Two Wolves For Lizette

by Jessica Miller

  One hand rested lightly on her throat while the other snaked around her waist to hold her in place as he thrusted roughly into her. Michelle bit her lip as the feeling of pleasure and pain radiated from his thrusts.

  “Jackson,” she moaned as she felt herself unable to hold back anymore. He sensed that she was closed and leaned over her body again to whisper in her ear that he wanted her to come for him. With those very words, Michelle allowed herself the release and let the orgasm over take her body.

  As she began to slump over the railing, Jackson held on to her panting and semi-limp body.

  “I really am out of practice,” Michelle said still regaining her breath.

  Jackson chuckled and reached down to pick her dress up off the floor and put it on properly. He zipped her up and grabbed her shoulders so that she was facing him.

  “Still beautiful,” he said with a mischievous smirk.

  Michelle rolled her eyes making a mental note to scowl him later about ripping off her favorite and very expensive panties. She shook her head at his current appearance and proceeded to zip his pants back up and smooth out his wrinkled shirt.

  “Handsome,” she said with a smile before grabbing his hand and leading him back to his party.

  *****

  Michelle woke up in Jackson’s arms the next morning. She sat up quietly and smiled at the peaceful look he had on his face as he slept.

  Carefully rolling out of bed, she ran to her room to grab his birthday present. It was officially the morning of his birthday and with last night’s shenanigans she wanted to give him the present in private. When she tiptoed back into his room, he was sitting up on the bed rubbing the sleepiness from his eyes. Even just waking up he looked gorgeous.

  “Morning,” she said as she hid the present behind her back and hopped up on the bed beside him.

  “What have you got there?”

  Jackson stretched out his body and let out a powerful yawn. He must have still been tired with all the partying last night.

  “Your present,” Michelle said as she brought the small box to her front and placed it on his lap.

  “What is it?”

  Jackson held the box and shook it next to his ear.

  “Hey, stop asking about it, just open it!”

  “Okay, okay,” Jackson said as he unwrapped the box and opened it to reveal a beautiful silver watch. Jackson was silent as he held the watch in his hand.

  “Dad’s,” he whispered as he ran his fingers against the engraving on the back of the watch.

  “Yeah, he was getting it polished before he died; my mom finally went to get it after his funeral but couldn’t bring herself to give it to you,” said Michelle.

  Jackson looked up at Michelle as a smile graced his face. He took her hand and pulled her into a hug.

  “It’s yours now Jackson,” Michelle said into his chest as she felt the emotion going through him. He pulled her away to place a kiss on her lips. The two smiled at each other unable to get over the happiness that they were experiencing finally coming to terms with their feelings. Jackson brought Michelle back to his chest as they looked at the watch that wrapped so perfectly around his wrist.

  “I couldn’t have asked for a better present.”

  THE END

  Bonus Story 10 of 40

  Stuck Biker

  I need a drink. Or five. That’s all I can think as I shuffle into the small, run down bar and throw myself onto a stool.

  The place smells like beer and piss. The floor is sticky and the plaster on the wall seems to be coming apart.

  All the bars are like that in this town. Unsightly havens for local drunks. The only reason I chose this one, The Watering Hole, is because it’s what they call a neutral.

  That means neither of the town’s MCs has laid claim to it. Which is what makes it perfect for me. As the girlfriend of a member of The Raiders club, I can’t be seen at any Gator hangouts. And my boyfriend, Jake, and his Raider buddies are having one of their rowdy meetings tonight. I don’t want anything to do with that at the moment either. So, The Watering Hole is my only option.

  “What’ll it be sweetheart?” a slightly elderly bartender with balding hair and a ready grin asks from across the bar.

  “Whiskey. Straight,” I answer. He nods in reply and goes to make the drink.

  That’s another thing I like about this place. The bartenders here are usually not too chatty. They still call me sweetheart, of course. In Texas, a petite, pale, blonde haired blue eyed girl like me will always be sweetheart. No matter how many tattoos or body piercings I get.

  But, the bartenders here usually leave it at that. They can tell when you want to drink in silence. And tonight I definitely want to drink and fume in peace.

  I’ve had another fight with Jake. Or rather, Jake had a fight with me. He started it.

  I’d just come inside from getting the mail. The mailman happened to be there. That’s to be expected as we’re his last stop for the day. He asked me a question about something. I can’t even remember what it was now. It might have even been about the weather. I stopped to answer him.

  I guess Jake saw us talking. He’d already had a couple of beers and he went after me.

  “You sure had a lot to say to that guy, Ali,” he told me. I would have laughed if the look on his face weren’t so serious.

  “Come on Jake, I was out there for maybe two minutes,” I said.

  “A lot can happen in two minutes,” Jake said. “Especially with you.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “It means I know what a little whore you can be,” he told me. I felt my face growing red with anger at the accusation.

  “When have I ever-” I started to ask. He put his hand up as though he was going to slap me. My mouth closed instantly.

  “Just don’t let me see it happen again,” Jake said. “You know what I’ll do if it does.”

  The anger turned to a hint of fear. Jake had said things like that before. He’d told me that he’d kill me if I ever cheated on him. He had said that even before the beatings started six months ago.

  To tell the truth, when I was seventeen, I thought it was romantic. Now, it just makes me feel angry and scared and trapped.

  I sip my whiskey knowing that I shouldn’t really be drinking it straight. Alcohol tends to go to my head. But, at this point, I couldn’t care less. I know Jake’s out getting shitfaced with his buddies. Just like I know when I get home, he’ll either be on the couch passed out and drunk, or waiting to start a fight with me. This one’ll end in a few punches thrown at my head. That’s what happens almost every Thursday night, it’s sort of become a tradition.

  Oh, he apologizes for it afterward. He tells me he’s sorry and he loves me and he takes care of any cuts or bruises I have. I pretend to forgive him. I pretend he’s sincere. That’s also become a tradition.

  I think, bitterly, that I should be grateful for the day after. Cleaning the bruises he’s given me is about the only affection he shows to me anymore.

  Once upon a time, Jake and I were rough and wild in the way we made love. Any bruises I got were thoroughly enjoyable ones, and the slapping was mutual.

  It’s been six months since he touched me like that. Now, when he calls me a whore, it’s not dirty talk. He actually means it. Or, he wants me to think that he does. The truth is, lately, he hasn’t shown any interest in me at all.

  As I down the last sip of my whiskey, I notice a young man across the bar who does appear very interested in me. He’s staring at me with a kind of hungry expression and when I catch his eye, he smiles.

  I don’t smile back but look away determinedly. It’s not that the guy wasn’t good looking. From the cursory glance I gave him, I can see that he is. And, it’s not that I don’t want to be noticed. After getting no affection from Jake for six months, I can’t deny that I’m dying to be given even the tiniest bit of romantic attention from a man.

  But, I remember very clearly what Jake told me. Wha
t he reiterated just today. ‘If you cheat on me, I’ll kill you.’ It doesn’t matter that this rule doesn’t seem to apply to him.

  I know his buddies bring whores to their meetings. And, I know Jake fucks them. I pretend not to know, but I do.

  All the same, I know Jake makes good on his threats. He’s a million things but he’s definitely not a liar. So, I try my best to ignore the good looking guy across the bar as I order another whiskey.

  The young man becomes impossible to ignore when he stands up and walks towards me. My eyes are immediately drawn to him.

  He is tall. I would guess a couple inches over six feet. The tight, black shirt he wears reveals an extremely muscular frame. His chin length black hair is allowed to hang down elegantly around his face. His arms sport several tattoos that crawl all the way up and disappear under the sleeves of his shirt. I can’t help but stare at them, wandering their path, longing to tear that shirt off him just to see how far up these tattoos really go.

  When he sits down next to me, I look into those dark eyes and, for a second, I forget who I am. I forget that I’m in a crappy little bar in a crappy little town. I just stare at him. He smiles and I feel a thrill rush through my chest. It’s something I haven’t felt in a very long time.

  “Can I buy you another one of those?” he asks. His voice is deeper than I imagined it would be. It’s almost hypnotic.

  I blink twice to try and clear my head. I can’t give into this guy. Not with Jake at home. Not when it might cost me my life.

  “Thanks, but I’ve already bought another one,” I tell him, nodding towards the barman who’s making his way over with my whiskey.

  “But, you haven’t paid for it yet, have you?” he asks.

  “I’m running a tab,” I tell him flatly.

  “That kind of night, huh?” he asks.

  “You could say that.”

  The bartender sets my drink down in front of me.

  “Hey Milo,” the stranger next to me says. The bartender looks up. “I’ll take another gin and tonic. And you can put her drink on my tab too.”

  Before I can object, Milo nods and rushes off to the other end of the bar.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I tell him. I’m trying to feel annoyed and I know I should, really. But then I look at his eyes and that smile again and I find that I can’t.

  “I know I didn’t have to,” he says, “I wanted to. You shouldn’t drink alone, after all.”

  “What if I want to drink alone?” I ask. I’ve got to stand my ground. But, my resolve is waning with every word he speaks.

  “You don’t,” he says confidently.

  “And how do you know that?” I ask.

  “Because I’ve been watching you,” he says. “You keep looking in your glass like you want to talk to it. Like you’re hoping it’ll talk back to you.”

  “So I look like I’m crazy?” I ask. It wouldn’t be a stretch given how I feel.

  “No,” he says with a slight chuckle that causes my heart to thump faster in my chest. “You look like you could use a sympathetic ear. And it just so happens that I make a very good sympathetic ear. So, what do you say?”

  I want to say yes. It would be nice to have someone to talk to about Jake, about his stupid club, about my go nowhere job, about everything. Then Jake’s threat pops up in the back of my mind. At the very least, he’ll hit me if he finds out I’ve been talking to another man. Then again, if he’s in one of his moods, he’ll hit me regardless.

  Not to mention, I know he’s out at his own bar drinking it up with his whores. If he can do it, why shouldn’t I do it too?

  With that in mind, I look this young man up and down with a small smile on my face.

  “Why the hell not?” I say finally. He smiles as he sits down next to me. “But just so we’re clear,” I say firmly before he gets too comfortable, “I’m not going to have sex with you. It’s just a drink.”

  Even though I’m willing to defy Jake somewhat, I’m still not that crazy. Talking is one thing, after all. Sex is a whole other level.

  “Fair enough,” he says with that same chuckle that sends shivers down my spine.

  “I’m Ben,” he says

  “Ali,” I say.

  “So, I take it ’no sex’ means there’s someone else?” he asks.

  “Not necessarily,” I tell him with an eye roll. No matter how good looking he is, he’s still clearly a man.

  “There are girls who just don’t feel right about jumping into bed with complete strangers,” I continue. “Some of us are weird that way.”

  “Some girls,” he says confidently, “but in your case there is a guy, isn’t there?”

  “Let me guess,” I say, “you can tell that by the way I looked into my drink.”

  “This time, it was just a feeling,” he says. I have to admit his smile is disarming. So disarming that I end up telling him the truth. Not just that there is a guy, but the problems Jake and I have been having lately. About how angry he’s been. About how trapped and frustrated, I feel in this town.

  I don’t tell him about the beatings I’ve taken and, of course, I don’t tell him about the sex - or lack thereof. I barely know Ben, after all. And no matter how drunk I am, I’m still not crazy.

  “So, now that I’ve told you all about my little soap opera,” I say after I’ve talked for a good while and have honestly lost track of time, “why are you here drinking by yourself?”

  “Not drinking by myself anymore,” he says taking another sip of his gin and tonic as though to emphasize the point.

  “You know what I mean,” I tell him.

  He chuckles again and even through my alcoholic haze it still sounds like the most amazing sound in the world.

  “I come here almost every week,” he says. “It’s just a chance to get away from the usual crowd.”

  “What’s the usual crowd?” I ask.

  “I usually hang out at The Swamp,” he says. My heart sinks in my chest. The haze seems to clear from my head as though I’ve just drunk an entire gallon of water. The Swamp is the Gator hang out.

  “Are you…are you a member of that club?” I ask. “The Gators?”

  “Yeah,” he says proudly. “I’ve been with them for about two or three years.”

  Never mind Jake, me talking with a Gator could send his whole club into an uproar. They’ve gone to war over less.

  Hastily, I pull out my phone and pretend to check the time. It’s midnight.

  “Is something wrong?” he asks sounding concerned.

  “I didn’t realize how late it was,” I answer. “I should get back. Thanks for the drink.”

  I stand up from the stool nearly stumbling. He reaches out and catches my arm to right me. I feel the heat from his skin even through the fabric of my shirt. That heat rushes all the way to my face rendering me momentarily speechless.

  “If you wait a few minutes, I could call a cab to take you home,” he says.

  I’m amazed and impressed that he doesn’t ask to take me back to his place. Doesn’t even ask for my number. It’s as though he’s really concerned about me.

  “No thanks,” I say reluctantly. “I walked here. I only live a couple blocks away.”

  “Do you want me to walk with you?” he asks.

  My mind paints a picture of the rage Jake would fly into if he saw me walk up to our house with another man. I’m pretty sure I visibly wince as I say.

  “No, thank you.”

  Ben looks at me even more concerned now. I feel the need to explain myself. To lighten the tension.

  “We live in the safest area of the safest town in America,” I tell him in as light a voice as I can muster. “I think I’ll be alright.”

  He still looks hesitant but, after a moment nods.

  “Ok,” he says. “But, remember. I’m here every Thursday if you ever need to talk.”

  He gives me a small, sad smile and I suddenly want nothing more than to stay here with him all night. Jake and The Raiders be
damned.

  I blink twice again and try to clear my head.

  “Thanks again,” I say. Quickly, I rush to the door of the bar and out into the night.

  The walk home, as I predicted, is uneventful. My heart seizes when I see Jake’s bike parked in the driveway. He’s home.

  I unlock the door and open it, my pulse pounding in my ears. I heave a sigh of relief when I see Jake asleep on the couch. He’s snoring. That means he’s going to be incredibly hung over in the morning. I’ll be at work by the time he wakes up.

  I walk as quietly as I can into the bedroom. Once I’ve changed and slipped into bed, an image of Ben comes to mind. For the first time in a long time, I smile as I fall asleep.

  *****

  Meeting Ben at The Watering Hole on Thursday nights has become something of a tradition. I’ve come every Thursday at the same time.

  Every week, I pretend that it’s just because Jake is at his meetings on Thursdays and I don’t want to be surrounded by a bunch of bikers. Ben pretends to believe me when I tell him that’s the reason I come.

  We both know it’s not true. I come to The Watering Hole to see Ben. Just like I know he comes to see me. Maybe he used to come on Thursdays to drink by himself, but now he comes for me. And we both know it.

  We don’t do anything at these little unofficial meetings but drink and talk. There’s a sort of unspoken agreement between us not to get too intimate. We’re careful not to touch, not to sit too close and to keep all conversation restricted to the bar area.

  Though I try to tell myself that drinking with Ben is the same as it would be if I were drinking with any other friend, I know it isn’t. If I had female friends, for example, I doubt I would stare longingly into their eyes or try to sneak peeks at their nicely sculpted ass when they weren’t looking.

  Beyond that, I doubt I would be so guarded with my female friends. I might even tell them about Jake hitting me. Something I haven’t mentioned to Ben.