by Sadie Savage
“You got it,” Ray replied. They took the packed boxes and carried them out of Vicky’s apartment.
She eyed him curiously. “La Grande Grotte?” she asked him.
“Yes,” Amos said. “It means—”
“I know what it means,” she said, laughing. “The Large Cave. But what is that?”
He waggled his dark eyebrows at her. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
“Right,” Vicky said. Now that the others were gone, it was just the two of them, alone in her semi-demolished apartment. “I’m going to take a shower. You coming?”
Amos grinned and started taking off his clothes at once. He practically chased her into the shower.
As she bent over to turn the water on, he pressed up against her and she let out a gasp as his grande cock entered her. Vicky held onto the wall as the warm water splashed against them and he thrust himself in and out of her. The water made her extra slick against him.
He grabbed the soap and lathered her up, making love to her from behind, and kissing her back and shoulders and face. “I love you,” he said.
When he pulled out, she turned to face him and he held her in his arms, inserting himself again. She bounced against him there. “Oh oh oh!!” she yelled. If they kept this up, they were going to do more damage to the apartment.
The warm water made it harder for him to hold off, and he came inside her within a few blissful moments. They finished cleaning each other and then stepped out of the shower, wrapping her pink and green towels around themselves.
With all of her stuff packed up in boxes that had been taken off to who knew where, Vicky did not have a reason to stay in her building. “I guess I need to end my lease, and my art classes,” she said sadly.
Amos shook his head. “Yeah, end your lease but don’t give up on your classes. I’ll pay for them if need be.”
“Can you pay for the rest of rent I’ll have to pay?” she asked, laughing slightly bitterly. “My class is at least mostly paid for with a scholarship.”
“I can do that, too,” he said, leaning towards her and kissing her chin. “C’mon now. Let me take you to your new home.”
They got back on his motorcycle and he drove them back in the direction of the bayou. They did not go to the same bayou however. When he’d finally parked the bike in a new bayou, Amos smiled at her. “Welcome to your new home. This is Bayou Segnette.”
Vicky looked around, smiling. “It’s about as hot as I suppose one might expect,” she said. He led her by the hand up to a large cabin. It appeared to be much more spacious than the other one. “Does this one have a shower?” she asked, squinting up at him as the sunlight blinked through the trees at them.
Amos chuckled. “Just go inside and see.”
They walked in together, hand-in-hand.
The cabin was definitely bigger. This one had an actual living room, a larger kitchen, a bedroom and – best of all! – a bathroom with a shower and tub!
“Now, it’s not exactly meant for a large family, but I figure it’s a start?” Amos said.
Vicky leapt into his arms, kissing him. “I love it!” she cried. “I love you!”
EPILOGUE
After everything that had happened to Vicky, she was not going to continue working at Zydeco. She hadn’t disliked the place, but it was not the safest place for her to be. Not only that, but the heat exhaustion and second-hand smoke were liable to kill both her and the baby if she stayed.
Instead, safe with her biker bear, she focused on her artwork and taking better care of herself. It turned out that Amos was a bouncer at one of the local dance clubs; he made enough money to support them until she became a successful famous artist.
Her pregnancy did not last as long as a normal pregnancy. That was because, as Amos explained to her, “Werebears do not live by human rules.”
Four months after they moved in together at La Grande Grotte, Vicky gave birth at home to a healthy baby boy. They named him Sylas. “Sylas Steele” just sounded like an awesome name to Vicky, and Amos was not going to argue with that.
The time spent away from Zydeco did wonders for her work. Vicky still went to classes every so often, but she was devoted to her baby and did not want to leave him at home. It didn’t seem to matter if she was still taking the class or not. She continued to improve and explore new techniques that she incorporated into her pieces.
One morning, Vicky sat outside on the cabin’s back deck right over the bayou. The baby was in a rocking cradle right beside her, staring up at her canvas as she attempted an oil painting. As she watched the familiar sunrise over the water, she did her best to let the colors of the water and the trees and the sky inspire her.
“Who is this?” she asked little Sylas, cooing down at the little boy as he looked up at her, smiling and eager to know what the hell was going on. She’d felt like that pretty recently. She had a lot in common with their baby already.
And he had a lot in common with his daddy.
“This is Daddy,” Vicky said excitedly, pointing her thumb towards her portrait of Bear Amos. He was done up in blues and yellows, but it was him all right. “This is your daddy.”
“Oh, that needs to go up on the wall,” Amos’s voice said behind her.
She turned and smiled at him. He came up to her and they kissed. Vicky brought her hands up to his face and accidentally got blue paint all over him.
Well, maybe it was an accident.
Maybe she was simply imprinting on him.
The End.
Biker Wolf’s Baby
Pushing send was the easiest thing I’d done in a long time. I sincerely hoped that getting under somebody would help me get over that scumbag ex-boyfriend of mine. The last straw came when he told me he was staying in sick one night. I had met up with some friends instead for a few drinks only to see Captain Asshole macking on some chick in Daisy Dukes.
Now, I wouldn’t have said I was proud of my actions. I dumped a top shelf whiskey drink over his head and congratulated the girl on what a great catch she found, but that was nothing compared to the hell I wanted to raise. I’m pretty sure public castration would have landed me in jail so it was better that I controlled myself.
I just didn’t understand it. I gave and gave to Stephen and for what? I got stuck with the weight of the relationship and more often than not, the tab. All he gave me were lies and twisted mind games for my trouble.
As I scrolled through the profiles on Come Play, the one-night stand app, a devilish face caught my eye. He was handsome in a rugged, outdoorsy way. His beard was dark and looked soft to touch; I could only imagine how good that would feel tickling my thighs. Amber eyes burned from under a pair of thick dark eyebrows, luring me in. And I was one willing fishy.
Scanning through his profile, I found that his name was Walker Lewis and he was in a local motorcycle club. We had a winner! Between the brooding smolder and his enthusiasm for motorcycles, I knew I had to have him. The element of mystery and the air of danger radiating from his profile picture intrigued me. I wanted to know more.
I pushed the interested button and set my phone down. Having spent so much time waiting by the phone for Stephen I’d be damned if I’d it for anyone else.
I ventured into my tiny cottage kitchen to pour myself a glass of pinot noir to help get myself in the mood. What would it be like to have sex with another man? Stephen and I had been together since high school and he was my first and only. Eight years was a long time to be with one person at that age, and I kind of regretted not venturing out to enjoy being single while I was in college. Now, at twenty-six, all my friends were getting engaged or married; two even had babies while I had been trapped in a loveless cycle of lies and emotional abuse.
Would this Walker guy be gentle? Awkward? Mind blowing? I hadn’t had an orgasm without a vibrator – or with another person – in so long I had no idea what that would even be like. The erotic possibilities were endless and really exciting.
I looked
around my little two-bedroom cottage. I was so excited to get the place, especially for the price. The sunset shone through the sliding glass door and sparkled off a crystal cut vase I bought as a housewarming gift to myself. The pink light warmed the shabby state of the living space and made my new digs feel like home. Sure, it needed some TLC, but it was only a mile from the beach, charming, and Stephen had no idea where I was.
As I thumbed through paint swatches, my phone buzzed. My nerves went on high alert as I swiped in the unlock code. There he is. And he’s interested. I was nearly vibrating I was so excited.
I opened the app to find a message from Walker,
Meet me at Joker’s. 9pm. Wear a skirt.
Joker’s? The biker bar? Oh, lord was he a Wraith? Joker’s was the headquarters of the Santa Monica chapter of The Wraiths, a motorcycle club suspected of gun running and more than a few missing people. As far as I knew they didn’t have any charges or suspicions of violence against women. Put a check in the plus column, I guess.
I glanced at the clock, 7:30. A small thrill of fear ran up my spine. But coupled with that came a sense of simply not giving a shit anymore. Maybe I had been smacked upside the head with stupidity, or maybe I was tired of playing it safe. This guy was hot as hell, properly dangerous, and was only going to be a one shot deal.
I weighed out my chances and the potential scenarios for a minute. While the obvious choice would be to decline and not walk right into the wolf’s den, there was still a chance things could go well and I might have a good time. After spending my entire adult life being cautious, I was going to take a chance and be bold. I needed this.
I scrolled through my phone and dialed Crystal, my best friend. While I was willing to indulge my wild side, with The Wraiths not being Boy Scouts I would feel more comfortable if someone knew where I was going to be.
“Hey, Lyla! What’s up?” Crystal’s cheery voice floated into my ear.
“Hey, girl. So I got on Come Play like you suggested –“
“Ooo!” Crystal interrupted, “Bag yourself a hottie yet?”
“Actually, yeah I did. I’m meeting him tonight around nine, which brings me to why I’m calling. He wants me to meet him at Joker’s and I want someone to know my last known whereabouts.” I was only half joking in my delivery.
“Joker’s? Are you crazy?” Crystal’s voice went a little high pitched.
“I might be, but getting with a biker has kind of been a fantasy of mine for a while. It’s just one night. Isn’t that what that app is supposed to be for?”
“Well, yeah,” I heard Crystal sigh. Silence followed as she worked out her thoughts. “I don’t love the idea, but I guess you have to get some things out of your system. Can you just make sure your friend tracker is turned on for me?”
I smiled, grateful for her concern. “I will. Crys, I’m nervous. What if I suck in bed? What if he takes one look at me and decides he doesn’t like me?”
“Whoa! Settle down there, horsey. You’re over thinking this. It’s a fuck him and go situation, so don’t worry about it. Be safe and have fun.”
I nodded as she spoke. Crystal was right; this was all about having a good time.
“And maybe pick up that roofie detection paper on the way?” Crystal suggested.
I barked a nervous laugh. “I’ll be fine. Good looking out, though. I’ve got to go and get ready. I’ll call you in the morning.”
Crystal and I said our goodbyes and I went to my room to get ready. While I was nervous as hell, I couldn’t ignore the undercurrent of excitement pulsing through me.
Chapter 2
I turned the key and shut off my car. I fiddled with my key ring as I stared at the spotlight lit wooden sign and the building in front of me. On the outside, Joker’s looked like any old school tavern with its rural charm and cedar siding, but the crowd of bikes parked out front told a very different story. There had been speculation that the Wraith’s used Joker’s a cover business to launder their gun money and keep the cops off their backs. Then again, there was also the rumor that they had the police chief and a few high-ranking officers in their back pocket. I wasn’t sure which was true if either were, but it wasn’t my responsibility to care.
It felt a bit dramatic to even think, but I had a mission to complete so I have to get over the nerves. I took a deep breath and stepped out of my Beetle. As soon as my black pumps hit the pavement the feeling of guilt started gnawing at me. I suddenly felt like I was doing something wrong, like I was cheating on Stephen, which was nuts; the restraining order I had out should be enough to tell me that. I supposed eight years of conditioning and abuse to my emotions was enough to render me unsure.
I straightened up, faked confidence the best I could, and with Walker’s image in the forefront of my brain, I strutted my way up to the front door. With a steeling breath I entered and hoped this wouldn’t blow up in my face.
Time seemed to slow as I took my first step inside. Three worn pool tables took up most of the space in the small, wood-paneled bar, and all three had a crowd of guys in denim and leather hanging around them. The smell of cigarette smoke lingered heavily in the air, while thick clouds of it hung around the hanging light fixtures.
I glanced around the room, looking for a man that resembled Walker’s photo when an awful thought hit me: the guy could have used a dummy picture. There wasn’t a man that looked anything like the profile I engaged earlier that night. In fact, most of the men in the place were heavily bearded, gray, old enough to be my dad, and generally all had impressive beer guts. Oh no, what if I’ve been duped?
I checked my watch again. At five to nine I was a little bit early, but no more than any other punctual person.
I swallowed hard as I walked toward the heavy wood counter. One by one each pair of eyes in the bar noticed me as I crossed the scuffed pine floor. I tried to keep my posture straight and not show how intimidated I really was, but I not only wanted to shrink away, I wanted to bolt like a scared bunny. The looks I was getting ran the gamut from curiosity to lecherous to downright hungry.
Sliding onto a bar stool I scanned the selection of beers on tap. The bartender, a sour looking blonde with very enhanced breasts framed by a cut up Black Flag t-shirt, approached removing a drink stirrer from her mouth. “What can I get you, honey?” I was surprised, her face looked about thirty, but her voice was scratchy and sounded much older.
I peeked behind her again at the taps. “Uh, Guinness please.”
With a nod she popped her chewed up straw back in between her teeth and poured me my drink. I spied a nicotine patch on her shoulder, shining in the dim light next to a blown out lily tattoo.
“I’ve never seen you in here before, sweetheart.” The bartender commented as she handed me my beer. She tossed a tattered Coors Light coaster down in front of me.
“No. This is my first time coming in. I’m supposed to be meeting somebody.” I replied nervously.
“Yeah, me!” a voice boomed from behind me.
“No she’s not, Paul. She’s meeting me!” A tall, gangly man – he had to be about six feet - with a full sleeve of patriotic tattoos throws his arm around my shoulder.
“Like hell she is, Vinnie. Back off she’s mine!” A short, pudgy man with a bald spot elbowed the skinny man away from me. I flashed the bartender a look of mortification. She chuckled and shrugged. I was on my own.
“This has all been flattering, guys really. But I think I may be in the wrong place. If you’ll excuse me…” I threw a ten-dollar bill down on the bar and slid off the stool. What a stupid decision to meet some random guy, at a notorious biker bar no less. I was such a dummy!
“Take it easy, fellas.” I looked up to find the owner of the voice and I was not disappointed. Standing a few paces in front of me was my sexy Come Play date. He was real and stood a head taller than Vinnie, who still seemed like he wanted to take me home to his mother, and my date could probably punt the hobbit that hit on me.
“I’m sorry if these guys
were bothering you. You must be Lyla. I’m Walker.” He gestured to the stool I had just abandoned. “Take a seat.”
I stared in awe for a moment at the gorgeous man in front of me as I groped for my stool. Like a moth to torchlight, I was drawn into his amber eyes. I had never seen such a color before; they reminded me of single malt whisky. And they were about to get me just as drunk if I didn’t come to my senses.
“Hi,” I squeaked. Real smooth.
Walker simply smiled at me and waved at the bartender who looked just as enamored and flustered by Walker as I felt. “Two Johnnie Walker’s. Splash of water.” He ordered.
There was no wasted energy. Every word and movement was efficient and to the point. After several years of game playing, I liked what I saw.
The bartender placed the two highball glasses in front of us with two fingers each of really expensive top-shelf liquor. I took a sip and closed my eyes as I rolled the smoky liquid over my tongue. I reveled in the smooth burn as the whiskey slid all the way down and warmed my belly. It was strong and just what I needed. “Thank you. This is really good.” I took another swig, liquid courage and all.
Walker smirked at me and took a sip of his own drink. “A girl who enjoys a good whisky. I like it. Have you ever been to a tasting?”
I nodded as I finished my last sip. “Yeah. I went to Scotland a couple of years ago with my parents and we did a distillery tour. The idea is to taste and spit, like you would at a wine tasting, but not all of it makes it into the bucket. I had never seen my parents so tipsy.” I giggled a little. I had warmed up a little faster than I thought.
Walker slowly looked me over, his gaze lingering on my legs a little longer than was probably polite in a public setting. I had worn a skirt per his instructions. What he didn’t tell me to do was wear my black velvet fuck me pumps with it. I kind of made an executive decision on that wardrobe choice.