by Kade, Teagan
I round the corner and at first don’t see anyone. There’s a car on a hoist, another two or three on the ground and a bike, a hog of some sort. That’s when I see a pair of legs poking out from beneath a green Chevy.
Someone’s working on it, spannering underneath with their overalls pulled down to reveal a dark singlet above.
I step closer until I’m at their feet.
“Hello?”
The stranger sits up. I hear the metallic ring as their head strikes the underside of the car in fright, followed by a vocal “fuck”.
They slide out on a crawler, and it’s him, Storm, the singer from Dixie’s, rubbing his already cut-up head and looking up at me with squinty, greased-up eyes.
“You,” he simply says. “What the hell are you doing here?”
It’s more an exclamation of surprise than accusation.
I look down at my see-through top and immediately feel completely naked. I stumble for words. “Ah, I’m Alice. My car broke down, I-” I don’t know how to word it. My car broke down and I stupidly decided to walk a couple of miles in the rain, lose my umbrella and shoe, and stumble into a stranger’s home.
But he has all he needs. He slides out, stands up and wipes his hands on his overalls.
He’s wearing a stained black singlet, muscular arms, one with a Dia de los Muertos skull over the bicep.
He heads to the back of the shed, rummaging around in some boxes and bringing back a blanket, slinging it over my shoulders. It has a texture like steel wool and smells like dirt, but it’s warm and I’m thankful for the gesture.
I smile. “Thanks.”
He just nods. “You were at the bar, right? The new girl?”
What are we? Back in middle school? “Yeah. I saw what happened. You didn’t start it.”
Storm tosses the spanner onto a shelf with a clank. “Try telling that to Deputy Dipshit.”
“You mean Dan?”
Genuine curiosity. “Yeah, how’d you know?”
Oh, my folks tried to hook us up by inviting him over for dinner. We kissed, fucked. Probably settle down and pop out some kids soon. You know. Nothing major. “He’s an old friend.”
“Oh, sorry, but hey, they’ve got it in for us, all of them.”
“Who?”
“Us,” he throws his hands out to encompass an invisible group of people. “Out-of-towners.”
“Right,” I nod, still trying not to shake. “I’m actually thinking about writing a piece on Millertown.”
“You’re a writer?”
“Yes, for one of the New York papers.”
His mood changes in an instant. “We don’t need any god-damn help, you understand?”
I pull the blanket tighter. “I know, but-”
“No, you don’t know. You don’t know anything.”
“Yes, but–”
“But nothing.”
He sees the hurt on my face and steps closer with his hands out. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t get many visitors here. But it’s true. What Millertown needs is more than a fancy paper piece. It needs jobs, education.”
“I can help. Once people read–”
“They’ll come running?” he laughs. “I don’t think so. Never have, never will.”
I’m starting to think this guy is kind of an asshole, but I gravitate towards him all the same, Icarus reaching for the sun. “You live here alone?”
He picks up another, smaller spanner and flips it over in his hand. “Yeah, folks passed a few years ago.”
Now it’s me who looks like the asshole. “Shit, sorry.”
He waves the spanner. “It’s fine. The world is better off without them.”
How can someone even say that about their own flesh and blood?
His eyes meet mine and they’re such a striking cerulean that it takes my breath away.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just a little exhausted, that’s all.”
He takes a step closer and my chest tightens. I pull the blanket even tighter around myself.
He looks up and down my body, what’s not covered by the blanket. My hair hangs in wet tendrils around my ears and shoulders. I look like a drowned rat, but in his eyes I see myself as something different, as something… desirable.
I attempt to kick-start the conversation as I inadvertently back up against the front of the green Chevy. “Ah, Storm, right?
He nods.
“What do you do? You know, when you aren’t playing in the band.”
“For work?”
I nod, a shiver running through me that could be the cold or the sight of the man in front of me, a man who is not Dan, a man whose very presence screams ‘run away!’.
“The band’s just a small gig. I fix cars mostly, bikes… odd jobs here and there.”
“You’re not a biker?”
Really, Alice?
“You think I’m a biker?” he laughs. “Is that the kind of vibe I give off? I mean, I’m no office jockey, but a biker? As much as you might look at my tats and denim and think otherwise, I’m not as cliché as you think.”
“I never said you were.”
“A criminal? Because that’s what you’re thinking. Be honest.”
I can’t take his antagonizing tone. “Fine, yeah. People say you’re bad news. Why shouldn’t I believe them?”
He stands so close the heat coming from his body is a physical thing. “Because it’s not true. Why should a son suffer for his father’s sins?”
“Your father?”
“Was a drug dealer, yes. He was rotten as they come. He hit me, he made me cut up his coke and light his pipe while Mom watched on bloody from the floor. But I am not him, you hear? I’m not part of that life anymore.”
He’s emotional. His face hovers before me, eyes boring right into my skull. I can’t tell whether he’s going to hit me or kiss me.
He chooses the latter.
With one hand pressed to my chest, he pushes me down onto the Chevy’s bonnet and leans into me.
He kisses me on the mouth, firmly, and I respond. It happens so quickly I have no response but to run with it.
I press my lips against his mouth hard. His teeth nip against them. I lean into him, my need growing. Kissing Dan was one thing, but this is different. This is the kind of all-consuming lust that comes once in a lifetime.
I feel the act inflaming me, the feeling of his mouth against my own equal parts strange and arousing, a dream come to life. My fingers find the edge of his chin and it’s rough with stubble. He smells of grease and machinery, of forged metal.
He grows bolder, threading his fingers through my hair. He kisses me deeper, longer, parting my lips with his tongue. The grille of the Chevy is hard against the small of my back as he leans over me.
The sense of urgency grows, my temperature rising swiftly. My senses are on knifepoint, my nostrils flaring wide as I take him in, the hot, alpha masculinity of this creature.
My hands move down to his hips and I’m aware of his erection pressing through the denim of his overalls. I take his free hand and guide it under my wet skirt.
His hand moves up my thigh swiftly, finger scrabbling with the waistband of my soaking panties. He pulls them down, tugging them roughly down my legs to remain stretched between my knees.
His hand moves again between my legs as we continue to kiss and grind against one another above. When his fingers reach my folds, when he slides a finger inside me, I’m his.
But it’s not enough. He knows it too. He bunches his fingers together in a quasi-arrowhead and drives them deep inside me, but again, it is not enough. His entire hand shakes as he works, his breath hot on my cheek as our lips part, hot on my neck when he falls into the cradle of my shoulder. Yet his eagerness does not bother me. In fact, it only increases my desire more.
The blanket falls off my shoulders, sliding off the glossy bonnet. He jams his fingers inside me where they squelch in my desire.
A tub of oil falls off the roof of the car and flow
s down my back and sides to spill over the front of the car onto the floor. My body slides on the hood in the slickness, rocking back and forth as I try urgently to take in air as we part.
He reaches down and pulls at my blouse, pulls until two buttons break free. I lift my skirt up around my waist as I take one half of the blouse aside and remove a breast from my bra, fuller than most men expect from a girl of my frame and always met with enthusiasm. He drops his head and takes a nipple into his mouth while his fingers continue to plunge into my slit below, my desire gathering thick around his fingers, oil warm and viscous against my buttocks and the tight balloon knot of my anus flattened out against the hood.
I open my mouth and look to the fluro lighting above, overcome by the moment. The resolve remains. Without these clothes his cock would already be inside me. I’m definitely wet enough, wetter than I’ve ever been in my life, thin rivulets running down my thighs to mix with the oil that drools off the bonnet.
I need him desperately, the need urgent and pressing as it coils in the pit of my stomach and core. I want his cock more than anything. I want it buried deep inside me - now.
I make the move, reaching between us and pulling his zipper down. I fish in his jocks for his cock, finding it hard as a steel bar. I pull it out, directing it towards my pussy.
My only heel drops off onto the concrete and pooled oil as he continues to suck and pull at my nipple, his tongue leaving it to loop around my areola.
I roll my hand over the fat knob of his cock, feel the tip of it leaking pre-come. He gasps aloud as I place him against my opening, spreading my legs so the hot mouth of my pussy widens and beckons him inside.
His scent becomes stronger, as done my own, the union sending my hips jerking towards him. My groin aches for him. Fill it! it begs. Fill me!
I know all the blood in my body is pooling between my thighs, that my lips are swollen to soft pillows there. Even I can smell the earthy female aroma that emanates from between them, that which spellbinds men so.
He holds the fleshy undersides of my thighs, my cunt split wide for him.
I am powerless to stop him. I simply need the fire that has ignited between my legs to be quelled.
I bite into his shoulder as he enters me, my flesh stretching to accommodate him. He thrusts forward, my body swallowing his cock with hunger.
He slams forward and I respond, clenching my muscles, milking him as he works into a rhythm. I place my hands on his buttocks, pressing into the denim to rock him forward against me, whispering god, god over and over as he grinds down against my clit and his cock slides right into the hot compression of my pussy.
He’s breathless by my ear. I close my eyes. “Fuck me,” I beg.
His cock is silky inside me. He slides in deep. An actual tear falls down my face onto the hood of the Chevy as I swing against him, ass cheeks rolling against the metal until he hilts himself inside me.
He thrusts harder, faster, building and building as I lift with him. My fingers claw into his backside. He hammers against me like a madman, the oil that was spilt cooling around my ass.
I’m clenching him so hard I’m sure it will leave bruising, but I don’t care. I don’t give a flying fuck about anything but getting off.
He pumps into my pussy harder still as I rise up to meet him. He lifts me from the car, punching into me with everything he has.
When he nears, when his breath becomes as rapid and ragged as my own, our mutual orgasms building, I press my lips to his ear and whisper, “I want your cum inside me.”
It sends him over the edge immediately. He pushes his pubic bone hard against my clit and, cock pulsing, pumps his release deep inside me.
My own orgasm rushes up and I’m drawn so far into it I’m blinded momentarily as we convulse and twist together.
Finally, my back wilts and I collapse against the hood of the car.
He steps back and his cock comes free slick with sperm, birthed from my pussy as he stands there trying to regain his composure.
My orgasm continues even as my vision clears, my jaw clenching and releasing, back arching and throat contracting. It seems endless as I reach between my legs to stifle it.
Done, I look down and see my wet and flushed sex aflame, bright red, my lips raw.
I still cannot believe what I have done, what has just taken place here. He stands back and examines me when I try to sit up. My legs are shaky, Jello-like as I stand. Oil slides down my legs and backs in thick sheets.
Storm comes forward and begins to peel the wet layers off.
Not a single word is spoken.
When I’m naked, he picks me up under the legs and carries me through the shed into the hammering rain outside and the house beyond. Droplets of oil and cum stain his carpet, but he doesn’t seem to care, carrying me to the bathroom and setting me up standing in the shower. He turns on the taps to full blast and I scream as cold water belts my body. It soon turns warm and then hot. He watches on with his cock still out and wet from its time spent buried in my body.
I run my fingers through my hair, attempt to squeeze the oil away. He helps, using a flannel to wipe the murky substance from my back and legs, taking extra time around my buttocks as I hang my head and watch the dense substance sucked away down the plughole.
When I’m suitably clean, he pulls the shower curtain closed. “I’ll leave you to it.”
I brush the curtain aside and pull him in, clothes and all, into the scalding stream of water. I draw him to my body and reach down for his cock.
I don’t even know who this Alice is.
I look into his eyes as I start to jerk him off, bringing his member back to life. “No, stay.”
Chapter Seven
I wake in a panic, sitting bolt upright. I’m in a strange room, a strange bed – again. There’s barely anything in here.
I look around to try to find something that might provide context.
Storm.
Steam clouds out from the bathroom doorway. I can hear the shower going.
My pussy’s actually throbbing between my legs and my entire body aches. When I lie back down I feel every joint working to accommodate the motion.
What. The. Hell, Alice?
What was I thinking? Did I even initiate it, or did he? I’m confused, disorientated. One minute I’m walking through the fields in the middle of nowhere and then I’m fucking a complete stranger – not just once either. No protection, Alice? God, what is happening to me? Who is this person, this alternate Alice who goes around sleeping with men she barely knows, or remembers?
I don’t know any more.
I roll over and take in his scent. It lingers, undertones of our many sex acts returning and the vividness of it rushing into my head.
It was amazing, yes. Different to my time with Dan, no doubt, but with an edge, a desperation and danger.
Can I allow myself to fall like this? Does he even want it? Maybe he’s simply hoping I just leave.
In your broken car, genius?
Oh.
He comes out of the shower drying his hair. He’s otherwise completely naked, his cock swinging freely between his legs. A pang of need shoots up my spine.
It’s different in the stark clarity of day. His scars have more contrast, his tats standing out on his skin. He makes his way over to the bed. He sits down on the edge and runs a finger up my exposed ankle. “I fixed your car. Hope you don’t mind.”
“What was wrong with it? The electrics, right?”
“Out of gas.”
I mentally slap myself. Idiot.
“Taped up that window too, but I’m afraid it’s still a bit of a swimming pool in there.”
“I figured. That was some storm.”
“Well, it is the season for it – twisters, hail, flying cows, you name it.”
“Flying cows?”
He laughs. It’s the first time I’ve seen him soften – figuratively and literally. “Perhaps not, but you don’t want to be anywhere near Rosie or Millerto
wn when one of those twisters comes through. Take it from me.”
He picks up his jeans from the floor and pulls them on not bothering with underwear. He finds a crumpled white tee in the corner and slings it over his head.
I get a hot flash as I remember his chest sliding over mine last night, the way my hands fisted in the sheets as we made love.
That wasn’t making love. That was raw, dirty fucking. You enjoyed it, didn’t you?
He looks at me curiously. “Knock, knock, anyone there?”
“Sorry, I-, I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
I grasp at the first thing that comes to mind. “My story?”
He holds his head in his hands and comes back up with a long inhale of breath. “You’re just not going to give it up, are you?”
I shake my head. “It’s not in my nature, sorry.”
He smiles. “I like that.”
He stands and leans against the wall. “Look, if you want to see the real Millertown, if you really want to tell her story, let me show you.”
“What, now?”
“There’s no better time than the present. Come on, we’ll grab a bite later.”
He tosses my clothes back at me warm from the dryer. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
When I come out, Storm’s already got his motorbike running. He twists the throttle and clouds billow from the back of the death machine through a blanket of heavy fog.
“I thought you said you weren’t a bikie.”
“Bikie implies I’m part of a club.”
“You’re not.”
“One man band.”
“I’m not getting on that thing,” I tell him.
He gives the throttle another squeeze. “My way or the highway.”
“What is this, cliché 101?”
He tosses me a helmet and scoots forward.
I throw the helmet on and swing up behind him, settling myself against the leather and dip of his back, closing my arms around his torso as the bike chugs below. The last time I was on a motorcycle was with Tim.
“I should warn you,” I start, raising my voice to compete with the erratic idle, “It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a-” but my words are lost as we take off at breakneck speed, burning out up the road towards Millertown. The world swims by in a blur as I press myself to Storm’s shoulder. He smells of machines, of sweat and the country and living free. He’s the complete antithesis of every guy I’ve dated, except for Tim.