“What do you want?” she mumbles.
“You,” I reply honestly.
Another giggle flows around us as she replies, “Silly man. Let’s go home.”
“Are the kids still good for another hour with Lips and Deeds?” I question.
We dropped them off before we got on my bike and came here. They’re six months old. Although Leontine is one minute older that Asher.
Ivy steps back and laces her fingers with mine before she drags me along into the hallway. “Yes, why? Do you have something in mind?” She glances up at me with heated eyes.
“I don’t care where, or what, as long as it involves you and me naked,” I tell her and squeeze her hand.
She picks up speed and every step has a bounce to it. See what I mean? Enjoying life and each other. Moving forward and taking every possibility and turning it into something valuable for the both of us.
The cool breeze of a summer’s day hits us as I straddle my bike and feel how Ivy slides on behind me. Every time she gets on the back of my bike the same heated flare of righteousness flows through my veins. She belongs there as my ol’lady, but there’s more to it than that. She has my back. Literally.
It’s in the little things where she understands or gives me space when I need it.
I know where I’m taking her and it doesn’t take long to get there. It’s a backroad where it’s quiet but it holds the beauty of the raw nature that surrounds it. Parking my bike, I take her hand and stroll to a large tree. It’s not like I planned every move but I did have one thing in mind...make out like fucking teenagers against a tree.
And I do just that, caging her against the tree while my mouth covers hers. My tongue slides between her lips to gather access and when she opens, allowing me to swirl inside, we both groan while I start to dry hump. See? We’re parents who just dodged adulting and skipped straight into teenager mode. Fucking perfect if you asked me.
I slip my hand between our bodies and manage to push her shorts and thong to the side, allowing me access to that magnificent cunt. It’s all and everything my cock wants and craves.
“Feel that, Ivory? You’re practically drooling for me to give it to you, ain’t ya, sweetheart?” The way my finger slides back and forth makes my cock thicken even more with the thought of being breaths away from doing the exact same. “I fucking love you,” I add on a whisper.
Ivy grabs my cut in her fists and drags me even closer to her. “I damn well love you too, now give it to me, Chopper.” She breathes as her cunt clenches around my fingers.
That’s it. That’s all it takes for me to unzip, unleash, and bring myself one step closer to unload.
With short thrusts we both revel in the sensation that gets us to a point we’re it’s hard to breathe as sweat is starting to build. Her legs curl around my waist and I gladly palm that tight ass of hers so I can fuck her harder. I should keep in mind that the bark of the tree I’m pinning her against could be imprinted on her back but somehow we both couldn’t care less.
It’s a damn teenager thing to come the next instant when I feel her cunt ripple as she starts to orgasm. Her head falls forward against my neck where she digs her teeth into my skin, muffling the sound of my name tumbling from her lips. My balls draw up and the cum flows with such force it seems like an endless supply that only Ivy can unleash from my body.
I’m shaking on my feet when I finally get some blood back into my brain. “Fuck. How does it keep getting better?”
“Because it’s us,” Ivy simply breathes out.
“Fuck yeah, it’s us.” And it is that simple…it’s us. That’s the bottom-line in the struggle that’s called living. And I’m fucking thankful I risked a shot, opened up and let her in. Rooted in my past, present, and future.
Although fiction is a twist of reality, life does give us options. Never hold back. Take that step forward how tiny it might be because there will be someone who will reach out and be there for you.
About The Author
Esther E. Schmidt, author of Areion Fury MC, Broken Deeds MC, Wicked Throttle MC, Lost Valkyries MC, Death by Reaper MC, The Dudnik Circle series, and The Swamp Heads series. She’s a graphic designer that also loves to write. She released her first series “Areion Fury MC” in October 2015. Esther lives in The Netherlands with her family, three daughters, and a crazy bulldog. She loves to write erotic Romance about bad boy Alphas with a heart for only one woman. To make it a bit interesting, that woman needs to be a badass herself. She loves to work out and most of her story lines come from doing cardio.
Website
http://www.esthereschmidt.com/
Facebook
https://www.facebook.com/AuthorEstherESchmidt
Twitter
https://twitter.com/EstherESchmidt
Amazon
https://www.amazon.com/Esther-E.-Schmidt/e/B015T6TSIO
Goodreads
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6530298.Esther_E_Schmidt
The Do-Gooder and the Dropout
by
Bella Settarra
Blurb:
Chris Roberts is a dropout, living on the streets of London, begging for money to keep himself and his dog, Muttbags, alive. But it wasn’t always like that. Hailed a hero of the British Army he saved the lives of a platoon of men by warning them of an oncoming ambush. The nightmares of seeing the men he couldn’t save haunt him, though, and the black mist still blinds him when he gets riled or upset.
Kathy Johnson is a veterinary nurse who works for Street Vets, a charity that helps heal strays and pets of the homeless. She arrives at a bad time to help Muttbags, though, and is subjected to Chris’ wrath. He sees her as a do-gooding nuisance and tells her to go.
When the mist clears, Chris realises that he’s been a fool and ruined Muttbags’ chances of having an expert examine the paw that’s been hurting him for days. He’s also foiled his chance of seeing Kathy again, the girl who’s been on his mind ever since he yelled at her.
Chris lost his pride a long time ago, but not his compassion. Muttbags needs help. They go to find the charity workers the following night, only to hear that Kathy had been hurt by a homeless man.
When Chris and Muttbags are later set-upon by her attacker and his gang the black mist falls again. Chris desperately fights to save his dog and avenge Kathy’s assault, but when Kathy witnesses the event will she see him as her hero or just another dropout?
Chapter 1
It’s cold tonight. Really cold. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones and goes right through your body, freezing up your organs so you can hardly breathe. I hate it. Like I hate begging for food. I hate life. My life. I thought about ending it but that wouldn’t be fair on the others.
Muttbags whines, cuddling closer to me. He’s feeling it tonight, too. I can tell by the way he’s curling up, tucking his legs under him – and trying to swipe my fucking blanket.
“All right, boy; we’ll share it.”
My back’s against a wall which feels like it’s made of ice, but it was either that or let the wind whistle through the gap and freeze me even more. Muttbags’ coat is soft against the top of my cheek, the only part of me still exposed. The ground we’re lying on feels harder than ever, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s not a patch of ice there by morning, it’s certainly cold enough.
Muttbags nuzzles into me and I squeeze him a little tighter. I often wonder if I’m doing him any favours keeping him with me. He’s a stray mongrel who saved my bacon when the subway gang decided to choose me as their next victim. I’ve been bullied by worse people, but I feel so vulnerable out here. Muttbags appeared out of nowhere when they tried to steal my stuff. I’d gone for a pee, and nearly missed the whole thing. If it wasn’t for the dog I’d have nothing by now, not that there’s much here anyway. But what there is — a blanket, my cardboard and a plastic carrier bag with some half-eaten chocolate and stale crisps – is like gold dust. Muttbags barked at them, alerting passers-by, who stopped to wa
tch. He bared his teeth and snarled, snapping at them when they tried to touch my stash. In the end they decided it wasn’t worth it and left, but not without giving me the ‘slit throat’ sign on their way past.
Good old Muttbags. I’d only seen him a few times before then, just to say hello and give him a stroke. I wasn’t sure if he was a stray or not, but by the way he latched on to me after that I realised he must be. He’s mine now. And I’m his. We look out for each other. It’s surprising how many people stop and give me food for him. They take more notice of me when he’s by my side — not that I get anything out of it, mind, it’s all about the dog.
He’s a born wriggler, though.
“Shh, get some sleep, mate.”
I wish I could. I have to admit I’ve had more zeds since he’s been with me; it feels a bit safer, somehow, but I never get much. Not anymore. I snuggle into his fur and remember the days when I was a teenager and couldn’t get out of bed on a Sunday morning. I’d be under that duvet until I smelled the roast dinner come out of the oven. That’s the only time I’d make a move. That all changed once I joined the British Army, though. What a shock to the system that was!
“What’s up mate?”
Muttbags is whimpering. I hate it when he does that. I furtle under the blanket and feel for his paw. He got something stuck in it — a thorn, I think — and it’s been playing him up all day. I wrapped a piece of rag around it, tied with an elastic band I found, but I don’t know if it’s done any good. I thought it’d keep the germs out, but it might have introduced a few more as the fabric wasn’t exactly clean. God, I feel so guilty. The mutt helped me when I needed it and I’m not sure I can ever repay the favour. I find his paw and notice my rendition of a bandage has gone. So much for that idea!
If it weren’t for guilt and remorse I’d have no feelings at all. I’d rather that. Numb. Yeah, I could handle that, no worries. I close my eyes and breathe in his dog-breath. It’s horrid, but not as horrid as the smell of death. Suddenly I’m back there in the desert banks of Helmand. We all knew it was the calm before the storm, and we savoured every second. Trouble was, it wasn’t the sort of storm we hoped for — it was aimed at us and there was no escaping — for them, anyhow.
I can hear the pandemonium now, the yelling and shots firing all around us. We thought we were safe — well, as safe as you can be in the middle of a war. It was us who were supposed to surprise them. The order had come to wait for the signal from the other bunker — if you could call it that; mound of sand would be more accurate — and go in, all guns blazing.
The screams of my comrades — my friends — haunt me even now. I’d gone for a pee so was a little way away from them. I heard everything and saw the bastard Taliban surround us. They weren’t taking any prisoners. They just aimed to kill. Fuckers! Tommo, Kinky, Jonesy and the rest just yelled and fell to the ground for the last time. They didn’t know I was there, though. I saw them home in on the others and realised I’d slipped under their radar. So I ran. I fucking well ran!
What sort of coward does that? I should’ve been chucked out of the Army with a dishonourable discharge. Instead they gave me a fucking medal! A medal! They said I’d done the right thing, alerting the other platoon so they could get the fuck out of there. They said I’d saved the lives of eight men that day. But I’d done fuck all for the seven in my platoon. I didn’t even shoot any of the fuckers who did it — it all happened so fast, and I knew by the time I’d lined up a shot they’d have either seen me or gone.
That black mist’s clouding up my eyes again. It’s blacker than the night itself. I feel like I’m looking down into Hell, the place I should be. It’s trying to suck me in but I don’t want to go. I’m clinging to the edge of the abyss but I don’t know why. Part of me’s telling me to drop, let go, end it. But the other part tells me that if I do those guys died for nothing. It’s all a mess. There’s manic screaming in my ears and I can’t see or feel anything. It’s like...
“It’s okay, it’s all right. Just open your eyes.”
I don’t know that voice. It’s sweet. A girl. But I don’t know any girls. And this is no place for one — what’s she doing here?
“It’s all right. Please, wake up.”
I open my eyes like a shot. My heart’s practically pounding out of my chest and I can feel my whole body’s covered in sweat, despite the cold night air.
“I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
It is a girl. She’s got a torch that she’s shining on Muttbags, but it’s me she’s talking to. Muttbags is licking her hand. But I’ve still got screaming in my ears and this mist’s only just starting to clear from my eyes. I sit up straight, panting hard.
“What the fuck?” I can’t believe the bitch woke me up!
“It’s all right. You were having a bad dream, that’s all.” Her big eyes are staring at me in that pitying way the nurses at the hospital used to when I was at the Queen Elizabeth Birmingham Hospital.
“Bad dream?” I snap at her. “You’ve got no idea!”
“I’m sorry. I only wanted to help.” She looks like she’s about to cry. Fuck!
“Help? Well you can help by fucking off and leaving us alone. We’re trying to get some sleep down here in case you hadn’t noticed!” I can’t believe her audacity. Sleep’s hard enough to come by without the likes of Florence Nightingale here stealing it away from me.
“Is everything okay, Kathy?” A man comes over and frowns at me.
“Yes, it’s fine, Joe. I just had to wake him up, that’s all.” She’s nodding to the guy, but he doesn’t look convinced. In fact, he looks ready to thump me.
“Who the fuck are you?” I stand up; ready to batter him as soon as he makes a move. My hands clench and my arms feel tight and eager for action. I puff my chest out. I might be a useless dropout but I can hold my own against the likes of him — or anyone else for that matter.
“I’m sorry, I should have said,” the girl replies with a self-deprecating smile. “I’m Kathy Johnson. This is my friend, Joe Feckly. We’re from Street Vets.” She beams at me and I get the impression I’m supposed to know what the hell she’s talking about.
“What?” I huff.
“Street Vets, she says. We help...”
“Don’t tell me! You’re one of those do-gooders who think they can help homeless war veterans by talking to them all bloody night.” My blood boils. I’ve had this sort of shit countless times. They’re a fucking nuisance.
She giggles. I have to admit it’s a pretty sound — mind you, from what I can see of her she’s a really nice-looking girl.
“No, nothing like that,” she assures me. “We help with animals. Vets as in veterinarians. We go around and check on homeless people’s pets, to see if there’s anything we can do to help them. It’s all free. We can get rid of fleas, protect them against lungworm, administer pain relief or even arrange surgery if necessary. Whatever they need.”
“Yeah, well what we need right now is for you to fuck off so we can get some bloody sleep!” I sneer at her, wondering for a moment if I’m still dreaming. No-one does all that stuff for free — and I’m not waiting around to find out what the catch is!
“What about your dog, mate? Doesn’t he deserve a bit of help? Looks like he’s hurt his paw.” Joe’s face is tight as he speaks to me, as if daring me to deny my dog the help he needs. Well he can fuck off.
“My dog’s just fine, so mind your own goddam business,” I yell at him, the dark mist beginning to return to my eyes. “I look after him. He’s mine — not yours. Just leave us alone!” My whole body is tense now, ready to fight this bastard if he doesn’t fuck off soon. I know exactly what he’s trying to do; he’ll say I can’t take care of my own mutt and insist the RSPCA come and take him away. But they’re dealing with the wrong man this time. No-one’s getting their hands on my dog — much less a do-gooding tosser like him!
“I can just take a look for you, if you like?” Kathy’s giving me those puppy-dog eyes again but I won�
��t be taken in by a pretty face.
“There’s no need,” I tell her bluntly. “Just go.”
She bites her lip and I wonder if she’s planning to say something else, but she doesn’t. I can’t help noticing how sad she looks as she turns away.
Joe scowls at me and goes with her. It’s about fucking time.
“Come on, boy, let’s get some kip.” I get back down on my bed once they’re far enough away.
Muttbags whines but joins me with a big huff. I can’t help feeling sorry for him. I know that paw’s hurting him but whatever it is they’re offering I just can’t afford it. And nothing comes for free!
Chapter 2
I feel like shit when I wake up next morning. Actually, I’ve woken up several times this morning already. It’s just that it’s getting light now so I can justify getting out of bed (if you can call it that). I’m not sure if I couldn’t get back to sleep after our rude interruption last night, or if I just didn’t want to. In either case that girl’s to blame — Kathy whatever-her-name-is.
She said she woke me up because I was having a nightmare. I can well believe it. It’s rare I get a whole night without reliving the hell of Afghanistan. Helmand Province was well-named. Sheer hell! Sometimes I shout out in my sleep — I wonder if that’s what she meant? Maybe I was yelling? Muttbags usually alerts me by shoving me, or barking if I get really loud. I wouldn’t have noticed if he’d been nudging me last night though, as he’d been doing it enough already with the pain of that damn paw of his.
After she’d left I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Maybe because I wondered if she really could have helped the poor mutt without charging me the earth. I know that’s what she claimed, but that’s just too good to be true in anyone’s book. There was something else about her, though. The way she looked at me. Apart from being a beautiful girl, she had an understanding expression, as though she didn’t judge me for being here, or being... well, rude, I suppose. She couldn’t hide the hurt in her eyes though when I shouted and swore at her and I feel really bad for doing that. I wouldn’t normally speak to a girl that way; I was just so wound up from being woken up. Or maybe I was wound up before I’d woken up. I always feel in a crap mood when I think about what happened which is why I try not to remember it. You don’t get a choice when you’re asleep, though.
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