“The skinny little fag?”
“Oh wow,” I gasped. “You don’t like him?”
“He’s polite as hell. Always pays his rent on time.” He said cheerily. “I like him just fine, why?”
It disappointed me greatly that he’d called Stephen a fag. As with anything that I took exception to, leaving it alone would be impossible. I consciously lowered my tone to keep from being too abrasive.
“Why did you…Well, why did you call him a fag?”
“He’s as queer as a football bat, that’s why. Hell, he doesn’t even try and hide it. See’s that kid that lives upstairs from him. Why, did you think he was cute or something? Gonna try and get him to switch teams?”
I glared at him just enough that he knew I meant business. “Calling someone a queer or a fag is like using the n-word to describe an African American. It’s derogatory, or whatever. It’s insulting. And, to be honest, it’s beyond rude.”
He scratched the sides of his head and gave me a confused stare. “Since when?”
“I don’t know. Since fifty years ago.”
“What am I supposed to call him?”
“You’re not supposed to call him anything. You should accept him as being just another person on this earth.”
“I ain’t one of them weirdos, if that’s what you’re thinking. I don’t think he’s going to try and grab my pickle or anything.”
Mort didn’t mean any harm, but he was far from harmless. I felt the need to educate him further on the subject. “I didn’t think you were. I’m just…I wanted to let you know that calling someone that might be grounds for a lawsuit.”
He looked at me like I’d taken the last slice of pizza without asking if he wanted it. “Calling him a fag’s against the law?”
“It’s discriminatory.”
“Well.” His gaze fell to his lap. After a moment, he looked up. “I’ll just start calling him by his name, then.”
I grinned. “Okay.”
“What’s that little homos name, anyway?” He asked flatly. “Do you know?”
I shot him an evil glare.
He slapped his hand against his knee and laughed. “I’m pulling your leg. I’ll call him Stephen, how’s that?”
I rolled my eyes. “Better.”
“Other’n that, how’s it going?”
“Good. A guy’s considering renting 3-A. He looked at it last week.”
“I was going to talk to you about that,” he said. “I completely forgot to mention it, but Kale offers that to the manager for cost. So, if you want it, you can get it for a song.”
It rented for five grand a month. I had no idea what cost was, but I knew I couldn’t afford it. “Just out of curiosity, how much is cost?”
“He divides the yearly taxes by the amount of units, divides that by twelve, and that’s the monthly cost. Taxes are seventy-two grand a year, so the manager gets it for five hundred a month.”
I could hardly contain myself. “Five hundred dollars?”
He nodded. “American money.”
I rested my arms on the edge of the desk and looked him in the eyes. “Five hundred dollars?”
“Due on the third of every month.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Damn, that was quick.” He chuckled. “What about that fella that was looking at it?”
“He was just looking for a place to stay for a while he does some remodeling. I’ve been living with my cousin and her evil twins. He lives next door. I need it worse than he does.”
He leaned against the back of his chair and scrunched his nose. “You talking about the biker that drives the Porsche?”
“Drives a Porsche? I uhhm. I don’t know.” I rubbed the back of my palm. “This guy has an eyeball tattooed on his hand.”
“That’s him. Don’t look like it, but he’s a pretty nice fella. Owns some car washes and a sandwich place over in El Cajon. Bunch of his buddies work for him. They drink beer all hours of the night, but they don’t bother nobody. He’s got a shit ton of motorcycles, though. Parks ‘em in the basement. They ride ‘em out of there six at a time. Look like they’re in a parade.”
“In a parade?”
“Sure do. They’re all evenly spaced and side by side when they ride. Same way, every time. Like they’re in a parade.”
“He drives a Porsche, too?”
“Yep. Silver one. Told me it’ll take off from a standstill so fast that it’ll make your eyeballs hurt. Offered to give me a ride, but it sits too low for me to get my fat ass in it. Gettin’ in wouldn’t be bad. Gettin’ out might be a trick, though.”
“You’re not fat,” I said.
He slid his flattened hands over his belly until they came to a stop where I assumed his belt was hidden. “Fatter’n I ought to be.”
“That’s a matter of opinion,” I said with a smile and a nod. “I think you look just fine.”
“Nice of you to say, but I’m still not gettin’ in that thing. You should get that fella to take you for a ride in it, though. Sounds like a bunch of cats fighting when he fires it up, but it’s faster’n a rocket full of monkeys.”
I smiled at the thought of monkeys being launched in a rocket. “I didn’t know he had one of those.”
“Well, he had it when they arrested Todd. Seen him that evening in it. After the cops got done asking questions.”
“Asking him questions, or asking you questions?”
“Asking me. Don’t know that they asked him anything. Probably could have, though.”
I was intrigued. “Why do you say that?”
“He knew Todd. Seen him ‘em arguing a few times. Wondered if that weirdo owed him money or something, but figured it wasn’t my business.”
I wondered if they were friends, business associates, or if they’d simply met in passing. I couldn’t see Baker dealing in drugs, but the possibility crossed my mind.
“You don’t think Baker deals drugs, do you?”
His eyes narrowed. “Who the hell is Baker?”
“He’s the guy with the tattoo on his hand.”
“Oh.” He shook his head slowly. “Hard saying, I suppose. Wouldn’t be my guess, he doesn’t seem like the type.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
The door swung open. I was surprised to see Baker standing there, and couldn’t help but wonder if he heard us talking about him.
Mort glanced over his shoulder and then stood. “Speak of the devil. Were your ears burnin’?”
“They weren’t.” Baker extended his arm. “Should they have been?”
Mort shook his hand. “We were talking about that noisy piece of German shit you drive.”
“The Porsche?” Baker asked, pronouncing the word Por-shuh, which was different than when Mort had said it.
Mort gave him a look. “Is that how you say it?”
“It’s the correct pronunciation. It’s a two-syllable word.”
“They should spell it different, then,” Mort said.
“They probably should.”
Baker was wearing jeans, black Converse low-tops, and a fitted black tee shirt that left little to the imagination. No differently than any other time when he was in my presence, I got lost in admiring him. Worried that I’d do something that gave away our little secret, I shifted my eyes away from them and began to fidget with a pen.
“You need anything, Andy?” Mort asked.
I looked up. “I don’t think so.”
“I’m gonna leave you two to it, then.” He slapped Baker on the shoulder. “She’s got some bad news for you, Bud.”
Baker looked at me. “What’s that?”
“Let me get out of here, first,” Mort said with a laugh. “I’ve got to try and get to Chula Vista before dark, and if you two start scrappin’, I’ll want to stay and watch.”
“Thanks, Mort,” I stood and then walked around my desk. “See you next week.”
“See ya, Kid,” he said over his shoulder.
As the sound of
him going down the stairway diminished to nothing, I looked at Baker. He broke my gaze and looked away.
He went to the window and stared out at the street for a moment. After an awkward period of silence, he turned around. Worry washed over his face. I wanted to tell him the news, but his eyes told me it wasn’t a good time.
I decided to sit down and wait for the right time to tell him. I faced my desk. Before I took my first step I felt his hand on my shoulder. Hoping he was willing to talk about whatever seemed to be bothering him, I pivoted on the balls of my feet and spun around.
The look in his eyes had changed.
Drastically.
11
BAKER
Since my introduction to this earth, I’d been tracked by US Marshals, stabbed twice, hit by a speeding truck while running from an ATF agent, chased by local police, shot at, and involved in more fights than I could ever accurately count. I’d been accused of much, convicted of nothing, and suspected of committing dozens upon dozens of various crimes since childhood.
Through the course of it all, I never faltered. Not once. Solid as a rock was how my MC brethren described me. Regardless of what life tossed in front of me, I knew I would never stumble, take pause, or deviate from my normal manner of behavior.
Being in Andy’s presence caused me to question my beliefs.
I’d formulated and carried out plans to rob banks during their business hours, break into Federal Savings and Loan institutions that were considered burglar-proof, and even relieved a political dignitary of his jewels while he was traveling in an armed motorcade.
But.
I couldn’t seem to concoct a way to rid myself of Andy.
For her safety – and for my well-being – I desperately needed to end what was developing between us. I was foolish for having fucked her in the first place. If I didn’t make a change quickly, Cash would eventually see us together.
When he did all bets were off.
I gazed through the glass of her office window, focused solely on ending the sexual relationship between us. Getting rid of her entirely could come later.
Count to three, Bake.
Then, turn around and tell her you’re married.
I drew a shallow breath.
One.
Two.
Three.
I faced her. Like sheets of fine golden silk tinged with vermilion, her hair cascaded over her shoulders. Wearing an innocent smile, she looked at me and batted her eyes. Until that moment, I would have described them as simply being brown.
They weren’t.
They were the color of honey. Thin shards of broken brown glass were sprinkled throughout the iris, adding such depth and beauty that I couldn’t bring myself to speak.
She broke my gaze and turned toward her desk. I needed one last look at her. An image I could hold onto long after she was gone. I reached for her shoulder.
She spun around and looked me in the eyes.
Eliminating her from my life wasn’t possible.
Fueled by nothing more than carnal desire, I lifted her from her feet and stumbled toward the wall. As we came crashing to a stop against it, she searched my eyes for answers.
I didn’t have an answer.
It wasn’t love. Hell, it wouldn’t even qualify as lust. If I had to identify the driving force behind what was happening to me, I’d blame it on her voodoo pussy. Explaining that to her, however, would cause her to view me as an idiot.
Her lips parted slightly. I feared she was going to speak. There wasn’t anything she could say that I was willing to hear. I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to fuck. The only thing that came to mind to keep her from speaking wasn’t at all what I expected.
I kissed her.
She returned the kiss with uninhibited passion. I pressed my body against hers and blindly reached for the hem of her dress. In response, her hands fumbled to unbuckle my belt. As wrong as I knew it was, at that moment it was perfect. At that moment, there was no risk. At that moment, my ability to reason was lost.
I flipped her dress above her waist and reached for her panties. Frustrated, and aching to feel myself inside her, I yanked against the material until it broke free. After tearing the other side in two, I tossed the tattered material on the floor at our side.
She spread her legs wide and raised her hips until her inner thighs brushed against me. As our tongues continued to dance together fervently, she guided my cock into her wetness.
I thrust myself deep inside of her and closed my eyes. Nothing. Else. Mattered.
Our lips parted.
Our eyes met.
I was mindless. Lost in the feeling that filled me when I was inside of her, I stared at her blankly while I caught my breath.
She flipped her hair over her shoulder and sucked in a breath. “Fuck me…” she said through her teeth. “…like there’s no rules.”
When my cock was buried deep inside her tight little pussy, I knew very little. At that instant, however, I knew one thing.
Quitting her was going to be impossible.
12
ANDY
He was either disappointed with me or trying to prove a point. I didn’t care which it was. I’d always wanted to be smashed up against a wall and shoved full of dick by a tattooed biker. He was simply satisfying a fantasy I’d harbored for years.
“I. Love. Fucking. Your. Tight. Little. Pussy.” Each spoken word of his admission was complimented with a savage shove of his entire length.
Suspended above the floor by nothing more than the force of him fucking me, my thank you came in the form of a grunt that shot from my lungs each time he thrust his hips.
With his jeans around his ankles and my dress draped over his forearms, he continued like a man possessed by sexual demons. Caught up in the moment and enjoying every inch of what he offered me, I gave no objection.
The air between grew thick with the scent of his cologne. He smelled like heaven. I closed my eyes and allowed the aroma to carry me away.
His ability to transform me to a place void of outside influence fascinated me.
But. He was still a man. And, men were evil creatures. They lied, cheated, and ruined the lives of everyone in their wake. Baker’s surprise kiss somehow allowed me to forget that fact. For that moment, while we were embraced in the kiss, my past – and all the memories associated with it – vanished.
Unlike most women, I’d never really enjoyed kissing or being kissed. It was far too intimate of an act. Baker’s kiss was different. It brought with it a wave of complexity that cast me into an unfamiliar place. Despite the magic of the kiss, he a man.
And, men were evil.
If I allowed myself to become attached to him, he’d eventually hurt me. Having that knowledge allowed me to fuck him without fear of what the future held.
Because we were just fucking.
“Your cock feels like velvet,” I breathed.
He withdrew himself until the tip of his swollen dick cleared my pussy lips. His chin raised slightly. “Velvet?”
I drew a breath and then nodded eagerly. “Uh…huh.”
“Velvet’s soft and smooth.” His brows knitted together. “My cock’s like steel.”
It was like steel. But it was so very smooth, like velvet. I raised my eyebrows. “Velvet steel.”
He gave me a mild-mannered glare, gripped my ass firmly, and then slammed his entire length balls-deep. “Does that feel like fucking velvet?”
The tip of his dick felt like it was in my chest.
“Asshole,” I seethed. “You’re going to rip me apart.”
He pulled his hips back ever so gently. Then, without warning, he shoved every inch of his thick shaft into me, again.
He grinned a sly grin. “Velvet steel.”
I winced in pain. Being skewered by dick wasn’t a great feeling. “I mean it,” I said. “If you make me bleed...”
“Novices bleed.”
“Well, I’m definitely not a professional.”
&
nbsp; His jaw tightened. “I’ll turn you into one.”
I gave him a look. “You’re going to make me a whore?”
He nodded. “My little whore.”
I wasn’t anyone’s property, nor would I ever be. I’d let him fantasize about me being a whore if it made him happy for the next ten minutes, so I offered no opposition to his claim.
“Shut up and fuck me,” I said dryly. “I was almost there.”
Holding me where my butt cheeks met my thighs, he spread me open wide in preparation for what was to come. In anticipation, I arched my back and closed my eyes. Then, slowly and predictably, he rowed his hips back and forth.
With each stroke I was stretched open one slow inch at a time, and I savored each one of them. Methodically, his massive girth slid in and out, bringing with it a sensation unlike anything I’d ever had the pleasure of feeling.
His cock was huge, but somehow it fit me perfectly. When we stopped fucking, and that day would eventually come, I feared I’d be ruined from ever finding anyone that could provide the level of sexual satisfaction Baker offered me.
At that moment, however, I didn’t want to think about not fucking him.
My back pounded against the wall as he fucked me, and fucked me, and fucked me. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to become immersed in the pleasure his thick cock gave me. Being fucked by Baker made me mindless, and I loved it. My surroundings seemed to diminish to nothing, leaving me hypersensitive to his every touch.
I opened my eyes. Eventually, his gaze met mine. I studied his face as his breathing changed from predictable to becoming choppy and unexpected. From my aching nipples to my swollen clit, a tingling began, increasing in intensity as it ran through me.
I felt his cock swell. The tell-tale sign of a man reaching orgasm, the feeling brought me to the brink of climax. The sounds of the traffic, his breathing, and our skin slapping together diminished to nothing. All that remained was the magical feeling of being filled with his dick.
As he reached peak of sexual satisfaction, the sounds of his pleasure pierced the silence. Almost immediately they were overshadowed by my own moaning. Certain the impending orgasm was going to be the one that ended my life, I took a tremendous chance. It was a risk, no doubt, but one that made perfect sense in my mindless state.
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