Consume Me

by Ryan Michele

  I laugh and it’s not a fake one like I muster for others, this one is true, genuine, and it’s good to let out. It’s been a long time since I’ve really done that. “His name is Fabio and no. A lot of what I read is written by indie authors.” He stares at me, confusion written all over his face, so I drop it.

  “They got lots of sex in ‘em, like that book I see on TV they’re making a movie about?” Amusement litters his words. His white plastic chair is so close to mine. With one little inch, I’d be touching him or he touching me. My pulse kicks up. What would it be like to feel it?

  Another creep of heat comes to my cheeks, spreading throughout every cell of me, and I’m thankful that the darkness is hiding it. Not that I am nervous about sex or have issues with it, at least not anymore. I just can’t put sex and Tug in the same thoughts. I fear it will have disastrous consequences.

  The first guy I was with after leaving home thought I was totally crazy and he wasn’t wrong. When his hand skated into my jeans, I screamed and jumped off the bed, moving far away from him. My world tilted and everything went blurry. I thought for sure I was going to pass out. Looking back, I’m surprised I even gave the guy a shot, but thankful I did. Even though I freaked, the guy, Ben, talked me through it. I never told him what had happened to me, but he helped ease my fears and eventually I was able to go all the way. It surprised me that sex wasn’t meant to hurt. It wasn’t meant to terrify. It wasn’t meant to control. It was meant for pleasure, and it was the first orgasm I ever had. It ended up not working with Ben, but I am grateful to him because if he had freaked, screamed, called me names or anything negative, my view on sex would have been permanently marred. Thanks to him, it is not. I see the positive in it when it’s done with care.

  “Yeah, sex is normally in them.” Since I get none in real life, what’s better than to read about it?

  “Hot damn!” He slaps his hand to his knee, and I jump at the loud noise penetrating the quiet of the night. “Wanna read to me? Only the fucking parts.” I turn to him as he chuckles and wiggles his eyebrows at me suggestively.

  It takes all I’ve got not to roll my eyes and tell him that there’s no way in hell that will ever happen, but the sweetness of it is not lost to me. We sit in silence, but it’s comfortable and I like it. It’s like we don’t have to say anything, we can just be and that’s okay.

  I take him in while he’s staring into the fire. His black t-shirt caresses every muscle of his chest and arms while his leather Prospect vest hides the bulges, but not the tattoos. Mouthwatering. His body is relaxed, calm and at ease. Comfortable with me.

  “So, sweet lips, when you gonna let me take you out?” His question breaks the silence and snaps me away from my ogling. I’m surprised it took him this long to ask or bring it up, but with him, I’m realizing he likes to be spontaneous.

  “Never.” I try to muster authority, but come on, this is Tug.

  “Aww. Come on, babe. Don’t lie to me and tell me that shit.” I stare off into the distance. I get hit on all the time on stage, but tune it out. Those men just want the fantasy, the sexy woman on stage, never the real me and even if they wanted the real me, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to give it. Not the way a man actually deserves anyway. Sex, I could give a man that, but never the real me; the one that is hiding so far down that I don’t even know if she’s in there sometimes. The one that holds the past, one that I really don’t care to relive, ever, and that is not fair to Tug, or anyone.

  “Tug, I don’t date, but thanks.” Those words have never been truer and I’m pretty sure they shock Tug because his mouth slightly opens and his brows lift to his hairline.

  “You mean you don’t date brothers or those of us associated with the club?” he clarifies and I want to laugh.

  I peer into his milk chocolate depths. “That too, Tug, but I don’t date. Period.” The comfortable silence we shared earlier isn’t so comfortable anymore and the weird feelings going on inside of me are turning to panic. I need out. Need to get away. I rise and the plastic chair tips a bit from the bumpy ground beneath me, but right myself in time before it and I tumble to the ground. “I’ve gotta go,” I blurt a little louder than anticipated, sounding like an idiot.

  “You mean to tell me that you don’t date anyone. Ever? I call bullshit cause with a body like that, babe, it’s screaming for a man.”

  My pussy quivers, sending shocks through my body. If he only knew. He stands and enters my space. The energy between us is combustible, like zaps of lightning bouncing off of the two of us repeatedly with no end in sight. My knees weaken and it takes all I have not to wobble. My breathing picks up, my lungs suddenly having trouble getting air. I place my well-manicured hands in my pockets. With him so close, I have this undeniable urge to touch him, feel him. It doesn’t help. I grip the fabric inside my pockets, trying to steady them. God, he turns me inside out.

  I breathe in deep, drawing up the strength that has gotten me through these past few years. I square my shoulders and give him a sly grin. “Nothing my vibrator can’t handle but you don’t need to worry about that,” I smart, coming off tons more confident than I actually feel.

  Fire flashes, taking his milky chocolate depths to hot molten. My pussy does a full out quiver and dampness coats my underwear. Shit.

  “Sweet lips, I’d be more than happy to help you out with that.” His hand sweeps across my cheek and everything is lost. I forget that my guard is firmly in place. I forget that I’m not supposed to want him. I forget everything but him and lean into his hand, closing my eyes and enjoying the warmth of his rough touch, and damn it’s better than I could have imagined. My heart squeezes and I let it. I let myself feel. A noise I don’t recognize escapes me, but it doesn’t distract from his warmth. “That purr you got going on, sweet lips, is the sexiest fucking sound I’ve ever heard.”

  I startle, his words breaking the moment. I mentally shake and step out of his touch, his hand falling to his side. What in the hell am I doing? All my guards snap firmly into place like a lock clicking inside of me. I’m seriously pissed off at myself for that brief lapse because now I know the fire in his touch and I want more.

  “I’m leaving.” I extract my keys from my pocket but he plucks them from me before I get a good hold. “Give me my keys!” I bark as he holds them up in his hand, dangling them with a sly smile. Bastard.

  “What, these?” He jiggles the keys in my face. He’s playing with me, toying with me, taunting me. Damn him. “On one condition. Tomorrow after work, you have coffee with me.” Coffee? Big bad biker man wants to have coffee with me, really? And at two in the morning? Umm… no.

  “No, give me my keys.” I hold out my hand, expecting my keys to plop in them, but it doesn’t happen. He jingles them again. I’m learning quickly how stubborn this man can be and somewhere deep inside I freaking like it.

  The wonderful sound of his deep chuckle causes my belly to clench, but I hold on to my irritated stance, barely. “No isn’t an option. I’ll be there when you get off. Be ready.” His tone is controlled and firm, leaving no room for disagreement.

  “I’m not fucking you,” I blurt out. I guess my mind decided to take a break. A vacation is more like it, but it is the truth. I’m not. Won’t. Even if I want to, it’s not happening.

  Tug steps closer and places the keys in my hand, his touch electric. His mouth is so close to mine I can practically taste the beer on his hot breath. I like it. My eyes grow heavy as the lust takes over. I so desperately want to kiss him. “I said nothing about fucking. I said coffee. Don’t hide, cause I’ll find you,” he whispers softly and I have no doubt that he would.

  Shivers prick throughout me, and by the intensity in his eyes, he means serious business. Shit. “I’m leaving.” I need to get out of here. Need to breathe. I turn, but a strong hand seizes my arm, gently turning me back to face him. A small gasp leaves my lips at the closeness, his hard body pressed up against mine. His steel length pokes into my stomach and I barely hold ba
ck a groan. My breath hitches and I think he’s going to kiss me, I so want him to kiss me. Instead, his succulent lips dance on my cheek, giving me a soft kiss. I close my eyes and allow myself to enjoy it. It’ll be the closest I get to him.

  He peels away and I instantly miss the heat of his body next to mine, but I’m lost. “Sweet lips, open your eyes.” His words are so soft. His eyes are warm, soft, and I want nothing more than to melt in them again. “Tomorrow.” I’m unable to talk. Words will not form in my mouth. Why won’t my mouth move? All from a kiss on the cheek, damn I’m pitiful. With every bit of power I can muster, I step away from him as his hands drift from my body. I escape to the confines of my Jeep and take off, not looking back at the club.

  Blaze’s tail lights leave the lot and I follow them until I can’t see her anymore. Fuck. The hard-on from being that close to her is pressing against my damn zipper painfully and I’ll be lucky if there isn’t an imprint of it there. She’s had this effect on me since the first time I saw her. Then when she dances on the damn stage it’s more like stone, hell she has that effect on me and every other man in Ravage and around Sumner. The difference is her reaction to me. Yes me. I saw it the first time we met. I saw it tonight.

  And I’m fucking going to call her out on that shit.

  When I amble into the clubhouse, the lights shine bright, but all is quiet. The brothers must be in their rooms or have gone home for the night. The only reason I stayed is in case I could help Casey, but I’m pretty sure nothing I could do would help her. But for some reason I needed to stay.

  It’s strange how only knowing these men and women for a little more than a year, I am closer to them than the “friends and family” I grew up with. But that’s what Ravage is, family, and I’m more than fucking ready to be a full-time part of that. Have been for a while.

  I lumber directly to the two sleeping club mommas on the couch. Blonde or Brunette. Doesn’t matter, won’t be thinking about her anyway. I only need a warm mouth. The blonde stirs at the sound of my approach. Bingo. Her eyes flutter open.

  “Hi Tug. What cha need?” Her voice is too high-pitched and her mouth definitely needs something shoved inside of it.

  “Open,” is all I say, unzipping my pants to let my cock spring free. “Teeth.” When my piercing clatters on their damn teeth, it makes them stop sucking. I fucking hate that shit. She scoots to the edge of the couch and opens her willing mouth wide as I press my dick into her heat.

  Her hands snake up my legs and I still. “No hands, put them behind your back.” I sure as shit don’t want her touch me. She complies. I thrust in and out of her mouth as she sucks in earnest. One thing is for sure, the woman sure can suck. I close my eyes and picture the vivacious brunette swinging around the pole, eyeing me like she’s going to eat me alive.

  I grip the woman’s hair and thrust my dick in and out of her until I explode, sending cum down her throat, and she swallows it down. The release is good, but nothing mind blowing, just something to scrape the edge off for a while. I open my eyes and stuff my dick in my pants. “Thanks.”

  Her eyes sparkle up at me, trying to be sultry, but it falls totally flat. She swipes her finger on the side of her mouth. “Anytime. You need more?” She bats her big brown eyes up at me and my dick doesn’t stir. If it hadn’t been for Blaze a few minutes ago, I wouldn’t have been up and ready.

  “I’m good. Thanks.” I turn to the bar, nab a beer, and sit on the round stool. The coldness from the bottle seeps into my hand as I stare at the wall behind the bar. Lights, bottles, and glasses line it. Nothing spectacular, but it’s comforting.

  When I first got out of the Army, I had a rough time adjusting to life outside of the military. They try to prepare you but those are just words. Living out in the civilian world is foreign after you’ve been where I’ve been. After being in hell. I initially went home to my mother and sister. Home. But it wasn’t home anymore. Granted the home-cooked meals were a perk after living on MREs. But I couldn’t stay there, not when five and a half years prior, everything in my world changed in that house and the two women there still couldn’t get past it.

  “Calm down, Jimmy.” My mother’s terrified pleas come from her room as I stand in the hallway. Not a-fucking-gain. I clench my fists, my knuckles turning white.

  “Shut the fuck up, bitch. This is all your fault.” My father growls and the sound of flesh hitting flesh along with my mother’s yelps come through the closed bedroom door loud and clear. This isn’t the first time that I’ve tore my father off of my mother and I’m sure it won’t be the last. Since I was fifteen and Dad lost his job, he’s been pissed at the world and blames it all on my mother. The booze doesn’t help either. I don’t know why she stays, but she does.

  In two months, I’ll be eighteen and I’m getting my mom, sister, and myself out of this hell hole and away from him. I’ll do whatever it fucking takes. I’ve saved up enough cash to get us an okay apartment for a few months and if I continue to deliver pizzas and Mom gets another waitress job, we should be good.

  Opening the door, I find my mother is curled in the far corner of the room, arms up in an effort to protect herself from the blows. She’s terrified and breathing heavy. My father’s pudgy ass head snaps to the door and he snarls, “Get the fuck out of here, Andrew.” His eyes stay on me; he’s not a stupid man. I’m getting better at taking him on.

  “Get out of here now!” I demand. My veins throb in my neck and my body shakes with undiluted anger. Tears stream down my mother’s face, along with red marks marring her beautiful skin. My anger turns to an inferno.

  My father chuckles and steps in front of my mother, crossing his arms over his chest, blocking my view of her. “What the fuck are you gonna do? Huh? Lock me out of the room again. Stupid fucking punk.” The last time this happened, I did exactly that and was utterly grateful that I didn’t have to beat on him, because I didn’t know if I’d have the willpower to stop.

  “Get out.” I try my damnedest to allow my anger to show through in my words and hope that he just leaves. Even though I’m pissed as shit, it’s hard to stand up to the only man you’ve had as a role model. Even a shitty one like him, but I do it.

  “Fuck off.” Dad charges at me and I step to the side, evading him by moving my body swiftly. The second time he lunges, my fist connects with his jaw in a biting crunch of bone on bone. I pay no attention to the jolt it gives me up my arm. I shake it off, but his foot meets my ribs before I see it and the pain is intense. I don’t back down. With my hands in front of me, I block shot after shot, getting in a few good licks to my father’s face. He’s not backing down this time either.

  His blow meets my temple hard and the lights flicker as I stagger, trying to get my bearings. Dad kicks me and I stumble to the floor next to Mom with a grunt. I shake myself, trying to get the fuzziness out as Dad yells.

  “You think you can fucking take me, you stupid ass?” Spit escapes his lips as he speaks. “I rule this fucking house! You, your bitch of a mother and stupid ass sister will follow what I say!” The dizziness fades and I know he’s right. He won’t stop because he doesn’t have to. I will not let this happen anymore. I’m done. Smirking, Dad backs toward the door. My eyes grow wide at the sight of my sister’s frightened face behind him.

  “Mom!” she yells and starts running into the room. My father yanks her by the hair hard enough that she cries. A lamp sits on the nightstand and I clutch it, the adrenaline fueling my body. Standing, I allow the anger to boil over and no words leave my mouth as I swing the heavy solid lamp into his skull.

  “Tug!” I jump to my feet, turning around hastily, my hands in fists as I search the room and blink through the invading memories. My pulse races and my vision clears from the fog of the memory. Princess holds her hands up in front of me, her brows furrowed together in obvious concern. “You all right there, buddy?”

  I give myself a mental shake, the balled up tension leaves my body as I blow out a small breath, releasing the death grip my
fingers formed. “I’m good.” She nods and slides up to the barstool, reaching around to grab a bottle of Jack and a glass from the side bar. I sit next to her and draw a hard pull from my beer. Shit, I didn’t mean to snap like that at her. Damn memories.

  “Wanna talk about it?” she asks, pouring the amber liquid into her glass and I sure as shit don’t want to breathe a word of that shit.

  “Nope.” I take another drink from the beer, draining it. Some shit is better left alone. “How’s Casey?” I change the subject.

  Princess downs the shot, not even flinching at the burn, only the small tick of her eye gives away that she took it and felt it. “A fucking mess. I hear her screaming through the door, but GT’s in with her so I’m trying to stay back. Shaina is worse. Thank God Doc left some meds to knock her all the way out.” She pours another, tosses it down her throat, and slams the glass on the top of the bar when it’s empty. “That son of a bitch fucking tore her up. She needed fucking stitches.”

  I grip the bottle in my hand until my knuckles turn white. I didn’t realize it was that bad. “That bad?” Maybe I didn’t want to learn the extent of the injuries Shaina has.

  “Oh yeah. Had to sew her up. Guess Paine liked a bit of pain in his conquests.” Princess twirls the glass in her hand, spinning it on the bar, the clink echoing through the clubhouse.

  “Too bad he’s dead. I’d love to string him up and show him what pain is,” I growl the words, sure and focused. Any man that preys on women is a fucking piece of shit. I’d make sure his torture was the most painful it could be, for hours, even days. Son of a bitch.

  “Yeah. Shaina’s not like us,” Princess almost whispers. “She’s not built to handle this kind of thing. This life. I’m not sure how she’ll do.”

  Being raped and tortured would fuck up any woman for the rest of her life, and being in a club or not wouldn’t change that. Either way, there isn’t a damn thing I, or really anyone, can do about it. “I’m sure you’ll help her through.”