The lazy afternoon sun streamed in through the window of the bedroom, catching the dust in the air and lighting it up like sparks or flecks of gold. The golden light played across the bedroom, falling on the faces of old collectible dolls, of dusty books that hadn’t been read in years. It pooled around the old records and discarded clothing. In spite of the mess of the room, the sunshine made a beautiful sight, but the two people on the bed weren’t paying any sort of attention.

 

Griffin kissed down the stomach of the girl—whose name he had already forgotten. She moaned appreciatively as his tongue hit home, lapping at her until she grabbed fistfuls of his dark hair and attempted to bring him up to face her.

 

She was hot in that biker chick sort of way, with bone-straight, dark hair that was clearly dyed, and sleepy, unimpressed eyes. Tattoos were scrawled over her body; she looked like a sexy coloring book. Griffin didn’t care, honestly, it all worked for him.

 

The girl looked up at him once they were facing each other again, her lips moist and parted, her skin flushed with want and desire.

 

“Just fuck me already,” she demanded.

 

Griffin reached behind her head and grabbed a handful of her silky hair. With a forceful hand, he pulled, snapping her head back. He leaned over and growled in her ear, “I’ll fuck you when I want to fuck you.”

 

The girl squirmed with pleasure as he moved downwards once again, staring at the ceiling until Griffin hit his mark, and then she was panting, writhing on the bed, as though she couldn’t take it anymore. She gasped as she came, and he pressed himself harder between her legs, licking up every drop before pulling back and unbuttoning his pants.

 

The girl was still riding the wave of the terrific orgasm, as he slowly made his way back up her body, sliding the condom on and positioning himself between her legs. She looked up at him with those heavily lidded eyes, full of impatience to the point where Griffin considered denying her once again, but there was no point in wasting time. He buried himself inside of her, listening to her squeals of pleasure as he began to move his hips. It felt good, because it always felt good.

 

They moved together in the golden light of the afternoon, fucking during that strange and lovely time of day—before the sun started to slouch off towards sundown.

 

When Griffin put his mind to it, he could last a long time, thus giving him a bit of a reputation with the girls around town. It was a point of pride to him, but this encounter wasn’t something he planned on lingering over. He drove into her with a frenzy, clenching his teeth and gripping her hips in an effort to go harder and deeper, as she moaned and thrashed in appreciation.

 

She hooked her ankles around his waist, allowing him to go deeper. She seemed to enjoy it, but then again they always did. He pulled back for a moment before withdrawing completely and grabbing ahold of her ankle. She looked at him quizzically until her expression burst with understanding as he flipped her over onto her stomach. Guiding himself in again, he worked at her from behind, as she moaned and convulsed into the pillow.

 

After he felt her climax around him, he flipped her over again and went hard, feeling it edging up for him, knowing that it was coming.

 

“Do you want it?” he growled.

 

“Yes,” she replied, her voice muffled.

 

Finally, with a grunt, he came, grabbing fistfuls of the quaint little quilt that she had spread out on her bed. The pleasure of it all made his mind go pleasantly blank, and he gave himself a moment to collect his thoughts before feeling the tentative creeping of her fingers as they traced up his back, the trap of her arms wrapping around him. With a sudden movement, he pushed himself away, rolling next to her on the bed. It was important, in times like these, to maintain a distance.

 

Her cool eyes turned to him, trying to remain unimpressed, but he could see the poison of tenderness dawning in her eyes. Wasn’t that always what happened? A chick simply didn’t know how to detach. After catching his breath for a moment, he moved from the bed to gather his clothes. The girl stretched like a cat who had been fed far too much cream, smiling at him appreciatively as she watched him bend over to retrieve his shirt.

 

“You sure know what you’re doing, huh?” she asked, drawling out her vowels in that lazy Texas accent.

 

“Always,” he replied with a disconnected air. Now that his need had been met, his mind had turned to far more serious tasks at hand.

 

The girl rolled onto her stomach, levelling him with a gaze that clearly said that she wanted something from him. “So do I.”

 

Her words were weighed with such smug self-importance that it gave Griffin pause. He looked over at her. His face was full—not with disdain—but with an exasperation that ran deep. He felt as though this sort of thing happened all too often, so it was best to nip it in the bud completely.

 

He assessed her blandly before shrugging on his tight, black shirt. The muscles underneath the tattoos on his forearms rippled, and he knew that she was watching. She was hot enough, all lean curves and cat-like grace, and her tongue was quick and clever, as well. Unfortunately, she also was the same as every other biker chick he had ever met.

 

“So, what do you think,” Griffin began. “That you’re going to be the bad girl who turns the bad guys good?”

 

She faltered for a moment, her eyes narrowing in hurt, or was she just shocked that he had called her out so completely?

 

“Now listen…uh…,” he paused, realizing too late that he didn’t even know her name.

 

She realized this as well, and Griffin could feel the frostiness radiating from her side of the room.

 

“It’s Desiree,” she said, clearly displeased. He tried not to laugh at that—although it was more from relief than anything else.

 

“Right, Desiree. Well, Desiree, since we run in similar circles, I’m sure you’ve heard about me.”

 

The corner of Desiree’s mouth twitched in an unwillingness to acknowledge it, given the fact that he had no idea who she even was. Finally, a little bit of her gave up, and she nodded.

 

He smiled insincerely and continued, “Then you know I have a reputation. I’m a good lay but not good for much else when it comes to girls like you.”

 

“What if I’m not the girl you think I am?” she asked, a challenge in her eyes.

 

“You are…trust me.”

 

He sat on the bed, as he laced up his boots. Desiree slithered up behind him and traced her fingertips down the fine, strong lines of his back. He sighed, as though in annoyance under her touch, but continued to lace his boots up anyway.

 

“Sure, I know about Griffin, the big bad vice president who loves to love them and leave them…but don’t you get tired?”

 

Whether or not he was, he had no plans of telling some chick he had picked up at the bar whether he was tired of the game—besides he wasn’t. He brushed her off and stood, reaching for his leather jacket and hanging it over one shoulder.

 

“Listen, you’re a decent lay. Good for you. So if you want round two, I might be up for it. But if you’re just going to try to spring this on me again, then pick someone else up from the Bootheel, because I don’t want to have this conversation again.”

 

He ignored the hurt look on her face, as he grabbed the keys to his bike. He could still feel her eyes on him as he walked out, accusing and hurt, feeling every feeling he warned her that she would feel in a situation such as this. As he made his way into the living room, he heard her curse under her breath and move. As he got to the door, he heard a noise in the living room and stopped.

 

She was standing in the doorway of her bedroom wrapped in a silky bathrobe. Her hair was still messy, her eye makeup smudged, and for a moment, he could feel himself getting a little hard again. It was no use. Of course, he didn’t have time for it, and she was also far too clingy for it. She cocked her hip in the doorway and put a hand on it, assuming the universal pose of a woman exasperated with a man.

 

“So where are you going now?” she asked, still trying to maintain the connection, still attempting to make him stay.

 

Griffin took another deep, annoyed breath before turning and opening the door. He didn’t stop and linger one more time; he didn’t do any of that. Instead, he merely tossed his parting words over his shoulder as he left: “To plan a funeral.”