6

I FIND A motel similar to the one in Troy and go inside to pay, leaving Saylor with the bike and the twenty-pound bag of snacks. When I come out, she is taking a picture again. When we get to the room, she walks around with her eyes closed and inhales, again. Then she tells me it’s perfect, again. I see a pattern forming and it is so intriguing, I want to know why she does this. I will ask her. Eventually.

We have two beds again and I will take the one unoccupied until she asks me to sleep with her, which I’m sure she will—if the pattern continues. I take a shower then join her for breakfast at the table.

“You know what I like about biscuits?” she says through a mouthful of food. I don’t know, but I’m dying to hear. I want to know more about her. Even the simple shit. Like what she likes about biscuits. “Jelly. It’s like dessert.” I see her point. I wait for her to say something else. I’ve never hated the silence; I’ve always welcomed it. But when she is with me, all I want to hear is her. We can talk about anything. Fucking female problems if she wants. I’m debating asking her a question. One that’s simple, like her favorite color.

I shift in my seat, willing my mouth to speak. “What’s your favorite color?” she asks, and I shoot her that looks that says, Are you fucking kidding me? but she is undeterred. “Mine is black. Is that weird?”

Her face is pinched in confusion. She wants an answer, but I can’t speak. My brain is still processing how the hell she can read my thoughts. Maybe she is a witch. That would explain this crazy spell I seem to be under.

“Yellow. And it’s not weird.” I huff, and grab my bag before heading into the bathroom. Thoughts of the supernatural and witches and those people who can move shit with their eyes are pounding in my head.

Maybe I’m just that transparent. I light a smoke and then another one, trying to get my pulse to return to normal. When I feel half-ass like myself again, I return to the room.

She is in bed, writing in her diary. I strip down and she watches with lustful eyes. Then she licks her lips. And I go hard. I crawl into the bed she isn’t in and roll onto my stomach, burying my face in the pillow. It has that motel smell, and I wish I had her pillow instead of this one.

I close my eyes, and before the darkness sets in, I feel her sitting on my ass. She is wearing my favorite outfit. I don’t have to look at her to know it. I can feel the heat from her pussy through my boxers and her naked legs on either side of my hips.

“I’ve always been a dreamer,” she says as her hands rub together and then stroke my back. They are wet with lotion. The pressure is intense, but feels so fucking good I almost moan. “I’ve wanted to be just about everything. It started with a lawyer when I was a kid. I didn’t even know what they did, but I wanted to be one.” She makes her way to my shoulders, then slides her hands down my spine, across to my hips, and back again to my shoulders.

“Then I wanted to be a teacher. I like kids, but twenty-four of them for eight hours a day is too much.” I’m trying to concentrate on her words, but her hands are all over me and it’s hard to focus. “Anyway, I aspired to be a singer and when that didn’t work out, I chose massage therapy. I never made it through the whole class, but I did learn the basics.” And it shows.

I feel myself relax under her touch, and eventually my body has the same consistency of the jelly we ate this morning.

“I love the way your muscles feel under my hands,” she whispers, and I tense at her choice of words. Love. Not like, but love. “I want to rub you every day.”

I want her to. And I want her to tell me she loves doing it. That word sounds perfect on her lips. She is humming. I don’t know this song either, but it’s beautiful. I don’t know if it’s her humming, her touching me, or the fact that I used up all my energy killing a man this morning, but I fall into the deepest most restful sleep I’ve had in years.

—

The next morning, we’re up early and ride hard until I reach Oklahoma City. I check in at a motel, watch Saylor perform her ritual, and then hit her with the news of my leaving.

“I have some business I have to handle. I booked the room for two nights. It might be tomorrow before I’m back.” I watch as she falls on the bed, clearly exhausted from the long ride.

“’K. I’m just gonna take a bubble bath and watch a few chick flicks.” She doesn’t seem bothered in the least about my leaving, and I wonder if she’s thankful for some time alone. When I watch her drag herself back out of bed to retrieve her bag by the door, I know it’s only the exhaustion talking. We rode too hard today.

I pull some twenties out of my wallet and lay them on the table by the window. “Order some takeout. I’ll be back later.” She stops long enough to look at me, then offers me a smile.

“Be careful.” No one had ever told me to be careful. Shady had once said “don’t die,” but that was as close as I’d gotten to anyone caring.

“Will do.” I leave, knowing I can’t stay any longer. I need to put distance between us and the softening effect Saylor has on me. I need to get focused. I have a job.

Oklahoma City has a problem and I’m the solution. My orders today were to pull the president’s patch and give it to the sergeant at arms, and eighty-six the current vice president. Eighty-sixing someone can involve a few different things, but the outcome is the same. He will never ride for an MC again. But this one deserves a visit to the hospital as his parting gift. And that’s exactly what the fuck he is gonna get.

“Headstrong” by Trapt is blaring in my ears when my tires hit the pavement, and the song is so fitting I put it on repeat. This is who I am. This is what I do. I’m not the lust-struck, hand-holding, tear-wiping pussy I’ve been the past several days. Today, I’m Dirk—Sinner’s Creed Nomad National.

—

It’s late when I roll into the Sinner’s Creed Oklahoma City chapter’s clubhouse. They are all here waiting for me. They were informed I was coming and I know they are scared. Every fucking one of them.

This is a 1 percent MC. These are men who are trained to hurt, trained to endure hurt, and trained to kill. But only a few can compete with the best. And I’m the best. I’m the best at hurting, enduring, and killing. I’m the man they fear because I have nothing to lose, and they know that.

I have no home, no family, and nothing but this patch that keeps me alive and makes this life worth something. I’m the man they fear because I’m the one who puts them in their place when they fuck up. It’s in my blood to be a member of Sinner’s Creed. I’m third generation, and I’m old school.

I don’t take shit, I don’t give shit, and I don’t give a fuck about the politics. I respect every man that wears the same patch as I do, but I only like a few of them. By like I mean I can be around them for an extended amount of time and not want to rip their fucking heads off.

I tried being a brother in a chapter. It wasn’t for me. Nationals knew I belonged, they knew I was a soldier, and they knew I couldn’t handle the brotherhood aspect of the club. I was valuable. Too valuable and too informed for them to let go. That’s how I became the youngest Nomad in the history of the Sinner’s Creed MC. I started when I was twenty-one, I was given my Nomad rocker at twenty-three, and I’ve been busting heads all over the U.S. and bordering countries ever since. Tonight would be no different. Almost a decade of experience was under my belt, and my skills showed it.

I push through the door of the clubhouse and make my way to the back, where church is being held. I stand by the door and respectfully wait for their invitation. Even I don’t bust into someone’s territory without asking. I never disrespected my brothers and I would break the knees of any man who did.

I am waiting for less than five minutes before I’m summoned into church. I usually hoped things would go smoothly. Tonight, I want shit to get out of control. I need to blow off some steam.

“Nationals have made a decision. I’m here to enforce their decision.” I walk to the president first and pull my knife out of my cut. There is no fear in his eyes, only sorrow. He hates to lose the presidency and I hate to take it from him, but he had his chance and he failed. Pussy fell at his feet because of the P patch he wore, and it was his undoing. If you can’t run your house, you can’t run your club. He should have kept his dick in his pants and his ol’ lady wouldn’t be taking everything he fucking owned. I think of Saylor and how if she was my wife, I would never have any desire to touch another female. I don’t have the desire now and I haven’t even marked her as my property.

Fury. Rage. Hate. That’s what I’m feeling this moment, and it’s directed toward the motherfucker whose officer position I am fixing to take. Just the thought of some son of a bitch treating Saylor like this asshole treated his wife has me seeing red.

I cut the patch off his cut, close my knife, and deliver a right hook that breaks his jaw. I hear chairs slide across the floor and I know the others are fixing to challenge me.

The first is the sergeant at arms, who is soon to be the president. He yells something but all I can hear is the roaring in my ears. He hits me—hard, but I feel nothing. I don’t want to hurt this man, my brother; he is just doing his job. So I hit him just above his eye, in his brow. Blood gushes from his head, and while he is wiping to get it out of his eye so he can see me better, I speak.

“SA, I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.” He acknowledges my words and although he is still pissed, he doesn’t make any threatening moves toward me. Everyone is on their feet, even the VP, who is fixing to be in a world of pain. I go to him, and he knows what’s coming. It would be stupid of him to fight back, but he will because he is a man.

I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to. I have something to do, someone waiting for me, and the faster I handle him, the faster I can get back to her.

He throws his hands up, welcoming a fight. That’s his first mistake. He thought we were gonna square up. I don’t give him the chance for a fair fight. My job is to hurt him. Which I do. I break his nose, and the feeling of bone crushing beneath my fist is so fucking satisfying that I don’t stop hitting him until he is unconscious. I pull his cut from his back and hand it to the secretary. He takes it with a nod of understanding.

“He is out bad. He was warned. Drop him off at his house and keep his bike.” I turn to the SA, who is still trying to stop the bleeding in his brow. Fear registers on his face when I pull out my knife. It isn’t me he fears, but losing his cut. That is one of the aspects that make him a good brother.

I cut the SA patch from him roughly and watch his eyes close. I put my hand on his shoulder, which is a show of high respect coming from me. I usually don’t touch anyone unless it is to hurt them. “Brother.” He opens his eyes at my words. “You are the new president of this chapter. You earned it. Don’t disappoint us.” I hand him the president patch and step away. “Appoint your officers. I will be outside.”

I send the two Prospects at the door inside to take care of the unconscious body of an ex-brother. It should have been a dead body. He told the club he handled something when he didn’t. The result cost the club money, time, and favors to the wrong people. The money, time, and favors were forgivable, the lie was not. A lie is a lie, no matter how big or small, and you don’t lie to your fucking brothers.

I prop up against the wall outside and pull a cigarette from the pack, noticing the blood covering my hands. I should wash it off, but I’ll keep it a little longer as a reminder.

Church is over before I finish my cigarette, and the new president of the Oklahoma City chapter joins me and hands me a beer. His brow has finally stopped bleeding. A piece of bloody gauze now covers the wound.

“Officers,” he says, handing me a piece of paper.

I finish my beer with him before calling Nationals and informing them of the new officers of the Oklahoma City chapter. Now my business is done.

As I mount my bike, I get a weird feeling inside of me. One that makes me wonder what has happened to the man I was only fifteen minutes ago. Right now, I no longer want to be that man. I’m ready to be that lust-struck puppet I was this morning when I woke up. The reality should be sickening but it’s not. Because right now, I just don’t give a damn.

—

We’re at a gas station, two days from Jackpot, when I get a call from Shady. I can tell by the gravity in his tone that his news is bad.

“We got a problem. Remember Chester?” Chester, a member of some riding club who I’d beat to death a few months back. The guy had it coming for disrespecting one of our Nationals repeatedly, but I knew there would eventually be blowback from it.

“What about him?”

“We discussed his brothers wanting revenge, so I’ve been keeping an eye out. One of them spotted you. He sent a message out on an unsecure line. They’re planning an ambush.”

I replace the nozzle on the pump, wondering why Shady was so worked up about this. It wasn’t the first time someone had threatened me.

“I’ll deal with it,” I say, doubting anything would happen anyway.

“Um, Dirk?”

“What?”

“What about Saylor?” Shit. Of course Shady knew she was with me. The little fucker knew everything. But his reminder has the hair on the back of my neck standing up. I had put Saylor’s life on the line. There was always a target on my back, and as long as she was with me, there was a target on hers too.

“Let me know as soon as you find something out. I’ll keep my phone in my helmet.” I hang up, watching Saylor as her smile fades when she notices the look on my face. We’d been talking more. I’d even explained my patches to her, and she had read me a poem from her diary. Two steps forward, three steps back.

“Something wrong?” I don’t want to lie to her, but I know she needs reassuring. I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, leaning down to kiss the crease between her eyes. It’s the most intimate gesture I’ve given to her when we weren’t in bed. I feel her body melt and hear her sigh. She likes it and I know that my touch was all the reassurance she needed. And her smile was mine.

—

We’re on the interstate, rolling at a leisurely pace of ninety-five when I hear them. Seconds before I see them, my phone rings loudly in my ear. I flip up my visor, reaching in to open the phone. Shady’s voice can be heard loud and clear, even before I shut the visor to block out the sound of the wind.

“I just got confirmation, but I think some are already on you.”

“Some? How many are there?”

“More are coming, but I don’t know how many.” I pull the throttle back on my back, hitting a hundred on the speedometer within seconds. I grab Saylor’s arm, pulling it tighter around my waist, hoping she gets the message. When her fingers lock and I feel her press up against me, I know she does.

“I see three in my rearview. I’m gonna try to lose them, but I’m on the interstate. Got an exit coming up—fifty-six off of I-40 west.”

“I’m pulling it up now.” I ride faster, hoping Saylor doesn’t freak out as I split two eighteen-wheelers. She tightens her hold and despite the situation, I want to smile. I wonder if she is getting the same adrenaline high I am right now. “Take the exit, then go left.” I wait until the last minute before taking the exit, cutting off a car in my path. Before I’m at the intersection, I can see the three bikes exiting the interstate right behind me.

“We got anybody around here?” Sinner’s Creed had support clubs in every state, but having one in this area would be sheer luck.

“Nope.” I guess it isn’t my lucky day. I stay straight, running red lights and passing cars through the small town.

“Got another problem, Dirk.” Of course he does. “You’re probably about to lose reception.” How the fuck Shady knows that I don’t have a clue. I guess that’s part of the “mad skills” he always claims to have.

“If I lose you, keep trying me. I’m passing Lott Drive on highway 564.” The three bikes in my mirror are now only two. If I can find somewhere secluded and put enough distance between us, I can stop and shoot them. I don’t want to, but it isn’t only my life that’s at risk . . .

“There’s a house for sale ten miles from you. It should be vacant. Try to make it there. Follow the signs. It will be on the le—” Shit.

I see the sign up ahead and start to slow. Pulling my gun from my cut, I check my mirror for any other cars and thankfully there are none. As I’m turning, I extend my arm beside Saylor, shooting aimlessly beside me. The bikes slow and I speed up, using the distraction to put as much distance between us and them as possible. Saylor’s screams can be heard over the sound of the gun, and the feeling is sickening.

I replace my gun then rub my hand over hers, trying to calm her. Noticing the sign, I speed up, waiting until the last minute to turn, and I have to put my foot down to keep from dropping us. Saylor rides it out, not panicking and leaning away, but leaning with me. Her trust fuels me and I pull back on the throttle again, determined to not let her down.

The road leads us deeper into the country until the houses become further apart. The bikes are far enough behind me that I should be able to turn into the driveway and pull around back before they see us. The small sign ahead sits next to a driveway that is thankfully paved. I pull onto it, flying over the small hill with no knowledge of what’s on the other side, but I have no choice. The hill leads into a curve that I know I won’t make.

My bike leaves the driveway, bouncing through the yard. I manage to come to a stop at an old shed without killing us both. I climb off, breaking the lock with the butt of my gun before opening the door and pulling inside. Saylor is off the bike and standing in shock beside it. Once it’s hidden, I listen for the sound of pipes, but they are long gone. I’m pretty sure they didn’t see us, but I won’t take any chances.

I grab our bags and Saylor’s hand, pulling her behind me as I run to the back door of the old house. The door is made of wood and I easily pry it open with my pocketknife. I walk inside, breathing in the scent of mold and staleness. Locking the door behind us, I pull Saylor into my arms. Her heart beats heavy and hard against my chest.

“You okay?” That’s a stupid question. Of course she isn’t. She nods into my chest, and I know she’s lying. “Look at me.” She looks up, and I see the fear in her eyes. She isn’t afraid of me, only the situation.

“What did those men want, Dirk?” I look away, knowing the time has finally come for me to make a decision. I have to be honest with her. There is no half in or half out in this life. Either she knows everything or nothing at all. I would prefer nothing, but knowing Saylor, she wants everything. And I’m afraid it still won’t be enough to make her leave.

“They wanted me. Revenge.” I see the question in her eyes. Just as I expected, she wants more.

“Are we safe?”

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” My words are determined. I speak the truth and she believes it.

“What about you?”

“I can take care of myself.” My phone rings and I’ve never been more thankful for Shady’s interruption.

“Shady,” I say, never letting my eyes leave Saylor’s as I hold her in my arms.

“He’s alive!” he says, in a very dramatic voice. It’s loud enough for Saylor to hear and she smiles.

“What do you want?”

“To make sure you aren’t dead, of course. Got big plans tonight?” I can almost see the prick wiggling his eyebrows. “Don’t forget my bir—” I hang up, not giving a shit about his birthday and wondering how a thirty-year-old man could still expect presents and well wishes—especially from someone like me.

I follow Saylor into one of the back bedrooms that has a window seat. She sits, looking out across the yard, then up at the darkening sky. I’m content with just standing here and staring at her, but I’m sure she is fixing to start asking questions. I just hope they are ones I can answer.

“You said those men wanted revenge. What did you do?” I walk up behind her, standing close but not allowing our bodies to touch.

“I handled business.”

She lets out a small laugh and shakes her head. “Let me guess, it’s confidential.” I let my silence answer for me. She doesn’t push further and I start to relax, knowing she won’t always be this easy to pacify, but thankful that she is right now.

“You should sleep. I have some calls to make.” I don’t wait for an answer as I leave her and walk around the house, then through the yard to familiarize myself with the place. After I’m comfortable with my knowledge of the layout, I return to the shed, where my bike is hidden.

In my saddlebag, everything is a weapon. From a tool to a gun, I have it all. Today, one of my homemade creations will serve a better purpose than just a weapon. I pull out the lock that is tied inside of a bandana and replace the broken lock on the shed door. Now that my loose ends are tied up, there is only one thing left to do. I light a smoke, lean against the shed, and call Nationals.

“I see you’re still alive.” What the hell was it with the doubt?

“I see you and Shady think alike.”

“I need you here by Friday.”

“I’ll be there.”

The line disconnects and the conversation is over before half of my cigarette has been smoked. It took less than a minute for my club to do nothing more than give me another job. Some days I can’t help but feel like just a number. But as I look down at the 1% patch on my cut, I know that it doesn’t matter how I feel. It only matters who I am. And tonight, just like every other night of my life, I am only one thing. Sinner’s Creed.

—

The only piece of furniture in the house is an old couch that sits in the living room. I’d returned to find Saylor sitting there writing in her diary. She was so absorbed by what she was writing that it took her a while to notice me. Even then, it’s like she could sense me before she saw me.

She asked me to lay with her on the couch, so I did. Now I lay here in the darkness with nothing but the sound of her breathing filling the room. Until I hear the growing sound of pipes.

Blood runs cold through my veins as I strain to hear what direction they are coming from. I know they are coming back to find me. They likely had people at each end of the road, waiting to see what direction I went. Since I never left, they know I’m here somewhere, and if they’re smart, this will be the first place they look.

The sound grows louder as headlights dance across the wall in front of me. There is no time to call for backup. Even if there was, there isn’t anyone within a hundred-mile radius. All I can do now is hide and hope that they leave. I place my hand over Saylor’s mouth. I feel her tense beneath me then immediately relax at the sound of my voice.

“It’s me. I want you to crawl to the hallway. Don’t make a sound.” She nods and slips off the couch, crawling in the direction of the hallway. I grab our bags and follow her, then stand and grab her hand before leading her into the back room we were in earlier.

I pull open the closet door and usher her into the tiny space. I place her directly behind me, pull both my guns from my cut and wait. I can feel Saylor’s hands gripping the back of my cut, hanging on for dear life. I let her touch power my need to protect her and fuel my anger. I’ll kill any motherfucker that I see, just to keep her safe.

I close my eyes and concentrate on the sounds around me. The only thing I hear is the steady beat of my heart and the hammering of hers until the back window on the door is busted open. They’re in the kitchen. Footsteps . . . three sets. The voices are hushed at first, and then become louder. They are amateurs, likely men who have no direct ties to the man I killed. If they were personally affected, they would know me. And they would know to treat each step they take as if it were their last.

“Nobody’s here, man. The shed is locked up tight, no sign of forced entry on the house. Let’s just get the hell outta here.”

Fear. If I couldn’t hear it in his voice, I could smell it on him the moment he stepped into the room. I keep my guns trained on the center of the door, ready for them to open it. But footsteps descend and soon, the sound of three bikes leaving is echoing through the night.

I turn my head, burying my face into Saylor’s hair. “Stay here. No matter what, you stay in this closet. You understand?” She nods into my back, and I start to walk away but her tight grip on my cut holds me to her. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” I say, reassuring her. I wish I could touch her, but there is no time for that.

She lets out an exasperated sigh, and I’m unsure why until the moment she speaks. “It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s you.”

—

I’ve made my rounds. I’ve cleared our hideout. I’ve followed protocol and done everything I’m supposed to do. But the only thing I can focus on is Saylor’s words. No one has ever said something like that to me. Not even my own brothers. My club cares about me; they have to. I’m valuable to them. But, if I died today, someone else would only take my place.

But Saylor, she makes me feel like I’m the only man on the planet. Like if my life was lost, hers might as well be too. I know my thoughts are pretty fucking extreme, but I can’t help how she makes me feel.

I take time to get my shit together before going back to her. What I find when I open the closet door is not what I expect. I’m expecting her to be curled into the fetal position, bawling her eyes out and begging me to take her home. That would be a normal reaction for someone who just had a near-death experience. But Saylor is on her feet, until she launches herself at me.

“What took you so long?” she asks me between kisses. She is breathless, and her words are angry. My hands are on her ass, holding her around my waist. She slaps me, then grabs my face between her hands, forcing me to look at her. “I thought you were dead!”

Tears of anger are flooding from her eyes. She kisses me again and I can taste her salty tears on my lips. I don’t want to be anywhere in the world but right here. With her. And I don’t care if this is dangerous for her.

I should be taking her home. I should let the anger I feel toward myself for putting her in this shit in the first place push me to do the right thing. But I can’t. And by the way she is attacking me, she sure as fuck don’t want to leave me.

My heart is nearly beating out of my chest, for her. I don’t care if she reads my thoughts. I don’t care if she is in my head. She can have me. All of me. She can have the bad and the good and I will give her everything I’ve got.

She is ripping my clothes from me. I lay her on the floor so that I am on top of her. And I remember her promise. I remember she promised her dying mother that she wouldn’t give herself to anyone unless they meant something to her. I won’t make her break her promise.

I pin her arms above her head and slow the kiss down. I hold her there until I feel her submit to me. When I pull away from her mouth, she has calmed down. Her breathing is almost normal, but the hollow of her throat is moving rapidly with her pulse. I kiss it then slide my tongue across her collarbone. I raise my head and look into her eyes. She wants me. She needs me.

“I’m here,” I tell her, and she closes her eyes at my words. “Look at me, Saylor.” She does and when her eyes are locked on mine, I tell her the words that she needs to hear. “I’m here. And I’m not fucking leaving.” She searches my face, looking for any uncertainty or doubt. She won’t find any.

“I want you to make love to me, Dirk.” Her words are my sunset. They are my rainbow, my clear blue sky, and my complete undoing. Every man has a purpose. I always thought mine was with the MC. Now I know the real purpose of my existence. To be anything Saylor Samson wants me to be.

I remove my torn shirt and then hers, watching as her body shakes in anticipation and excitement. I keep my lips on her body as I remove her clothes until she is naked beneath me. I pull her to a sitting position and push my hands into her hair, letting it knot around my fingers. She moans softly into my mouth, and I want to take her now, but I have to remind myself to take it slow.

I’m on my knees between her legs, and I gently push her away from my mouth until she is lying on her back. I watch the outline of her ribs come into view as she takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. I place my hands on her knees and spread her wide before me. Her pussy is slick and wet. Her scent is intoxicating. She is beautiful, even here.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” I say, and when my breath blows across her, her back arches off the floor. I kiss the insides of her thighs, then work my way down her legs, all the way to her pink-painted toes. I want to kiss her everywhere. So I do. I kiss down one leg and then up the other until she is shaking with need.

I part her lips with my fingers, my eyes delighting in the soft, pink flesh between her legs. It makes me want to beat my chest and announce to the world that once I take her, she will be mine.

But she already is mine. She has been mine for a long time. This feeling is more powerful than knowing I can take a life. It’s more powerful than knowing I can cause fear and pain. It’s the power of bringing her pleasure. And other moments of my life when I thought I was powerful don’t even compare.

I slide my tongue across her pussy and she is so hot for me that even the heat of my mouth is cool in comparison. I let my tongue swirl over her, making sure to not miss one inch of the sweetness that is her arousal. I slowly insert a finger inside her and soon she is bucking her hips to meet the thick, callused knuckle that is caressing her. I push further and then add another, circling her and stroking her walls—widening her in preparation for me. I continue the slow, torturous strokes until I feel her relax completely—ready for release, but I deny her.

I climb over her, kissing my way up her body, letting her pleas for release fuel my desire to make this perfect for her. Her knees are open and welcoming. I kiss her mouth and let her taste herself while I pull my jeans and boxers off. Now my naked body is covering hers and it’s a perfect fucking fit.

I leave her mouth and pull one of her nipples between my lips, sucking hard then soothing her with my tongue. Her hands are in my hair. Her head is pressed into the carpet and her eyes are closed. Her mouth is open and mine finds it once again.

My cock is hard and throbbing, begging to be inside her. I kiss her softly on the corners of her lips then find her bright green eyes, open and willing me to take her. She is nervous. She is scared. But her desire for me outweighs her fear.

“Please, Dirk.” She can see the uncertainty in my eyes. She can read my thoughts. She knows I’m just as nervous as she is. I don’t want to hurt her, but I know I will. I have to tell myself that eventually, the pain will subside and I will be able to bring her to levels of pleasure she never thought possible.

“I’m here, baby. I’m here.” She likes when I call her baby. I like how her body seems less tense now that I’ve told her I’m here. And I’ve called her the endearment she says she likes. I’m not gonna use a condom. I’m clean and I know she is too. She is on the pill. I saw it on the counter along with her other female shit that I like so much, especially when it’s sitting next to mine. I’m gonna take her bareback and just the thought of how she will feel when I’m inside her, skin on skin, has me breaking out into a sweat.

I place the tip of my cock at her entrance and watch her take a deep, steadying breath. Her eyes are open and they never leave mine as I push slowly inside her. The head is in and I haven’t hurt her yet. I’m not deep enough for that. I’m trying not to concentrate on how good she feels. I’m trying to focus on bringing her the least bit of discomfort I can. I could probably just thrust into her and shed a little mercy on both of us, but that seems brutal.

I push a little further until I feel her tightening around me. I take a deep breath, preparing to advance. There is no way this pain could be worse for her than it is for me.

“Kiss me,” she says, her eyes on my lips. I oblige and while I’m distracting her with my mouth, I push through her tight walls until I am completely inside her. She is tight. So fucking tight that the grip her pussy has on me is almost painful.

“Okay?” I ask, breathy and nervous. She nods before taking my mouth again. When I feel her contract around me, I pull back, then thrust into her slowly.

This time, her ragged breath is not from nerves or pain or discomfort—it’s from pleasure. I fuck her slowly, burying myself completely. Widening her to accommodate all of me. I shift myself so that I’m hitting that spot inside her sweet pussy that causes her eyes to roll in the back of her head. I drive faster into her, filling her.

I want to suck her nipples. I want to kiss her lips. I want to lick her neck. But I can’t take my eyes off of her face. She is experiencing sex with me for the first time and she fucking loves it. Her moans are loud. Her hips are thrusting, urgent and impatient. I can’t pull too far out of her because she likes the way it feels when I’m buried deep inside.

Her fingers are in my hair, on my shoulders, clawing my back. Doing everything in their power to force me further into her. She wants it harder, but I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want her to get lost in the moment and then be in pain tomorrow. I want to fuck her slow, and work her up to the hard fucking that she desires. But she’s not having it.

“Harder, Dirk. Fuck me harder.” I’m battling one head with the other. My cock wins and I sit up on my knees and wrap my arms under her thighs. Her back is arched off the floor and I pull her to me, slamming into her, and her breath catches in her throat. I’m worried I’ve hurt her, but when I slow down, she demands more.

“Again. Do that again.” I grip her thighs and drive back into her, pulling out slowly, before delivering another powerful thrust. “Yes, just like that. Please, don’t stop.” Nothing could make me stop right now. If the house was on fire, we would go up in flames before I deprived this lovely creature of what she wants.

I watch as her tits bounce with each thrust, and I have to fight my own release. Her hands are fisted in her hair. Her moans are loud and guttural. I’m working her sensitive spot with practiced perfection. I’m thanking all the women I have ever made come because it has made me the expert I am at pleasing her. When her body stills and I feel her pulsating around me, I coat her release with my own. And this time the moans that fill the room belong to me.

I ease out of Saylor, then cover her body with mine. I kiss her face—her eyes, her nose, the corners of her mouth, and her pink cheeks that are damp with sweat. I want to hold her and tell her how perfect she was. I want to tell her how amazing she felt and how special she is to me. But her arms are around my back and she is clinging tight to me, her head buried in my neck. She wants me to hold her.

I know she is exhausted. I know her release was so intense that she will just want to sleep. And she will. In my arms. I flip us so that I am on my back and she is on top of me. She moves down my body until her head is on my chest. She is shivering and I’m sure her postorgasmic state and hypersensitive flesh is what is causing it.

I feel around on the floor, and the first thing my hand lands on is leather. Without a second thought, I cover the woman that means so much to me with the colors that reflect who I am. The only two things important in my life are now one and the same. My arms go around her and I hold her tight, letting my body heat warm her.

“Dirk?” Her voice is sleepy, and I can’t see them, but I know her eyes are closed. She is moments away from sleep and I wish she wasn’t so drained. I want to ask her if she is okay and if she enjoyed it. Although, I already know the answer to one of them.

“Yeah?” I’m doubting myself. I’m afraid she is going to tell me it wasn’t what she wanted. I’m scared she is going to tell me she made a mistake. I fear that after what she witnessed tonight, she will want to leave me. I’m panicking. I don’t want her to leave. But if she wants to, I will have to let her go.

“I’m glad you came back.” The reminder of what happened earlier—how many close encounters she’d had with death because of me—has me so pissed at myself. I want to hit something. “You really are the one for me.”

Saylor’s words are being tossed around in my head. I don’t know what to make of them. I thought we had already established that I was the one for her. That’s why she is with me. That’s why she is laying across my chest, thoroughly fucked and sated.

I think back to our first night together. Her words are just as clear now as they were then. She said she wouldn’t give herself to someone until she knew they were right for her. Herself. Was she implying more than just sex? Did that involve her heart too? I’m panicking again. There is no life in my own heart. How would I ever be able to handle hers?

I’m overthinking this shit. I need that therapy I can only get at a hundred miles an hour. But, I’m Saylor’s therapy. She said so. I don’t know what all that entails, but I do know that it includes holding her to my chest while she sleeps. So I don’t ride. I don’t abandon her and leave her here to fend for herself. I hold her and listen to her breathe, because now I know that she is my therapy too.