by Naomi West
I watch her a bit as she takes me in, too. There’s a stiffness to her body, a tension—but a glimmer of something else, too, just under the surface.
Anticipation?
Does she think I plan to take her now? Does she want me to? I think it might be on her mind, and it makes it harder for me to concentrate, but I don’t let her know how much she affects me.
“So. Tell me about yourself.”
Her surprise is evident, and she looks at me a confused, furrowed brow.
“What?”
I shrug.
“I said, tell me about yourself. I only know what I’ve seen, but I don’t know about you.”
“Oh. Well …” She seems to need to think on this for a bit. I give her that time, not rushing her along. “I was adopted,” she starts out. “I don’t remember my birthparents, just a few foster homes before landing one permanently.”
Well, that’s interesting.
“How was that?” Most people know that foster homes aren’t the best place for kids all the time. So many stories you hear about foster parents abusing their positions … getting more kids just so they can cash checks.
Lena shrugs.
“Before my mother? There’s not a whole lot that I remember, actually.” She scoots and gets comfortable. “I had … I think … five? Six? I don’t think anymore than that in foster homes. They were never bad to me, but it was always obvious it wasn’t for long term. A couple of them had kids of their own. Some ended up having kids of their own while I and other kids were with them. Sometimes they realized that they had taken on too many and they weren’t able to keep all of us, so we were put back into the system. You can think of it like someone buying a puppy for their kid because their kid wants one for Christmas, but then that kid gets bored … and realizes that animals actually take work.” She chuckles.
“One foster parent actually took on kids kind of like that. They had a child and were having a hard time having another of their own. We kinda acted like surrogate brothers and sisters until the kid stopped liking the fact that other children were getting more attention than him. Obviously, the parents had to think of their child. It wasn’t like they were going to prioritize us over what was their flesh and blood.”
“Sounds like a shitty thing to do to children.”
“It was. But it was better than the alternative, which would have been me not having a place to live at all. Or I could have been with someone much, much worse than that. I count it as a win over something to be bitter about.”
“That’s always a plus.” Girl’s got resilience, I’ll give her that. “What about your adoptive mother, then?” I move on. “She stuck around when none of the others did?”
Lena smiles fondly here.
“My mother was one of the ones that had a lot of kids—foster, and her own. She always wanted a big family, and she got one. She was … something so entirely different from what I was used to experiencing. She always made us feel like a part of the family. Never something more, like a shiny toy, but never something less, either, like a means to a supplementary end. My mother adopted me because she heard that I had been in and out of the foster system and saw that I needed some stability in my life. Said that there was no reason that a child should have to be bounced around like that on the whims of stupid adults, and that I was welcome to stay as long as I liked. She ended up adopting me properly before I hit high school.”
“You still talk to her?”
“I do,” Lena nods. There’s a fond smile on her face, and it makes me want to reach out and slide a thumb over her lip. I keep my hands to myself, though. I’ll end up taking it where I’m not trying to.
“Tell me about her.”
Lena seems surprised that I want to know so much, but it paints a decent picture of her for me—where her love of children comes from. What kind of mother she’ll be in turn. It’s also … fascinating to me. Plenty of people that come from her upbringing don’t turn out half as well-adjusted as she is.
“Well, my mother is … the strongest, most amazing woman I know. I know everyone says that about their parents, but I’ve never met another woman like her. She doesn’t take shit—from anyone. But she’s also loving, and protective. Sometimes a little too much so, but I love her for it. She’s the first one that would tell me that walking home from work is a bad idea. She’d probably wring my neck if she found out about this accident.” She laughed. “Though she’d definitely hug you for providing a safe means of transportation to me in the first place.”
“I bet my being a biker would easily shatter that illusion of safety.”
“I don’t know. You haven’t done anything bad yet.”
My lip twitches.
Yet.
“What about you, Booster?” she asks suddenly. “What’s there to tell about you? Your life. Your family. You weren’t always Booster Wylde, President of the Wylde Ones and purveyor of offspring,” she list off. I nudge at her, playful.
“Don’t get so full of yourself, little smartass. I didn’t grow up quite like you. But I was raised by my aunt and uncle. My uncle ran an MC himself—was a president, too. He and my aunt never had kids of their own, so when my mother ran off who knows where and my father never turned up, they were happy to raise me.”
“Oh … I’m sorry to hear that about your parents.”
I shake my head.
“Nah, don’t be. Uncle Tim and Aunt Berta took good care of me. I would have never got into bikes if it weren’t for Uncle Tim. Aunt Berta also taught me how to make a mean casserole—and breakfast.”
Lena laughs.
“Explains why you’re so good at it. You still keep in contact with them?”
“Well, Aunt Berta passed away a few years ago. Sometimes Tim rides in every now and then, though. He’s always telling me to get myself settled down.”
“Is that why you want a kid so bad?”
I tilt my head, and Lena blushes.
“Sorry. That just came out—”
“No, it’s fine.” I shrug. “I never really wanted a huge family before. But I have always wanted a kid of my own to raise the way Tim and Berta raised me. One that I could teach … have him walk in my footsteps, you know?”
“You’ve already decided on a boy?”
“Of course. So he can be a big brother for any kids that follow.”
Lena laughs again, shaking her head. I see more wheels turning in her head, though, as she bites her lip once more. I wonder if she’s thinking more on my proposition—if she gives me one child, will she give me more?
The thought is oh so damn tempting.
We keep talking from there, swapping stories from childhood, up through school. I learn that Lena once dated her high school bad boy (maybe she has a type; wouldn’t that make me lucky?) and she learns that I’ve never been in love.
My mind weaves in and out of our conversation; how comfortable it is to talk to her like this. I have to push down some of my less-than-pure thoughts. It’s so comfortable it almost feels like it would be natural to pull her over to me and in my arms, let her sit on my cock and ride me slow while she tells me about her life.
When she starts yawning into our conversation, I decide that it’s best to remove temptation from in front of me.
“Hey.” I nudge her playfully. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a nap? Rest. You’re not going to be doing anything more the rest of the weekend. We can talk more when you wake up.”
She looks like she’s going to protest, but then she yawns again, and chuckles.
“You might be right. I guess everything’s kinda taken it all out of me,” she says, gesturing vaguely. She stands, and stretches. The hem of my shirt rides up on her body, and almost, I get a flash of what’s beneath before she lowers her arms.
“Thank you for talking to me, Booster,” she adds over her shoulder as she starts up the stairs. “It’s … given me a little more room to know you better. Thank you for that.”
I want her to know me c
ompletely, though. Everything. And as I watch her walk up the stairs and get a better peek of her bare assets from under my shirt—that supple, round ass and pretty little trimmed lips between her thighs, letting her get to know me sounds a hell of a lot better.
But I know the angle that I’m playing. I need her to want this like I want this. I need her to see that not only am I a man, but a provider as well, and her health at this point is more important than what my brain (my dick) is telling me.
Right now, my dick is telling me it needs to cut to the chase and bury myself into Lena’s pretty, tight hole.
I keep an ear out until I hear her pad across the creaky floor of the upstairs and into my room, where she shuts the bedroom door. I sigh, relieved.
I need to get some of this damn tension out of my system before I do something too soon into this plan of mine.
I undo the buttons of my pants, shoving down the zipper and then my pants enough to get my cock out. Already rock solid and dripping, I don’t waste time and take my hand to my cock, wrapping around tight.
“Ah fuck,” I groan as soon as there’s contact, arching off as I get a good pace going off as soon as I start.
Head tilted back, I picture my hand being Lena. She’ll be wetter, but I grip tight just to give the impression there’s a pretty tight pussy pumping itself on my dick. Eyes closed, I can picture her thighs spread over mine, picture how fucking hot it’ll be to look between us and watch the way my cock slides hard and fast between her legs, working up and up to a release that’ll give me what I want—hot seed taking in that nubile, waiting womb of hers.
She’ll enjoy it. I know she will. I can make women cum in minutes or drag it out, but I’ll play Lena like a fiddle and get her up there over and over again. Cock inside her, fingers on her clit—maybe even take a break to prolong it and eat her out until she’s gushing all over my face and begging me to flip her over and mount her like and animal.
“Yeah … yeah …” God, I fucking would. I stroke myself harder, thinking about having her pert ass up in the air and her face pressed into my bed as I rail into her from behind. I’ll hit deeper like that, sweeter, making her mewl out my name like a cat in heat. She’ll clench and tighten and rut back against me, trying to take more and more, and only when she spasms around me will I hold her down and fuck into her hard enough to cum—
“Ah, fuck!”
Harder. Faster. I rock my hips into my hand and my cock through my fisted fingers until I’m arching off the couch, groaning as an orgasm spills out and over my hand. My stomach is tight and the mess I make all over my fingers is damn near obscene, but I don’t really care. I keep stroking until there’s nothing left to milk out, until my cock’s twitching and sensitive.
I could go again, and maybe a third, if I was really feeling diligent, but I stand up and go to the downstairs bathroom to clean myself up instead. I don’t want to waste too many hard orgasms on nothing but my hand, and I have the feeling that if I keep tempting myself I’m going to end up going upstairs and doing what I just fantasized about.
No. I’ll wait.
Good things come to those who wait.
Chapter Eight
Lena
My weekend with Booster is …
Nice.
That’s the only way to describe it. After our conversation, I feel I know him a little better. He certainly knows me better. I expected him to focus mostly on the arrangement he’s trying to get me to agree to, but what he’s doing instead is making sure that I’m all right.
In spite of the situation, I’m finding myself drawn to Booster. I know that I shouldn’t be, but I can’t help myself. Booster is equal parts alpha male and nurturer; I can see why he wants to be a father so badly, though I’m shocked that he hasn’t done so sooner.
I don’t tell anyone where I am. As far as my coworkers are concerned, I’m recovering at home from a rough cold. I’m sure no one’s going to come around and check on me anyway, and if they do then I can just say that I was sleeping when they came around and I didn’t hear them knocking.
I find myself thinking more and more about Booster’s proposal. What he wants from me—what I could get from him. The incredulity of the situation slowly but surely bleeds out and I genuinely consider this more than I have before. It’s no longer a mere curiosity—it’s a burning want that has itself etched into my head, and I don’t think I’m strong enough to say no anymore.
I don’t want to say no anymore.
Right now, it’s Sunday. Booster made a huge Sunday dinner—steaks, potatoes, veggies, and all the fixings. I’m stuffed to the gills and so, so satisfied. We’re sitting together on the couch in Booster’s living room, my legs pulled up and my body tucked into Booster’s side. I’m not really paying too much attention to what’s going on on the screen; I’m being a little distracted.
Booster’s hand slides up and down my arm, nails scratching softly along my flesh here and there. It raises goosebumps on my arm and makes me squirm a little, though I try to hide the fact that I’m doing so.
Try … and fail. Just a little.
I don’t know if Booster knows what he’s doing, but a slight glance up tells me that he does. There’s a slight smirk on his face, but I can’t even be annoyed at it. He knows what he’s doing.
And … I don’t mind it. Not a bit.
I don’t know if it’s the painkillers or the unresolved tension that’s barely been holding me together by a thread, but I scoot myself closer to Booster, sliding my arm around his middle. This is intimate; this is … something far more than I expected when Booster crash-landed his way into my life, but I don’t think this is something that I’m going to be able to control.
I don’t want to control it.
Booster’s hold on me tightens.
“You’re going back to school tomorrow,” he says. “Back to the real world.” I look up as he glances down. “I meant what I said about getting your car and everything straightened out—and I meant what I said about getting what I want. I’ve given a lot, Lena … There’s more, if you—”
I don’t know what makes me do it. I don’t want to hear anymore about how there’s more to come. I don’t want to hear about if I. Will I.
I am.
I lean up and kiss him. I’m assertive in a way that I’m usually not with men. I don’t make the first move. I don’t make the second move, either. But when my lips press to his, and I feel the warmth of him against my mouth, I know that if I’m going to be assertive with any man, it should definitely be Booster.
He growls against my mouth and pulls me into his lap. I don’t have any panties on; I feel the press of him through the rough fabric of his jeans. There’s something about that roughness against the delicate flesh of my womanhood that makes me buck against him lightly, sighing into his mouth.
“I’ll do it,” I breathe against him. His hold on me tightens just a little more, and he pulls away. His gaze is more intense than ever, a burning blaze of blue in the sapphire of his eyes.
“You’ll do it?”
I nod.
“I’ll carry for you.”
Booster presses his lips back to mine, claiming my mouth. This time, unlike the first time that he kissed me, I kiss him back. My lips part with a moan and I let his tongue delve into my mouth. There are remnants of his dinner beer on his palate; it reminds me of the way a man should taste, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders, drawing myself closer to him. Those same nails that drew up my arms moments earlier slide up under the over-large shirt that I wear, and he drags them up my back. The sensation has me arching, moaning, as I feel welts draw along my back.
It’s just like my fantasies, imagined in full. His rough hands holding me like he’s already claimed me. They roam over my back, my sides, down between my thighs where I’m hot and—
“Oh!”
I break from our kiss as he slides his fingers over my clit. Heat pools faster, flooding my walls, and there’s a thumb that circles my clit as his finge
rs plunge between my heated folds.
“Mine,” Booster growls. His fingers thread into my hair, pulling me back closer to him so he can once more claim my mouth with his own.
All I can do is whimper against his mouth. My tongue is subservient to his, letting his lips dominate my own as his fingers unmake me between my thighs. It’s better than my fantasies could have ever been; my hands haven’t been rough enough, my pace never fast enough—and somehow, somehow, his fingers hit home on my most sensitive places far easier and far more frequently than my own.
“Pretty thing. So tight. I knew you couldn’t say no to me.”
I should have known, too. I should have known that this is where I would end up—and I suppose that I did. I was hooked the moment that he bought those books, the moment he kissed me. My fate was sealed when he saved me.