I had absolutely no fear that she wouldn’t obey those orders. Her life depended on it.
She came around to the back, swung her right leg over the bike, straddled it, and clamped her arms around me. Though she had never ridden a motorcycle with me before, it reminded me of the time that we had gone cliff diving at a lake about an hour north of Romara. She had wrapped her arms around me, begging not to jump.
We couldn’t see a repeat of that exact scene tonight, mostly because the lake had since closed down and it was too far of a ride anyways. But that moment, when she had her arms around me, was when I had first fallen in love with her.
Memory one, fulfilled.
“Here we go!”
With a twist of my wrist, the engine roared to life, we peeled out of the parking lot, and we were on the main road.
And Heather screamed like I’d never screamed in her life.
There were many empathic reactions I could have had, but instead, I just laughed. Yeah, it was scary. The first time being on anything that moved fast was scary.
But I knew from past experiences with other women that those screams would invariably turn into cheers of delight. The girl begging to get off the bike would soon beg to stay on the bike. The woman who sounded like she was going to cry would soon be laughing.
It wasn’t going to be any different with Heather. If anything, it could have wound up happening faster because of how she felt about me.
And sure enough, as we approached Interstate 15, the highway that stretched from Los Angeles all the way to Las Vegas and beyond, Heather’s screams slowly muted into silence before surging back as laughters and cheers of excitement. It was a sound that I delighted in.
But more than that, I relished her arms around me. Even if she had to do it because of being on the bike, it still brought me back to the day when I had served as her only apparent safety valve. In those youthful, blissful days as two teenagers in a small town, without the entertainment that a major city like Los Angeles or San Francisco provided, we had to depend on each other for entertainment, humor, and security. I provided Heather physical security; she provided me emotional security.
Ten years later, not much had changed.
Our destination was only about fifteen minutes away, but it went by far too fast. I just wanted to ride my bike until the gas ran out, spending as much time as I could with Heather’s embrace on me. I suppose, though, that having Heather across from me at the diner of our first date wasn’t so bad.
“This place is still open?” Heather said in surprise.
“Yep,” I said as I turned the bike off before the “Interstate Diner” a small diner that looked like it had come from the 60’s or 70’s. Back in the day, when Heather and I had frequented the spot, it was a pretty sparsely visited place; our first date only had one other couple there. “The Kings like to frequent this place. And I guess they get enough other business outside of us to keep them in business.”
We went inside and saw the large radio booth with the flipbook of songs, the visible kitchen equipment, and the booths. The floor had a checkerboard pattern of white and black tiles, and the ceiling had an almost rounded arch shape to it. Various photos of old-school California adorned the walls—including multiple ones with motorcycles on them.
“I can’t believe it,” Heather said.
“You remember what this place is, right?” I said.
“Yeah… I just can’t believe you remember.”
I laughed.
“I suppose I really did have to prove to you that this meant much more to me than just something quick and casual, huh?”
Heather just turned and smiled. I swore that if I had wanted to, I could have kissed her right there. The way she smiled so much that her eyes narrowed, the way she leaned into me as we walked to our booth, the way that her arm went around me…
I could have had it.
But that may have very well undersold what it was I was trying to demonstrate.
In the next half hour at dinner, over burgers, fries, and milkshakes, we traded stories about our lives. I joked about the times I used my big brother status over Landon to whip him into shape, and Heather told me about the crazier hippies that she met while living in San Francisco. I spent far too long talking about the first time that I started to ride a motorcycle seriously, and yet Heather seemed to eat it up.
There were only two topics that I didn’t dive into, and they weren’t really “first date” topics anyways—why I had left her all those years ago, and the six-year gap that happened between my father dying and me becoming president of the Savage Kings. Those were topics that were turbulent enough to talk about in a normal setting; to do so on what was supposed to be an upbeat and happy date was a good way to ensure our “first” date was definitely our last.
At the conclusion of dinner, with the bill paid, Heather folded her hands and leaned forward.
“So, what now, Brock?”
We’d brought back the feelings from the moment that I had fallen in love with her. We’d brought back the memories from the first date. So now, we only had to go back just one more time—to the first time that I had seen Heather and fallen for her.
“I’ll tell you when we get there,” I said.
“You’re not going to tell me now?!?” she said in mock disappointment.
“If I told you now, it might seem a little weird,” I said. “So you’ll just have to trust me. Do you?”
Heather leaned back in her booth, placing her hands on her lap. Her smile widened.
“Yes.”
That was all I needed to hear. I rose from my seat, offered my hand, and walked her back out to the bike. Now it was my time for the hairs on my arms to stand up and for my stomach to flip on itself. I guess Heather wasn’t the only one getting swallowed up by the moment.
I revved the engine, caught my breath, and drove us back down the highway toward Romara. I got one mile out when I took the exit just before downtown Romara, heading for a small park that had a hill that went up a few hundred feet. It wasn’t anything that would appear on a website or make any photographs, but it was the one place in town that provided a bird’s eye view of the town.
As soon as I killed the engine, Heather knew as much.
“My mom used to take me here all the time for walks,” she said.
“So let’s take one ourselves,” I said.
The entirety of the walk took less than ten minutes. The trail, dusty and full of maroon-colored pebbles and rocks, wasn’t quite as hilly as my childhood had made it out to be. It wasn’t the kind of hike that even came close to taking my breath away.
But when we got to the top of the hill, everything played out exactly how I had remembered it.
“Why here?” Heather asked.
I put my arm around her and pulled her into me.
“This was the first time I ever saw you, Heather,” I said. “We were just kids then. Twelve, thirteen years old, maybe. But you had a youthful energy about you that you still have even now. You just seemed like the sweetest girl alive, and I just wanted to kiss you so badly at the time.”
I almost made a comment along the lines of “I’ve wanted a little more since then” but I kept my mouth shut.
“It took me a few years to finally realize that kiss, but when I finally did, do you remember—”
“That it happened here,” she said, looking up at me in awe.
“It…”
My voice trailed off. Her eyes were doing all the talking that was needed in that moment.
I leaned down, closed my eyes, and kissed Heather Leary.
6
Heather
It was the perfect date.
It was exactly what I needed to see from Brock King to know that he was serious and real about us being something. Brock hadn’t just taken me to the right spots—he had taken me to our spots. He had led me back down our past, back before things got dark, back before we split without warning, and back before I associated the name “
Brock King” with manipulative and hurtful.
And in doing so, when combined with his usual charm and handsome side, Brock had officially won me over.
Maybe things would change later, but right now, I wasn’t even considering that possibility. I was too immersed in Brock’s kiss, Brock’s body, and Brock’s aura. I had jumped into him without abandon, and however the rest of the night went, I wasn’t going to hold back on anything.
Yeah, he was with a violent motorcycle club. But he had protected me from the violence. I trusted him to not entangle me in that world.
I trusted him to be Brock, the gentleman, and not Brock, the president of the MC.
“Just like old times, huh?” I said with a giggle.
“Just like old times,” he repeated back. “I’m sorry you ever had any doubts about my sincerity. I really have always wanted you, Heather. I just sometimes forget to tone down the boldness, and—”
“Never,” I said, patting his chest. “Never apologize for being bold. I like you being bold. I want you to be bold with me, Brock.”
“Hmm,” he said, stroking his beard. “Be careful what you wish for. I’ve been careful about what I’ve pushed for tonight so you don’t get the wrong idea about me.”
I laughed and leaned my head into his chest.
“I have exactly the right idea about you, Brock,” I said. “I know who you are. I dated you for two years. I know you’ve changed, but people don’t change that much.”
For a brief moment, when I looked up at his eyes, I wondered if I had said something wrong. He looked like he was avoiding saying something, and he certainly didn’t look like he agreed with what I said. His expression was too contorted and hurting.
But the micro-expression vanished in a second, and he instead just smiled at me, as if I hadn’t said anything unsettling at all to him.
“So then you wouldn’t mind if I was a little bold?”
“Not in the slightest,” I said. “In fact, I would encourage you to be more bold. Say what you want and what you really need, Brock. I’ll probably agree to it. After all, let’s not forget how close we were Thursday night before everything happened.”
Brock reached his hand under my shirt and ran it up and down, running over the outline of my bra. As close as I was to him, I could feel his pants bulging. I was already wet from the vibrations of the bike—that alone was enough to get me horny and excited. But now knowing where he was going with this?
It was official. I was back to where I’d been Thursday night, sexually energized and unable and unwilling to detach. The only difference was now, I was under the spell of Brock the gentleman and not Brock the player.
“I want to make love to you, Heather Richards,” he said. “I want to make sweet love to you, but I want to do it my way. I want to show you how a real man makes love. I want to show you how I would bring you to climax and to the greatest pleasure of your life.”
“Oh, hell yes,” I said, running my hand under his shirt and doing the same thing he was doing. “My place is just a few minutes from here. It’ll probably be closer than your place.”
“You’ll direct me?”
“Absolutely.”
The scene resembled the one from Thursday night. We made out before we even got inside of my apartment. This time, I was the one kicking the door behind, but otherwise, it played out virtually the same way.
Brock picked me up and carried me to the bedroom. We tore at each other’s clothing until he was down to nothing but his boxers and I only had my pants and underwear on. He got his hands curled inside them, pulled just a couple inches down, and paused.
“No distractions?” he said loudly, as if taunting the world to stop us.
Something told me that even if gunfire broke out on the street or some other violence came to try and interrupt our love-making, Brock wouldn’t stop. Someone would have to physically force him to stop before he quit.
“That’s what I thought.”
With that, it was like he picked off exactly from that spot two nights ago. He yanked my pants off and had me completely naked. I reached down and felt how wet I was, but Brock pulled my hands away.
“That’s my job, sexy,” he said. “You sit back, relax, and let me do the work.”
I nodded, my breathing so heavy and labored I couldn’t bring out any words. Brock kissed my feet, kissed my knee, and worked his way up my thighs. It was just like my fant—
He kissed my sex, pressed his tongue on it, and went to work.
No, it was nothing like my fantasy. It was better. It was much fucking better.
He didn’t wait to plunge his tongue into me like I had imagined. He went right for it, true to his character. His tongue against my clit also felt so much better than I ever could have imagined; it was of such enormous pleasure that it was practically impossible for me to imagine pleasure this good.
“Oh, fuck, Brock,” I said, tossing my head back and running my hands through his slicked back hair.
The words only seemed to further encourage him. He established a fast but steady pace of using his tongue and his lips to toy with my clit. He sucked, flicked, and danced around the entirety of my sex. His hands started on my hips, holding me down, creating pressure that I begged to fight against, but halfway through, he switched it up and put his hands under my ass, squeezing and causing my body to twitch with pleasure.
“Just wait till I get inside you,” he said before going right back to eating me out.
Do I have to wait? I want it now!
“Do it now,” I gasped. “Get inside me.”
“How close are you?”
I couldn’t lie. I was really close. Much closer much faster than I would have anticipated.
“Exactly.”
I hadn’t anticipated it, but the breaths that he took and the brief pause between him eating me out seemed to reset my pleasure, and the moments that he went right back to eating me out were far better than the ones before he stopped talking. It was like hitting the brakes on the orgasm process before accelerating to a much faster speed than before.
All of it meant that within just a few short minutes, I was practically tearing my hair out as the climax came on the horizon. I squeezed my legs tight against him, my chest went flush red, and my hands squeezed the roots of his hair.
“Yes, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” I yelled.
Brock looked up at me with the most seductive eyes I’d ever seen in my life. They were eyes that said “you’re mine to control.” It was only a momentary glance, but it was a glance that pushed me over the edge.
With a squeeze of my ass, a flick of his tongue, and a little pressure forward, Brock pushed me to orgasm. The hot rush of pleasure spread through my body like a broken dam. I lurched in his grasp, but Brock kept me under control. My hips quivered violently, and my clit throbbed.
I had to shove him away with my hands, for Brock’s pleasure was so good, it threatened to transition to pain. I heard him take his boxers off, but I was still too busy catching my breath. I threw my right arm over my eyes as I came down.
“Ready for some more?”
I opened my eyes to see his naked body hovering over mine. I looked down at his enormous cock and shivered with anticipation.
“No rest for the weary, huh?” I said with a weak laugh.
“Nope,” he said. “I told you I was going to show you how a real man makes love.”
He was right in one regard. He had never eaten me out when we dated as teenagers. He had grown up in that way, at least.
He put his head over my left shoulder. I stared at the ceiling, feeling him brush against the opening of my pussy. I wrapped my arms around him, still not fully recovered from the last orgasm.
And then he started to slide into me, smoothly and without any friction. I was so damn wet, and he was so damn hard.
And then, as soon as he was sure that he could, he began pumping his cock into me furiously, shaking the bed and shifting it on its moorings.
“Oh my God, Brock!” I whimpered, uttering his name with almost every thrust that followed. My arms clamped down, sealing him to me. I was holding on for dear life as I felt a second orgasm approach.
Brock had his way with me on that bed for what seemed like an eternity. He made me come from missionary, cowgirl, and doggy. The doggy orgasm was by far the best—by holding on to my hips, his thrusts into me were the deepest and most aggressive of all. And unlike the other two positions, where he didn’t quite have the leverage of other spots, he had complete control and mobility.
It was a whirlwind of orgasms, ecstasy, and gasps. Our breathing soon mirrored each other, and we became less two people fucking each other and more like one entity reaching a mutual orgasm. Whenever I could, I looked into Brock’s eyes, and I didn’t see Brock the teenage lust or Brock the MC president.
I saw Brock the man, the animal, the beast. I saw a Brock that no one else saw. He may have slept with other women, but I just knew form the way that he looked at me that no one had generated that kind of interest like I had.
Maybe it was a little selfish, but I didn’t care. I was the one getting laid right then with the best sex of my life.
Brock finally came when we went back to missionary. I felt his cock harden in the moments before it happened, and he began repeating my name over and over again. I grabbed his ass and swung my hips in rhythm, encouraging the release of his seed.
When he came, he let out the loudest roar I’d ever heard in my life. It certainly sounded like much more of a bellow than he’d ever made before; maybe he’d been self-conscious before, or maybe he just hadn’t had the sexual confidence to cry out like so. But whatever the reason, it gave me a surge of pride to know that I had been the one to produce that orgasm. I had been the one he’d fallen for.
I was the one that had given Brock the best sex of his life.
For several moments, Brock just lay collapsed on top of me. His face was buried into my neck as his breathing steadied. I gently scratched his back, comforting him like I had for so many nights in our youth.
Stained Reunion Page 3