t do this. I turn around, fishing for my keys. I’m honestly ready to leave my clothes behind because I’m not staying. Nope, nope, nope.

  “Pinkie.” Apa’s voice is a little sharp as I set a foot on the first step. He grabs my arm right away, pulling me back.

  Crash and Jimmy snicker then sit down and rest their feet up against the railing as if they’re getting ready for a show. You’re out of the luck, guys, I don’t do catfights.

  Apa leans in to murmur in my ear as I st
ruggle against his hold. “I’m sorry. Club girl. I’ll set her straight.”

  It should make me feel better, but then I realize what it means. He slept with her.

  What on earth was I thinking agreeing to come here, knowing the house is full of women he bangs on the regular?

  “Pinkie, this is Abby. She is going to stay with me for a few weeks. Let the other girls know, OK? No funny business.”

  The girl, Pinkie, eyes me up and down. She is pretty. She has one of those adorable noses that perks up a little and big innocent blue eyes. Her body is thin and she shows it off in a pair of tight jeans and a tank top that leaves a good fifteen inches of skin bare on her stomach and a generous cleavage on display. Her boobs are not small. They’re not as big as mine, but they’re super perky and round.

  Yeah. I hate her.

  Pinkie cocks her head to the side, then a smile stretches her lips. I’m not fooled, though. It’s as fake as the one I give her in return.

  “She is going to stay in your room?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh. OK. But I didn’t have the time to change your sheets, and I doubt she’ll appreciate smelling me all over them,” she lets out in a giggle then turns to me. “Apa likes to fuck before going on a run. It’s the excitement, you know? We went at it all night and woke up super late. I’m the only one allowed to clean his room, and we only got back a few hours ago so I haven’t had the chance yet.”

  I hiss in a breath and reconsider my position about catfighting. Apa and I were not together. He didn’t cheat on me or do anything I wasn’t already suspecting anyway. I might not have had the opportunity to have sex in the past three months, but I sure as hell knew it wasn’t the same for him. It’s OK. I’m an adult. I can handle it.

  “I’m sure that Apa, who as you can see has two functioning hands, can change his own bed,” I say sweetly. The guy’s fingers can give me multiple orgasms, I’m pretty sure he can handle a couple pillowcases. And which century did I travel back to? The girl is proud to be allowed to clean his room.

  The smile slips from her face. “We like to do that for our man.”

  “And I like my man to lift a finger every now and then.”

  Apa coughs next to me. Yeah, well, it’s not exactly comfortable for me either, asshole.

  “I can hear you chirping all the way from the kitchen,” a tall man interrupts us and joins our - rapidly growing, I have to say - little group on the porch. Bear is right behind him, shoving the rest of his brownie in his mouth and making a show of licking his fingers.

  “Prez,” Apa says with a head tilt. He introduces me, and I have to admit I am a little bit impressed. I had pictured the president to be old and wise-looking, or all rugged and marked by life, but he looks to be around thirty-five at most. Thick dark hair and baby blues.

  I had accepted that Apa was some kind of a biker-unicorn in his hotness. But he definitely isn’t the only one. I’m not sure if this club recruits them on their looks, but even Bear is weirdly good-looking in his own beast-y, very hairy way. Only Crash and Mick seem to fit the usual stereotype a little more.

  Val would love it here.

  I wonder if they realize how much money they could make by renting out lounge chairs and letting women just ogle them all day long. I know, I know, objectifying is bad but since they own a freaking strip club, I don’t feel too guilty. And speaking of which, they could totally diversify their activities.

  “Abby, what do you think?” Apa asks me with a small nudge.

  “I think you guys should strip, make it a Women Wednesday,” I answer automatically. “You’d be Channing Tatum, Jimmy would totally rock Matt Bomer’s role, and Bear obviously would be the Tarzan dude. Jackson would be the kid, if he’s old enough of course.” I tilt my head as I look more closely at Lee. “You look a little like Joe Manganiello.”

  I think I just had the best idea of the century. Stripper-bikers could be a very good niche. Unfortunately, their stunned silence tells me they don’t see it the same way. I don’t exactly judge them, not everyone has good business instincts.

  “Abby, babe… I was asking if you were OK with pizza leftovers for dinner,” Apa explains slowly and I come crashing down to earth, leaving my fantasies of champagne-covered torsos and lap dances in a very brutal way.

  “Oh.”

  Lee is staring at me and I find myself squirming. Great. He’s gonna kick me out before I even walk through the door.

  “Pizza is good,” I eventually whisper. “And hum… you know, I was just speaking hypothetically. Women also love strippers. There’s a market. And when there’s a market, there’s money to be made.”

  “You know I’m a good dancer, Prez,” Bear says with a nod. “I could do it.”

  “Fuck me,” Lee breathes out before turning around and going back inside.

  “No, seriously, I have a banging body. Abby, look,” Bear continues then gets rid of his vest and T-shirt. He doesn’t have any tattoo but it’s OK because woah. Hard chest, firm pecs, he has it all. His abs aren’t defined, but you can see the guy is bulky with muscles to spare, like those UFC fighters.

  I’m so out of it, wondering how I got lucky enough to find this promised land, that I can’t even pay attention to what the men say. Pinkie gives me the stink eye then leaves, and it’s a struggle to not stick my tongue at her retreating figure. Not very mature, I know. But she makes me feel like I’m back in middle school, I can’t help it.

  When Bear is about to take off his pants so I can test the firmness of his ass and confirm it would look great in a thong, Apa grabs my arm and leads me inside. It feels a bit rude to refuse, but Apa isn’t giving me much of a choice.

  We walk into a hallway, with a large staircase directly on our right. On my left, there is what looks like a common room with a long bar on one of the walls. There is also a pool table, a couple oversized chairs, several smaller tables, a sectional couch, and a large flat screen. A few guys are playing darts on the far side of the room while others are watching TV. A woman is cleaning the bar. Her hair is long and black, and she seems a few years older than me. She smiles at Apa and looks at me curiously but doesn’t linger on me.

  “That’s where we hang out,” Apa says. He shows me the door at the end of the hallway. “The kitchen is over there. I’ll show you tomorrow morning, people are busy right now.”

  I wonder what’s so unusual about people being busy in a kitchen at eight in the evening, but then I realize it’s better if I don’t know for sure, especially if I’m supposed to bake in the room. He takes me to the second floor, where the stairs end on a large landing. I can see doors on each side of it, but he makes me turn right. We pass several rooms until he finally stops in front of a door.

  “This is my room. Since you’ll be staying with me, I’ll give you a key if you feel more comfortable locking it when I’m not around.”

  I nod as he opens the door and switches on the light. The room is rather large, with a king-sized bed right in front of us. On my right, there is a desk. On the left, I can see a TV screen and a small sofa facing it and, behind it, a walk-in closet with the door left ajar.

  It’s not messy, except for the bed, which is obviously unmade. Pinkie didn’t lie, by the way. It does look like some hard exercising took place in it, very much like the motel bed or the one at the inn after our two nights together.

  It hurts a little. I never messed up a bed so much with any other man but for Apa, it’s just the norm.

  “If you want to shower, I’ll change the bed,” he offers, and I’m a little thankful for the opportunity to escape the vivid proof of his sexual activities.

  I grab some fresh clothes from my suitcase as well as my toiletry case and find the towels in the cupboard under the sink.

  I also find a pack of Jumbo condoms and some unopened lube.

  O… kay.

  I’m already in the shower, my hair full of shampoo, when I realize I forgot to take my shower gel when I packed. There is one for men on a shelf, b
ut I have sensitive skin so I’d rather avoid it. I spot a small soapbox and even though it’s not my preference, it’s not like I have much of a choice. Hopefully it will not be one of those harsh, cheap soaps that leave your skin dry like a-

  I yelp, the box flying out of my hands when I realize it’s not a bar of soap inside. It’s a pair of metal balls that I’m pretty sure are not used to massage your neck. They fall, and one lands on my big toe when I’m still yelping, turning it into a loud scream.

  The door crashes open as I’m holding my foot and I panic. I lose my balance, grab onto the shower curtain in a desperate attempt to not break my neck but it’s futile. I slip, gloriously, a loud tearing sound followed by a metallic racket swallowing my shouts of pain when something heavy lands on my head, the curtain completely blinding me.

  “Abby!”

  “Oh my God, oh my God,” I cry, trying to free myself from the curtain. I can feel the balls digging into my ass and the germ-freak that I am can’t tolerate it even for one second. I fight against whoever is holding my arms. “The balls! Get the balls!”

  “Abigail, stop moving,” Apa’s sharp voice reaches me but I don’t think he realizes what kind of situation we’re dealing with, here.

  Or maybe he does, I think suddenly. Maybe those are his balls. And when I say his, I mean the ones he uses personally. As in, for himself.

  I honestly don’t know what’s worse. That these were inside another girl’s vagina. Or inside his ass.

  I’m not sure what to do with the mental picture of Apa walking around with a string hanging from his butt. I mean, I’m pretty tolerant. Everyone does what they like, how they like it. I don’t care.

  But still. What if he asks me to shove them in?

  My experience in butt-play is non-existent. I’m used to stuffing custard in puff pastries, but I don’t think it’s the same thing.

  He manages to get rid of the curtain just as I blurt out, “I’m not putting stuff in your ass!”