HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  Immediately following our breakup, I had snooped on Myspace hoping to find a glimpse of him or a morsel from his life without me. As the years passed, I had spent countless unsuccessful hours attempting to find him on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, and even scoured the popular dating forums. It came as no surprise that I never found anything; Steve was always a person who enjoyed living out of the view and away from the scrutiny of others. A few years into this century, and I’d given up any hope of ever learning anything about him. In time, I began to live my life as the single arrogant bitch most of my clients described me as.

  Arrogant? No.

  Dissatisfied with the loss of the one man I loved, and the other who I had simply settled for? Yes.

  I gazed at the concrete bench situated underneath the pergola, recalling the time Steve and I had spent there. As my focus shifted to the entire yard, I appreciated the small changes my mother had made since I’d seen it last. The sides of the brick walkway leading to the fountain in the rear of the yard once adorned with large leaf periwinkle and various hostas was now beautifully landscaped with lavender, daisies, and an occasional black-eyed Susan. The back yard had always been my mother’s place of escape, and in many respects, it was mine as well. She used the yard for therapeutic reasons after the death of my father, and I sometimes felt guilty for my less relaxing use of the beautiful space she had created. The smell of the flowers combined with the seclusion created by the depth of landscape made it a perfect area for sex. Steve and I had spent countless hours in the yard fucking on various large stones, the concrete bench, and even in the fountain. I loved fucking him in my mother’s back yard, and generally speaking, I preferred it to my bedroom. Steve’s bad-boy attitude, his take charge personality and my willingness to please the man I truly loved caused me to agree to some pretty risqué sexual situations in the five years we were in a relationship.

  My eyes once again shifted to the bench and became fixed. I grinned, wondering just how many times I had pressed my chest against the cold concrete while arching my back, forcing my ass high enough in the air for Steve to satisfy my sexual desires. Many times I had bit my lower lip so hard while he fucked me that impressions of my teeth remained in my lip for an hour after we returned into the house. Although my mother never questioned me, I always felt she knew I loved the yard just as much as her, but for different reasons.

  There were times when I would lay on the bench with my eyes closed as he knelt beside it. As I lay in wait, he would take his hands and…

  His hands.

  Oh dear God, his hands. He was a master with his hands; where to place them, and just how delicately or deliberately to use them. And there was always the issue with the use of his lips. He spent more time kissing my body than he did my mouth. He seemed to enjoy dragging his lips, teeth, and tongue along my body; teasing me until I was a frantic mess. Only when I was no longer mentally, physically, or sexually able to allow him to continue would he agree to stop. To describe Steve as sexually torturous would be an accurate understatement.

  I rinsed the cup, placed it in the dishwasher, and turned off the kitchen lights. After quickly checking the house for other lights I had left on through the course of the day, I walked to the front door, reached for the door handle, and hesitated. I turned and gazed into the house which was illuminated solely by the glow of the lamp in the living room. I stood and grinned at the memories the home brought, sad I wasn’t able to bring myself to stay overnight. As I gazed down the hallway toward the door of my childhood bedroom, I felt something press against my ankle.

  Somewhat confused, I glanced down at my feet.

  “Meow…”

  Fucking cat.

  Reluctantly, I reached down and patted the cat on the head. As I turned for the door, I wiped my hand against my thigh, freeing it of the matter the cretin was certain to have left. I opened the door, stepped onto the porch and glanced inside; making certain the cat hadn’t followed me. Sitting in the entrance, the cat stared back at me with golden eyes now filled with huge black pupils, undoubtedly allowing it to sneak through the house in the dark and wreak havoc on the organized piles I had created.

  I glared at her and shook my head.

  “Good night Taylor. I’m going to the hotel. I’ll see your nasty little ass tomorrow.”

  I closed the door, locked it, and turned toward the driveway. I glanced down at my watch as I walked to the car. As it was still quite early and not quite dark yet, I decided to stop for a much needed drink before I retired for the night. A drink would allow me to relax and get a good night’s sleep, something I felt I desperately needed.

  Stopping at the shitty little bar beside the hotel would be easy, and no doubt would allow me to enjoy a drink without seeing anyone I knew. I didn’t need any sympathetic apologies for the loss of my mother.

  I needed to relax alone and try to rid my mind of memories of the only man I ever loved and how my selfish wishes tore us apart.

  Chapter Ninety

  SAM

  I pulled into the parking lot of the bar and parked the car. The bar’s lot, as I had suspected, was all but empty. Having passed by it for more than a week in my evening drives back to the hotel, it seemed to always be empty during the weekdays. There were times when I wanted a drink, and times when I felt I needed them, and tonight was a need night. Having made contact with the disease ridden feline no less than a dozen times throughout the course of the day- combined with my walk down memory lane - left liquid sedation as my only hope for a good night’s sleep.

  My stroll to the door produced four motorcycles parked along the sidewalk leading to the entrance. Carefully parked in a perfect line side by side, they reminded me of Steve and his friends, and how they used to make sure their motorcycles were always parked neatly and in an almost picturesque manner.

  Great, another reminder of him.

  Frustrated and suffering from more than a decade of sexual deprivation, I considered kicking the first motorcycle in the line and causing them to spill over like dominoes. After a moment’s worth of hesitation, I admired the motorcycles, turned to the door, pushed it open.

  As I stepped through the door, Lenny Kravitz’ Can’t Get You Off My Mind played. A great choice of music, and one of my all-time favorite songs, but it was about as ironic of a song as anyone could have chosen. After rolling my eyes and shaking my head lightly, I stepped into the empty bar.

  A muscular tattooed biker in a ribbed tank top and another seated beside him with olive colored skin and a gorgeous smile sat in a booth facing me. Two other bikers outfitted with their motorcycle gang attire had their backs facing me. As I turned to the bar, the muscular one in the tank top craned his neck to catch another glimpse.

  Stare all you want, gym rat, I’m not available.

  Memories of Steve again began to float around in my head as I walked toward the empty bar. I glanced along the barstools, grateful the bar was empty. I should be able to toss down a quick triple vodka before any of the bikers developed enough courage to approach me and escape without incident.

  “Sam,” a voice from behind me hollered.

  My muscles tensed as I stopped right where I was standing. Half scared to turn around, I stood, petrified of encountering an old friend from the past who would assuredly provide me with stories of how my high school sweetheart, Steve, had eventually married and now lived happily with his wife, children, and two pet cats. The endless silence that followed filled me with hope that whoever had shouted was talking to someone other than me.

  “Sam!” the voice bellowed in more of a commanding tone.

  It seemed…

  I slowly turned around.

  Oh dear God.

  Every emotion imaginable filled me at once. I raised my shaking hands to my face and pressed them against my cheeks, attempting to hide the tears that were sure to come next.

  He was gorgeous. Much bigger and in what appeared to be the best physical condition I’d ever seen him in, he stood and stared. It had bee
n fourteen years since I’d seen him, but he hadn’t aged one bit. It seemed he had simply been transformed from a boy into the man who stood before me. As I stood still and fought back tears, he slowly approached me with his arms outstretched.

  I wanted to turn and run away.

  I glanced at the palms of his hands as he excitedly made his way to where I stood. Before I could see if he was wearing a ring, he had me wrapped up in his muscular arms.

  I can’t do this.

  As he released me, I couldn’t help but admire him as I fumbled for a way to explain my desire to leave. I considered pulling my phone from my purse and claim to have received a text message emergency. To have him even begin to explain of his wife, children and what the past fourteen years had graced him with would crush me.

  He crossed his arms in front of his chest as he seemed to study me, and as he did, the fingers of his left hand rested on the outer portion of his right bicep.

  No ring.

  Not one hundred percent certain if my eyes were seeing what was truly in front of me, or what they desired to see, I blinked my eyes and gazed at his hand.

  No ring.

  I blinked again.

  Oh fuck it, I’ve never been known being subtle.

  “So, are you divorced?” I asked as I nodded my head toward his hand.

  He uncrossed his arms and glanced down at his left hand as his mouth formed into a grin.

  “Never married,” he said as he shook his head from side-to-side.

  Oh dear God.

  Please make him single, available, and interested.

  I stood like a loon, exchanging glances between the muscles in his arms and his gorgeous face. He appeared to have gotten a dozen or more tattoos since the last time I had seen him, which did nothing more but add to his already striking outward appearance. I found a man with tattoos to be far more attractive than a man without, and his recent additions weren’t helping the situation. Struggling to devise a way to save myself from seeming over eager or desperate, I stood with my mouth agape as he began to speak.

  “You look great, Sam,” he said as he folded his arms in front of his chest again.

  I blinked my eyes.

  “Where’s your husband?” he asked as he tossed his head playfully toward the door.

  I widened my eyes and shrugged my shoulders.

  Jesus, Samantha, speak.

  He raised his hands to his head and rubbed his temples. It was something he had done since he was a kid when either confused or angry. Now quite certain my silent shrug regarding my husband caught him by surprise, I swallowed heavily and searched my mind for the right words.

  “Dead,” I blurted before I had a chance to filter my thoughts.

  “Sorry to hear that. And I’m sorry about your mother, Sam. I really am,” he said as he reached for my arm.

  Thoughts of a life with Steve in it began to fill my head. No longer was I concerned with my mother’s house, inventorying the boxes of trinkets, or keeping the cat alive. Riding on the back of Steve’s motorcycle, having him fuck me breathless in the back yard, and feeling his magical hands against my skin became the only thoughts available within the confines of my biased mind.

  “Join me for a drink?” I somehow muttered.

  “Sure. Let me introduce you to the fellas first,” he said as his hand lightly gripped my upper arm.

  I allowed him to guide me to his side. His arm wrapped around me as soon as he turned toward the booth where the other men were seated, and in a few short steps, he was introducing me to his biker brethren.

  “Fellas, this is Sam. Sam, this is Toad, Biscuit, and Big Jack,” he said as we approached the table, pointing to each man as he said their name.

  Immediately, the three men stood. As soon as the man he pointed out as Big Jack stepped from the booth, the one he identified as Toad slid from between the table and bench and stood in front of us.

  As he extended his arm to shake my hand, he widened his eyes and tilted his head to the side, motioning toward me. As I shook his hand, I glanced at Steve, who nodded his head and grinned in return.

  “Pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you, Sam,” Toad said as he shook my hand.

  I grinned and nodded my head, not quite knowing what to say. As the bigger barrel-chested man stepped in front of us, he reached up and ran his hand through his thick brown hair, as if attempting to make himself more presentable. His full beard and sheer size made him rather intimidating, but as he spoke, he seemed to have a very calm and pleasant demeanor.

  “Sorry about your mother, Sam. Name’s Biscuit. Nice to finally put a face with the name,” he said as he reached for my hand.

  I glanced at Steve.

  You told them about me?

  And about my mother?

  I swallowed a lump of sentiment which began to rise in my throat. The thought of him telling his friends about me caused me to once again become the emotional little girl I’d spent almost fifteen years trying to abandon. As I gazed at the profile of his face, hoping for him to say something, the man in the ribbed tank cleared his throat.

  “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Otis is a damned fine man,” he said as he reached for my hand.

  I turned toward Steve as I shook the man’s hand. “Otis? You’re going by Otis? The name your grandfather gave you?”

  He shrugged his shoulders and grinned as he pointed to an embroidered patch on his leather vest.

  Otis.

  Steve’s grandfather called him Otis since he was a small child. Although his parents never really adopted the practice, I never heard his grandfather call him anything other than Otis. The thought of Steve using it as his biker name filled me with warmth.

  “How’s he doing?” I asked.

  “He passed about ten years ago,” he said.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Nice to meet all of you guys,” I said somewhat nervously.

  “We’re going to go have a drink at the bar, fellas,” Steve said as he motioned to toward the bar.

  “Let’s sit here,” I said as I pointed toward the oversized booth where they were seated. “Unless this is private?”

  “Nothin’ private about this little meetin’. Hell, sit down,” Biscuit grumbled as he found his seat.

  “Want to sit here?” Steve shrugged.

  I glanced toward Steve and grinned. “I’d love to.”

  And, to be brutally honest, I didn’t want to sit in the booth with his friends. I didn’t want to be anywhere with his friends. I longed to be alone with Steve, catching up on lost time. If it were up to me, he’d follow me back to my mother’s house.

  And bend me over the bench.

  Chapter Ninety-One

  OTIS

  Being in Sam’s presence caused me to realize not only how much I had missed seeing her, but just how easy it was for the right person - the person we reserve our true love for - to completely right everything that may be wrong in our life by simply gracing us with their existence.

  I knew if I allowed her to escape my grasp again, my life would return right back to where I had been living prior to her return. Sitting in her hotel room talking made it immediately apparent that where I had been living my life was miles away from where I should have been living it. As she sat across the couch from me and playfully brushed her hair from her face, it became more difficult to accept her inevitable departure.

  “So, you’re going back to St. Louis?” I said as I stood.

  She stood from the couch, scrunched her nose slightly, and narrowed her eyes as she turned to face me.

  “Well, yeah. I mean, eventually I’ll have to. I live there,” she muttered.

  I shook my head as I studied her. Although I was grateful to have seen her, I was frustrated that in a matter of days, things would return back to the way they were. Immediately, my mind began to reel with thoughts of ways to repair what damage I had done to our fifteen-year-old relationship.

  “No chance of you staying? You know
, making this your home again?” I asked.

  “I didn’t say that. It’s just. I’d have to have a good reason. I mean, I wouldn’t choose this place over any other place. Well, maybe I’d choose it over St. Louis, but right now, St. Louis is home. It’s been home for almost fifteen years.”

  “Gum?” she asked as she pulled a pack of gum from her purse.

  I shook my head and grinned.

  She stills chews gum.

  “A good reason?” I asked.

  “Uh huh,” she said as she tossed the pack of gum into her purse.

  I glanced around the hotel suite and eventually fixed my eyes on hers. “It’s really none of my business, but did your mother own her home?”

  She nodded her head. “Yes, she did.”

  I raised my shoulders slightly and widened my eyes. “I’m going to guess you inherited it?”

  “I did, like I said earlier. That’s what I’m doing, going through stuff now. Why are we standing?” she asked.

  “I’m thinking,” I responded. “So, you’re going to tell me that you’d rather live in St. Louis, and abandon or sell the home you grew up in? There’s a lot of good memories there.”

  She inhaled a shallow breath and after short a moment, exhaled and fixed her eyes on mine. “That’s the problem; the memories. It’s the reason I’m staying here. I just can’t, Steve. It’s really tough, but I just can’t stay there.”

  “Why?” I said, somewhat saddened by the fact she couldn’t bring herself to stay in the home we had spent so much time in together.

  The thought of her getting rid of the home was almost unthinkable. We had spent the majority of our relationship in her mother’s home, and a good part of it was spent outside, fucking in the flower garden her mother had made. As a young man, the sensation of having sex in the backyard was almost equal to the initial excitement of having sex itself. Together, it provided a sense of enjoyment well beyond having sex in a bed. Soon, we were not only fucking in the yard, but anywhere and everywhere we could; and the more adventurous it was, the better. We soon learned we both had an inner sexual demon we needed to release, but it was her mother’s backyard that made us realize it.