by Brooke May
My stomach roars with hunger. Have to give it to the woman, she knows how to cook. Her itty-bitty body feels strange and unnatural against my much larger one, so I don’t embrace her. Instead, my eyes pinch, and I wait for her to acknowledge my presence.
She turns, searching for open counter space to place the casserole or whatever the hell she made down. The only place to be found is right next to me where I also place the Maxim I just purchased. I don’t hide shit like that. Why should I? I don’t answer to her.
“You’re home.” Breathy and filled with apparent love for me, her hazel eyes shimmer up at me before they are gone as she turns and places the casserole dish on the stovetop.
“I am. Why are you here?” There is no need to act like I’m happy to see her. I’m not, and I don’t mask my lack of enthusiasm over her being here. I wanted to come home, heat something, shower, and beat off before I crashed for an early night.
“How was your day?”
Figures, she completely ignores my question.
The whole domestic thing with her feels completely wrong and absolutely forced. Popping my jaw and grunting at her, I decide to take my leave. Grabbing a beer and my magazine, I head to my bedroom.
“Dinner is ready, so don’t be long,” she sings.
Yes, she fucking sings after me. This is not the same woman I met years ago. That woman didn’t give a fuck about cooking for me or waiting at my home for me after work.
I only grunt again, loud enough for her to hear, and slam my bedroom door behind me. In two massive swallows, I have my beer almost gone. Kicking off my shoes, I line them up by my dresser and proceed to remove the rest of my work clothes, putting them in the wash and changing into basketball shorts, a tank, and my runners.
Walking back to my door, I stop and look at the magazine on my dresser. I was going to read it later, but the chance of that now happening is slim with Megan—50’s wife mode—here.
“Fuck it.” Grabbing it, I take it back to the kitchen with me. The table is set for two and looks lovely when I plop my body into one of the chairs and open the magazine.
Looks like Jax won’t be joining us.
Thumbing through the full spread they have on Paige Bartin, I become engrossed. I only got a moment with the woman, but in those brief seconds, interest and intrigue have bloomed within me.
I need to know more. I haven’t even had a taste yet, and I’m addicted.
“Ax, could you put the magazine away while we eat?” Her voice carries over the magazine, interrupting me and my musing over Paige’s killer body. Looking up, I find Meg twirling her hair, her tell that something needs to be discussed.
And when I say discussed, I mean, I shut up and listen to whatever she feels I need to do with my life.
Lately, it’s been …
Never mind, she’s going to tell you.
“I wish you would consider getting your tattoos removed.”
Yep, there it is.
“Why?” Looking back down at the magazine, I start to read the article about Paige’s racing career and the company she formed with her brother, Parker. All this is information I already know.
“You know why.” She sighs. “The opportunity to advance would be there if you would get rid of some of them, especially the ones on your forearms.” I hear the plea in her voice, but I won’t budge. I won’t get promoted no matter what I do. I fucked it up already … literally.
“No.” Taking my first bite of whatever she made, I continue to look at the magazine. I know she wouldn’t poison me. I may be a pain in the arse, but I’m not that bad.
“Axle, please?” Shoveling food into my mouth and looking at the article, I continue to ignore her. I’m surprised my control hasn’t snapped. I’m pretty good at reading articles before looking over the pictures, but this time it is hard. There are a lot of pictures of the sexy as fuck moto girl. She’s doing a stellar job of helping me not blow my top at Meg.
“I said no, Megan.” Taking another fork full, I try to eat as quickly as I can.
“Axle, what about our future? Why don’t you want to try?”
Hold the fucking phone!
My fork clatters to the still half-full plate of food. The article and the delectable images of Paige are forgotten as my eyes narrow into minuscule slits; something I learned from my dad. And with my hulking body, the look will make any person shit themselves.
“What?” The bark comes out before I can hold it back. Meg flinches and jumps back in her chair, causing it to skid away from the table.
“I was only thinking—”
“You didn’t mind them when we first met or the ones I’ve gotten since.” Cutting her off, I slowly stand from my place across the table from her. “They don’t make a difference at work.” My brows furrow, drawing together to the point I can see them in my line of view. “They are covered,” I grunt out. We’ve been reduced to just this because of the false hopes that around in her little head. “All this ink is who I am, Megan.”
My chair skids backward as I take my leave. I don’t bother with the plate or my magazine. The plate will be gone by the time I get back, and my magazine had better remain untouched.
“Where are you going?” Meg rushes after me, grasping my arm when I reach for my keys and shades to leave.
“Out.” Jerking my arm away, I slam the door behind me, ceasing the sounds of her frantic requests for me to stay and talk.
Chapter Four
With force, I slam my truck door.
Out of anger, I slam on the gas and then the brakes when I get to the gym I frequent with Jax and our buddy, Levi.
Still angry, I slam the doors of the gym open, but the noise of it is drowned out by the death metal blasting through the surround sound of the gym. The men lifting pay no mind to my raging temper. Marching my way over to a free bench, I set my things down and begin to stack the weights. I need to feel the burn from pushing my muscles to the maximum. I don’t stop until I can’t go anymore. By the end of my session my arms, chest, and back will be burning like the fires of hell.
I don’t normally listen to death metal when I work out, but seeing as I left my earbuds behind in my rush to get away from Meg, I have no choice. Besides, this is much more fitting for my current mood than anything I may have listened to. My mind—soul really—is screaming with an anger I don’t know how to express aside from unleashing something completely unintelligible and beyond human recognition in any known language.
I don’t fucking get why Meg thinks she’s entitled to have a say with me. Have I given her any sign I want her as something more than a friend and an occasional fuck?
The answer would be a firm no.
No, I haven’t. I have expressed tirelessly that we are nothing more to one another. She knows I have hooked up with other women, sometimes a couple at a time, so I just don’t get it. I do want a life with a woman someday. Call me a fuck face, an arsehole, or whatever you want, but Megan is not the woman I want to spend my life with.
The woman I want will always keep me guessing, won’t take my shit, and can be aggressive when it suits me. Megan is none of those things. Sex with her has become boring. Missionary is fine from time to time, but when that’s the only position the woman will let me fuck her in, I want to lose my mind.
And not in the fun way of losing it.
With no one to spot me, I put the bar back before I hurt myself and move to the dumbbells. Picking up heavier ones than I normally use, I begin to lose my mind in the mindless repetitions until my arms burn.
Exhale and lift.
Fucktastic job.
Inhale and drop.
Siren turn banshee bitch boss.
Exhale and lift.
A woman with green eyes I can’t seem to stop thinking about.
Inhale and drop.
Another woman who doesn’t seem to get I don’t want a life with her.
Over and over again, my thoughts start to phase out, and I’m left with only counting the numbers for my
reps and sets. They calm me, center me, and the burn begins to grow, beating the hell out of anything I can pull into my lungs.
“Ryan! What the hell are you doin’ here?” The music floods my ears once more as I drop the weights as if my arms are the metal encased in the protective rubber of the dumbbells.
Making eye contact with Levi through the reflections of the mirrors before us, I snarl at his teasing smile. The heavy glint in his eyes tells me he knows why I’m here.
Then why ask?
Because that is just who Levi is; he asks too many damn questions. He usually knows the answer to most and seldom does not.
Nosy bastard.
“Jax left about a half hour ago.” He comes around to face me when I don’t turn. “Let’s get your chest and back.” His chin tilts to the bench I just left, which is still vacant behind me.
A grunt is my only reply when I drop the weights back into their proper place, turning the numbers until they are upright and can be read. Levi is checking the amount I have set and nods to me as I drop onto the bench.
We work in perfect silence. It works for me while random thoughts float into my head, replacing my counting.
Ever notice guys will go to the extreme to avoid bumping junk with another man until they need a spotter with lifting?
Yeah?
It’s true.
Come on, beautiful, you don’t get yourself dolled up to go to the gym and not pay attention to the guys lifting around you while you run on the treadmills or the ellipticals and do your best to not break a sweat.
Finally, the burn is too much, and I place the bar back in its cradle. I’m done. Honestly, I have no clue how many I’ve done. We change to different techniques and change the weights, but neither of us has spoken or paid any mind to the time or the people around us.
It’s perfect.
“A few races are coming up this weekend.” Levi tosses me a towel, and I wipe off my face and arms. I’m drenched and completely filled with a heat that takes the rage away.
“So?”
“Come, Ax.” He waits for me to finish with the towel to give me some water, something I forgot to bring.
“I don’t go to those anymore.”
“And why the hell is that? Jax got over it, Ax, and you need to as well. We had a blast back in the day.”
“And it’s in the past. I’d—”
“Rather stay at home and wallow in self-pity?” he finishes for me, earning a glare. “Come on, just think about it. There are some pro races up in Beaver along with a freestyle expo. I’m riding up with Jax. You should come with us.”
“No.” I’m resolute when it comes to going anywhere near a track or even a bike. I disappear when Levi needs help with his. I don’t give a rat’s ass what my friends think. Jax may be over it, but I’m the one who should have been hurt. Yet I ended up only hurting others. I don’t belong on a bike or near one again.
“Whatever, man.” Tossing a towel in my face, he walks away. “We are leaving at nine if you change your mind,” he calls over his shoulder and then disappears behind the doors of the men’s locker room.
It isn’t fucking happening.
Scrubbing my face once more, I finally check my phone. Thankfully, I find nothing from Meg. Taking a deep breath, I decide it’s best to head home. It’s ten now, so hopefully, Meg has gone back to her place. I don’t know if I can handle her being there still.
Picking my shit up and chugging the rest of the water, I head to my truck and drive back to the flat. It felt good to get my frustrations from the day out. I don’t sleep when I’m this worked up, and if I do, I have fucked-up dreams.
When I get back to the car park, I idle my truck in my space when I pull in. My hands stay off the steering wheel and my head is against the rest as I look out my side window, waiting for the streetlight to flicker on to show me if Meg is still here or not.
I have no such luck.
Tonight, the light has decided not to fucking work, and it is far too dark to see anything farther than ten feet away. There is only enough light for me to see Jax is still not home yet. The man’s legs may not work, but his dick still has no problem.
Doing my best to control my temper, I don’t slam my way out of my truck or into the flat this time. I’m an arsehole, but I tend to be polite to my neighbors. They haven’t done anything to me.
Yet.
I’m home alone except for the soft light coming from down the hall, in my bedroom.
Ffffffffuuuuuuucccccckkkkk.
The woman doesn’t give up. Scrubbing my face once more, I head for my room, hoping and praying for whoever will listen that Meg is asleep and not waiting up for me. You know the saying if I didn’t have bad luck, I wouldn’t have luck at all? Well, the cunt who came up with that had me in mind because I have no good luck. Lying in my bed, naked as the day she was born and trying her best to pose seductively, is Meg, wide-eyed and awake.
“You’re back.” Sitting up jiggles her tiny tits, and my dick takes over. I don’t watch her face or the movement of her creamy legs sliding under her, but the sway of her tits as they bounce with her less than fluid motion.
I can lift and pump as many weights as I possibly can, but nothing erases the worry more than fucking.
“I’ve been thinking.” She bites her lip.
I honestly don’t get why the fuck women think this tiny movement is sexy. It only reminds me of a child getting into trouble, holding their lip so it doesn’t quiver with the tears they are trying not to shed.
My keys clang to the floor, and my grip on my phone tightens.
“Everything has changed for me, Ax.” Her tits move again as she sits on her hands. “I’m not being fair to you. You told me nothing more would happen between us, and I thought they might if I showed you how much you meant to me.”
Feeling her pleading eyes on me, I look up. As much as I want to kick her out of my bed and get her away from me, nothing relieves stress for me better than sex, and I’m too damn tired to go out and get some random woman.
“I was hoping …” She looks away from me, trying to protect her pride. “I was hoping for one last night together?” Finally, her reluctant gaze meets my impassive one.
I make her squirm for a beat as I stare at her. Remaining unblinking, I step out of my runners, placing them in their rightful place at the foot of my bed, and slowly remove the rest of my clothes before going to my dresser for a condom.
Hey!
Don’t look at me that way. Sex is sex for me. It is a stress reliever for me, and don’t try to convince me it isn’t the same for you. Purely physical, I can lose all thoughts and just focus on getting to my release.
I’m not a total arsehole. I make sure the woman I’m with gets off as well, but I’m really in it for myself. Most people are.
Hey, hey! Don’t think about it!
Everyone does it. Ladies, you can’t tell me that when you’re riding your man or the man you are currently fucking hard, you are in it for your pleasure and not his. Sure, it takes more to get you there, and most guys don’t know how to properly take care of that, but still. You like to be on top because you can easily rub your swollen, aching clit against his dick, making you quake with an orgasm before he even knows what is happening.
Guys are simple. Our hands, another’s hand, hell, sometimes even the water jetting out of the showerhead makes us feel just right and we are ready to shoot our load.
Now ,if you’ll excuse me, I’m about to get laid.
“Fine.” I grunt, crawling onto the bed and watching with displeasure as Meg lies down on the bed, flat on her back, and waits for me to get between her legs.
Taking my assumed position between her thighs, I stare down at my tanned skin as I roll the condom on. It is a complete contrast to her creamy pale legs. My mouth salivates as I stare down at her pink, wet pussy, thankful she is already wet.
This is going to be rough and quick.
Aligning myself, I slam into her tight body, carefu
l not to go all the way. I’ve been with plenty of women who can handle all of me, but Meg isn’t one of them.
She shouts from my sudden charge and unrelenting pace. Her pussy tightens around me as all sounds of her pleasure and our fucking fade away. I don’t lock eyes with her; it’s something I’ve never done. Making eye contact during sex symbolizes something more to a woman, so I don’t want her hope to flutter back up by starting now.
Pulling out, I close my eyes before I slam back in, but I’m shocked when the black abyss that greets me isn’t blank. It’s Paige Bartin; sexy and fine as fuck herself, Paige. Her long black locks are in a high ponytail, something I ache to wrap around my hand and pull back, extending her neck and forcing her mouth to open as I slam into her tight pussy from behind.
Her bangs and heavy black eye makeup shade her penetrating green eyes from my view. But I know it is her by the shape of her body; the gentle curve of her hips to her rounded, made for fucking arse I want to palm, slap, and bruise while I take every pleasure I can from her as she does the same with me.
I can smell the faint scent of her cigarettes around me as I continue to fuck her; hard and fast. Missionary won’t do for this vixen; bent over something with her arse in the air for my pleasure, slammed against a hard surface with her toned legs wrapped around me, or even sitting on my face, the woman was made for rough fucking.
My balls draw up, tightening and slowing my thrusts until I’m emptying into the condom wrapped warmly and snuggly around my pulsating dick. Falling back on my heels, I pull out completely from the spent woman below me and turn to find it isn’t Paige writhing under me but Meg.
Staring down at her little body, I feel dirty for the first time for fucking one woman while thinking about another I don’t even know.
Chapter Five
Like a junky, I take it all in—the smell of exhaust fumes, the feel of the dirt under my boots, the sound of engines revving—and the overall vibe of a race day is back in my system.
How I’ve missed it.
Everything floods back to me, and I’m left to question why in the hell I left it in the first place.