Consume Me

by Ryan Michele

  My door whips open and Tug is standing there. “Put it in park, Blaze!” he orders and I don’t hesitate to follow what he says, shifting the Jeep in park and killing the engine. His hand cups my chin, my face mere inches from his. “You okay?” The absent movement of his thumb over my jaw relaxes me and I suck in a breath. Concern laces his eyes, making me all gooey inside.

  “Yeah. Thanks for following me. You should go.” My words come out breathy and I hate it, but can’t stop it.

  He assesses then releases me. “You really don’t want me coming in?”

  Yes. “No.” His hands fall into his pockets and I rise from the Jeep, shutting the door. “I’m going to bed.” I proceed to the door of the house.

  He steps in my path and his deep concerned eyes trip up my resistance. I want to haul him to me so badly my hand twitches. No. “All right.” Tug bends down and sweeps his lips across mine, igniting an inferno inside of me. He steps away all too quickly, but doesn’t move to his bike. He saunters over to the swing off to the side of the porch. I added the swing when I got the house. I love being able to come outside and listen to the crickets or the occasional car that drives up the street, and just think. Just be. It isn’t anything special, only a swing from the home improvement store, white and held by chains from studs in the roof, but I love it. And he should not be sitting there.

  “What are you doing?” My hand reflexively goes to my hip, jutted out in my frustration. I don’t want him on my porch. It’s too damn close. God, he needs to leave.

  He sits in the swing and rocks back and forth like he’s done it for years. “I’m gonna rest. That was a long trip here and I’m a little tired. Go on in. I’ll go soon.” Yeah I just bet you will, his entire body language is screaming, I’m not going anywhere. And long trip, my ass. I don’t live far from X.

  “Fine!” I huff, spinning around and closing the garage door behind me. I race through the house, flipping all the lights on as I walk to my bedroom. I strip my clothes off and jump into the shower, washing the Studio X off of me. After putting on some baggy sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, I go into the kitchen in search of some pain relief. This headache has only gotten worse, for some reason. Probably Tug’s fault. Yep, I’ll blame it on him. After downing the pills, I enter the living room. Tug still swings methodically without a care in the world. It’s been well over an hour, I thought for sure he’d been gone by now.

  Stubborn man. Jumping on the couch, I pull my fuzzy blanket over my body and curl up, snagging the remote to the television and flipping through the stations and all the mindless chatter that is on at two in the morning. I settle in, watching some jerk yell at a guy for giving him a parking ticket when his car is parked in the wrong spot. Whatever. Boring.

  Movement outside has my heartbeat racing. Is he leaving? I peer out the window. Nope, still rocking. I let out a small sigh of relief.

  How could I leave him out there like that? It’s not like he’d hurt me physically. I know he wouldn’t. How I know is left to be determined. I just do. Emotionally is a whole different story. Damn that man. I battle with my thoughts for long moments. I throw off the blanket and advance to the front door, swinging it open in a bit of a huff.

  Tug turns to me in surprise. “Get in here.” I leave the door open, inviting him in, and let him choose if he does. I head to the kitchen in search of a beer for Tug and a water for myself and bring them into the living room. Tug takes his boots off at the door and I stop dead. “What are you doing?”

  “Don’t wanna get your floor muddy.”

  Damn considerate man. I sit on the couch and place the drinks on the rectangular glass coffee table in the center of the room. As Tug comes into the space, I expect him to sit in the open recliner as I am on the couch, but he doesn’t. He plops his ass right next to me, our legs touching thigh to thigh. I ignore the stream of pleasure coming from his warmth and hand him the beer.

  “Thanks, sweet lips.” He takes off the cap, drinks, sets the bottle down on the coffee table, and then removes his leather and wallet, placing them next to the bottle. I don’t even bother asking him what he’s doing because I don’t want some smartass response. He’s getting comfortable. Damn.

  “You still got a headache?” His gentle tone makes my stomach flutter at his thoughtfulness and compassion.

  “Yeah.” The constant throb hasn’t gone away and with Tug in my space, my anxiety is increasing.

  Tug sits with his back against the arm of the couch and spreads his legs open wide. I quirk my brow at him and take another drink of my water. “Go grab a couple pillows and come back.”

  “Why?” My face contorts, confused by the change.

  “I’m gonna help you relax.” At that moment, a slicing pain rips through behind my eyelids and I reach up, trying to rub it out with my fingers, and give up when it doesn’t disappear. If he can help, I’m all for it. I rise and get the throw pillows from the corner of the room and return. My eyes are a bit blurry from rubbing them the entire trip to retrieve the pillows.

  “Sit down with your back to me. Put the pillows in front of you and lay your stomach on them,” he instructs calmly.

  “What?” My mind hurts so badly I can’t think right and I’m having a slight bit of difficulty understanding him. He positions me exactly where he wants me, my body falling in line with his automatically, but the pain stopping me from even giving the smallest bit of argument. He sits behind me, my back to his front, but not touching. He places the pillows in front of me and asks me to lean on them with my head resting on the top of them, one leg tucked in the couch the other on the floor. Damn it’s comfortable.

  Rough hands snake up my back over my hoodie, my body tenses then relaxes into his touch. His thumbs draw tiny circles up my spine, but my thick hoodie is concealing the touch and the pressure of each caress of his fingers. I let out a frustrated moan, wanting more of the touch.

  “Take it off,” he orders and I freeze. I know exactly what he means and I have nothing on under my shirt, nothing. It’s not like he hasn’t seen my naked boobs before but this is different, in my home with no one around. This is intimate.

  “I’m just going to rub your back, neck and head, sweet lips. I promise not to fondle you.” He pauses. “Yet.” I shiver at the seriousness of his tone. Breathing out, I trust him at his word and remove the hoodie. I lie back down on the pillows, covering my chest. “Good,” he praises and my body tingles.

  His touch cascades over my skin and any tension I had from removing my shirt dissipates as I relish in his touch. His thick fingers rub my neck in all the right places. My body turns to Jell-O, wiggly and loose. When his fingers feather into my hair and caress my scalp, I moan as he rubs right where the throb is intense.

  He moves to my neck, then back, then neck, then head, his fingers touching all the right spots and my throbbing headache becoming a memory. I get so lost in his touch, my eyes become heavy, and I fade into darkness.

  I’m being picked up like I weigh nothing. I’m floating down onto the softness and lips brush mine as something warm envelops me. I snuggle into the heat.

  Too warm. Way too warm. My eyelids flutter open. Blue-green walls and drapes. My room. A steel arm is wrapped around my waist as I rest on a muscular chest. Tug’s eyes open, the morning light shining in them. Shit.

  “Morning, sweet lips.” He yawns and his mouth contorts in the sexiest of ways, just doing such a mundane thing. I involuntarily lick my lips. His gaze drifts down my body and I follow. Shit, my tits are completely and totally bare. I abruptly clutch the blanket, covering my breasts, and try to scoot away from him, which he doesn’t allow by gripping me tighter.

  “What are you doing here? In my bed?” I hold the blanket around me. The words sound a combination of shocked and pissed off, but really I love the vision of him in my bed against my sheets. Does that make me some kind of freak?

  “Brought you to bed. Was tired. Went to sleep.” His deep, sleep-filled voice bellows and my pussy throbs at the
magical sound. I snap myself out of it.

  “I didn’t say you could sleep in here.” I try to get up but the arm around me tightens, holding me down. I swear his arms are stronger than steel, but I don’t give up.

  “You didn’t say I couldn’t either,” he retorts and he’s right. Damn, shit and fuck.

  “So, that just means you can jump into any bed that you want?” I come back, exasperated.

  “Pretty much.” I do not like the way this is going and a rock falls in the pit of my stomach. He could be with anyone he wanted, anytime he wanted. I sigh. I’m only a pit stop along the road. Someone to mark off the list. Screw that.

  “Let me up, Tug, and get out.” His body freezes at my hard tone, but instead of removing the steel around my waist, he turns. He lies on his side, arm propped on elbow, hand holding his head, and staring down at me. The arm around my stomach loosens enough that I can lie on my back.

  “I’m playing this your way. For now. That time is almost up, sweet lips.”

  “What in the hell does that even mean, Tug?” I huff. I sure as shit don’t speak biker lingo and I’m not playing anything. I’m just trying to get him to go. It’s better in the long run.

  “Means I’m letting you call these shots. Want you used to me. But soon, babe, we play by my rules.” The intensity in his eyes has me believing it too.

  I try to get up. This time he lets me and I sit up on the bed, crossing my legs together in front of me. I face him, making sure the sheet covers me. “We play by my rules and there is no us. No sex. No relationship. Nothing. You need to get your stuff and get out now.” I scoot off the bed with the blanket and hightail it to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door.

  I grumble at the reflection in the mirror. What the hell is wrong with me? I splash water on my face and try to wipe the sleep away.

  There are so many reasons why I can’t get involved with that man out there so why is my body saying go back. Screw him. Do it.

  “No,” I chastise myself and do my business. I grab a baby pink t-shirt that is strewn over the handle of the shower and make my way to the bedroom, keeping the blanket around me. Tug lies on the bed, stretching his muscles in the most delectable of ways and those tattoos lining his chest and arms are on full display. Damn.

  “You need to go, Tug,” I say, standing by the closet door on the opposite side of my bedroom. My words come out so much weaker than before.

  He rises from the bed, giving me a fine view of his ass that only has a pair of boxer briefs covering it. The ones that are skin tight and show every ripple when he moves. His wide shoulders are toned with a distinct line down his spine. Tattoos grace his muscled back but I can’t tell the design. Overall, he makes my mouth water and sends my pussy into meltdown. He turns, making eye contact with me, and I instantaneously look away. Shit.

  “I’m going.” He turns around, putting his jeans on. What a shame. I mean, good, he needs to leave. “But I’ll be back and soon.” His words bring me to the task at hand.

  “Tug. Really. We can’t do this,” I plead because pure determination pulsates off of him along with persistence. Shit.

  After slipping on his shirt, he places both hands on either side of my cheeks. I meet his hot gaze. The promise in them unnerves me. “We can and will do this, Blaze. I promise you that.”

  He dips down and this time his lips are not soft, they are determined and precise. They mold to mine and take me in a demanding, sensual kiss. I gasp, giving him the opening he needs and he goes deeper, all the while still cupping my cheeks. All I can do is hold on for dear life as his tongue seeks entrance and finds it readily. I grip his wrists at the side of my face and I kiss him back as all the bullshit I keep telling myself washes away into a big puddle on the ground and I step forward.

  Long minutes pass and he keeps up the effort and I follow right along. When he releases me, I can’t find air. I forgot to breathe. Is that even possible? I gulp in big breaths, my heart pounds, and my entire body is a live wire ready to explode. Wetness and warmth are pooled down below and I want more.

  My eyes flutter open to a smiling man that takes my breath away. “Your time just got shorter.” He pecks my lips and strolls out of my bedroom. The distinct sound of a door shutting tells me he’s left and the rumble of his bike tells me he’s gone.

  I sit on my bed and place my fingertips on my tender lips.

  Shit, what have I done?

  “Sit.” Princess is in today and asked me to meet her in her office. That was about an hour ago before I got sidelined with questions from the girls. One even asked me to show her a technique on the pole. The things I do, but teaching her was kind of fun. And judging by Princess’s face as she stands behind her large wooden desk in her office, she’s not very happy about me being late.

  Princess’s office is kick ass. Deep red covers the walls. Two of the walls have heavy, black drapery that falls down in a swoop, held by little black ropes attached to the wall. A large, black iron cross hangs behind her desk with thorns weaved all around it. Her desk is the focal point of the room and filing cabinets are up against a sidewall. Two chairs sit in front of her desk, one of which I’m currently sitting in.

  “Sorry. Drama out there.” If she’s pissed, she’s pissed. There is really no stopping her when she is.

  Her eye quirks. “You able to handle it?”

  My steely spine engages. “Of course. But that’s what took me so long.” I cross my legs and wait for her to join me, which she does, plopping into her desk chair with a huff, all anger in her face disappearing.

  “Sorry. Everything going on with Casey and Shaina has me up in knots. I can’t help them. I want to, but nothing I say helps, only makes it worse.” With the strength that Princess can give each one of those women, I find it difficult to think that she’s not helping them. She just doesn’t recognize it.

  “They went through shit. It’s gonna take time.” A small snake of a shiver crawls throughout me just thinking about what those women went through. In one of Princess’s calls, she gave me the rundown and it was not pretty. Tied up by chains, raped, and fondled, none of it any woman should ever go through. I know.

  “Yeah. I want to kill the sorry motherfucker, again.” Princess’s body tenses and her fist slams down on the desk. Guess the calm has left.

  I keep myself together as thoughts of why I took off from home creep up, and suppress them to deal with the task at hand. “What did you want to talk about?” I ask changing the subject.

  She blows out deep, lacing her fingers together and placing them on the desk. “I want you to come and work here.”

  My brows furrow together. “Unless I didn’t get the memo, I already do.”

  The left side of her lip shifts up and I’m glad my off-handed remark helps her melt some of her frustration.

  “Okay, smartass. No. I want you to come and do the books, organize and be my right hand here at X. I can’t do all this shit by myself and I need someone I can trust, especially after Liz fucked me over royally.” Her fists clench and I remember the shit that Liz put Princess through. She continues. “That person is you.” Her clasped hands move up to her chin and she rests her head on them as she waits for me, waits for my reaction.

  I sit shocked. Though I’m happy to help her out with the club while she’s gone, I’m not entirely sure that I want this to be my career. This is supposed to be a means to an end. I don’t care for stripping. I only started because it paid good money and I needed it badly. I do not like the men ogling me and the thought of some of them jacking off to thoughts of me naked has me wanting to vomit. If I did this, I’d be stuck in this life.

  “Stripping. Will I be done with it?” That would be a plus.

  Princess’s expression is impassive and I can’t read anything that is floating through her mind. “I’d like to keep you on one night a week for now.” She slaps her hands on the desk with a thud. “You make damn good money in tips and draw me in a shit load of business, I’d be dumb as shit
to pack you up and put you in an office and hide you. But…” Her voice trails as I listen. “I know you want more. So, we need to talk money and see if you want to quit or continue to strip.”

  “All right. Before we talk money, what are my responsibilities?” True I want to know how much I’ll be paid, but I need to know what’s expected of me first to know if the money is right.

  “Smart woman.” Princess lists all the things that I will be in charge of here at X and most of it I’ve been doing anyway, with the exception of the books. That I’m not worried about in the least. I could do them in my sleep. That would be the easiest part of this job. When Princess slides a piece of paper across the desk, surprised doesn’t cut it. Holy shit. With that amount, it’s a no brainer.

  “I’ll do it. One night a week stripping for two weeks, then I’ll reevaluate, but I have to do my sets this week or it will throw off the entire schedule.”

  Princess smirks. “See, already thinking like a business woman. I like it.”

  “One more question,” I ask as she rises out of her chair.

  “Yes?”

  “Do I work for you or the club? And who do I answer to?”

  Princess comes around to the front of the desk and rests her ass on the corner of it. “Ahh. That is a tricky question. Technically you work for me and I report back to the club if there are any problems. Most of the time, I handle the garbage and don’t bother my Pops with any of that shit. Now there may be times that I need you at a meeting or something with the guys, but for the most part, it’s just me.”

  Not that I couldn’t handle it either way, I’m keeping all my options open. “I can do that.”