For a woman to accurately determine what a man is really thinking would be similar to a man having a full understanding of what it’s like to go through a menstrual cycle. It’s never going to be completely clear to either party no matter how much a person tries to explain.

“So, let me get this straight. I’m not trying to play with words, or be a smart-ass; I’m really not. But let me see.” I said as I stood from the park bench I forced my hands into the rear pockets of my shorts.

I twisted myself into my best naïve schoolgirl pose just to throw him off a little. The shorts I was wearing were absolutely killing my pussy without any underwear, but they looked hot as fuck. As much as I wanted some relief, I pulled back on the pockets and tried to give him just a little of a show up front. He sat quietly on the park bench and stretched his rubber band to the point of complete failure.

Snap!

Good. Now, if you like it, take it.

I pulled my hands from my pockets and tossed my hair. “So, I’m going to stick by your side and stay quiet. If someone talks to me, I will respond. If they don’t, I stand, smile, and look pretty. If anyone asks if I’m available, I say no, and if they ask if you and I are together, I say no. And if someone asks if I’m your Ol’ Lady, I say hell to the no. Lastly, if anyone fucks with me, I find you or if I can’t find you, I find Otis. So, technically I’m not spoken for, but I’m not available either. Right?”

“You coulda left the last part out, but that’s it. You got it,” he said as he played with the rubber band on his wrist.

I lowered my hands and stuffed them into my rear pockets again.

Holy fuck that’s uncomfortable.

I bent my knees slightly and rocked my hips back and forth. After he snapped the rubber band again, I lifted my right shoe slightly and dug the toe into the dirt, twisting it back and forth as I watched the impression I was leaving in the sandy soil. No one knew better than I did that I didn’t have any tits, but what little I did have was exposed to the world through the opening of my vee neck tee shirt. As I felt the early evening breeze across my nipples, I glanced in his direction. His eyes were fixed on the opening of my shirt.

Get an eyeful, Axton.

“You want to sit the fuck down, you’re making me nervous,” he grunted as he shifted his gaze upward.

As I tilted my head and gave my best duck face, he snapped the rubber band twice.

Good, all that practicing I’ve been doing in front of the mirror worked.

“My legs are cramping. I need to stand,” I lied.

He stood from the park bench and pulled his knife from his pocket. As he raised it to his other hand, he flicked the blade open. Now focusing on his fingernails, he fidgeted with his knife and stopped paying attention to me altogether. Frustrated, I turned away from him and dug the denim out of my sore pussy.

“What are you afraid of, Axton?” I asked over my shoulder as I turned to face him.

He looked up from the half-assed manicure he was performing. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “With us. You and me? What are you afraid of?”

He folded his knife, clipped it to his pocket and lowered his chin slightly. “A lot of motherfuckers will claim it, but only a handful actually mean what they say; I’m one of that handful. I’m not afraid of a God damned thing on this earth.”

“So what’s keeping you from making progress with me?” I asked.

He turned and stared at me as if I were absolutely insane. As he crossed his arms and continued to stare, it was obvious I’d touched on a subject he really wasn’t ready to discuss. The muscles in his biceps pulsated. As soon as he began speaking, the tone of his voice was sterner than before.

“You just don’t get it, do you? I am making progress with you. More than I’ve made with anyone in the last fifteen God damned years. It’ll probably come as no fucking secret, but I fucking hate women. Last I checked, Avery, you’re a woman,” he said as he tilted his head toward the bike.

“I absolutely hate, and I do mean hate having that seat on the fender of my bike. About every ten minutes when you think I’m rubbing my cheek, I’m not. I’m looking over at that God damned lick ‘n stick and wondering if it’s eating through the clear coat on my fender. But I’ve left that motherfucker on there for what seems like a month straight. Do you want to know why?” He rested his hands on his belt and raised both eyebrows while he waited for me to respond.

I was beginning to feel small. I swallowed heavily and nodded. A very inaudible yes puffed from my lips.

“Because I like having you on the back of my bike. I have no fucking idea why, I really don’t, because I hate bitches on the back of my bike. But for some God damned reason, having you back there makes me feel, at least for as long as we’re riding, like I’m normal. Well, Avery, I got a news flash for you. I’m far from normal.”

He snapped the rubber band more times than I could count.

Yeah, that’s not the ‘I think you’re way too cute’ snap, is it?

“I’ve been shot at and missed, and I’ve been shot at and hit. I’ve been beaten, burned, cut, stabbed, and I’ve gone long enough without food and fucking water that I should have died. I’ve been in more fucking fights than any professional boxer, and my left arm is pinned back together with metal screws - because the third time it broke, I didn’t have time or the money to fix it. I’ve been to jail more times than I can count on my fingers and toes. No, Avery, I’m far from normal. You want to know why they call me Slice?” he growled.

I stood and stared. I suppose I should have been scared or surprised. For some reason I was neither. I was beginning to like him more. For the first time since we had been spending time together, he was coming out of his shell. I attempted to swallow the rock in my throat, but couldn’t, so I simply nodded my head once. He reached down and grabbed each side of his cut, and pulled upward, unsnapping it.

He leaned over, hung the vest from his ape hangers, and turned toward me. As he stood facing me, he reached down and pulled his tee shirt over his head. He quickly turned, tossed it over his shoulder and onto the seat of the bike. As he turned around, now shirtless, I gazed like an idiot at his upper body.

Oh my God.

His chest was massive, and far more defined than I would have imagined. His stomach didn’t have an ounce of fat on it. In fact, it was chiseled to perfection. His upper arms were solid muscle, and now that he was angry, were quite swollen. But my focus wasn’t solely on his muscles or well-proportioned body. My focus, at least now, was on the twelve-inch-long scar on his stomach.

And the one below it that was eight or so inches long.

And the one across his chest.

And the one that went from his rib cage toward his back and appeared to never end.

The wounds didn’t seem to have ever been stitched or taken care of by a medical professional. It looked as if he’d been tortured by a chainsaw wielding maniac. As I stood and stared, he slowly shuffled his feet and turned around.

On his back were smaller scars, but there were more than I could count. They ranged in size from an inch to several inches long. Without speaking, he turned around again and grabbed his tee shirt. As I stood and stared, he pulled it over his head and covered his body.

“That’s why they call me Slice. Now, before you ask, about three or four of them came from fights. The other thirty or so?” he asked as he ran his fingers through his hair. “My Ol’ Man. You wanna know why I don’t have any on my arms? Because a shirt wouldn’t hide ‘em when I went to school, that is on the days he would let me go. And none of them ever got stitched because I couldn’t let the doctors see ‘em or he’d have been arrested. When I was a kid he’d already been to the joint twice. One more time, and it’d been life in prison. Well, now he’s doing life in prison, and I’ve got these to remember him by.”

“Turn around,” he demanded and he stepped toward me.

“Axton, I…”

“Turn the fuck around you question asking bitch,” he demanded.

Reluctantly, I turned around. The park bench was only a few inches in front of me. I felt as if I was trapped, but I faced it anyway. As he positioned himself behind me, he raised his hand to the left side of my jaw, clenched it between his thumb and forefinger, and tilted my head to the right. As he breathed into my ear, he pressed his hips into the back of my ass.

His breath against my ear caused goose bumps to rise along the length of my arms.

“You feel that?” he breathed.

All I could feel was his warm breath against my face. I swallowed heavily.

“Feel what?” I squeaked.

“That stiff cock of mine, Avery. It’s pressing against your ass. You feel it?” he asked as he pressed his hips against me with a little more force.

I nodded my head and whimpered.

“That lump you feel rising against that little round ass of yours, you want to know what I call it?” he growled.

Still holding my jaw firmly, his control of me was apparent. His strong hand not only held my face in the position he wanted it to be, but provided me a sense of ownership and restraint. Had he released me, I would have melted into a puddle right then and there. I nodded my head again and puffed out another dry yes.

“I call it progress,” he said as he bit my earlobe between his teeth.

With my ear still clenched firmly between his teeth, he continued. “For the last fifteen years, my cock ain’t been much good; probably either from my Ol’ Man beating me, or from all the women who fucked me over, hell who knows.”

“Reach back there with your right hand,” he demanded.

I stood in shock and trembled. Not from fear, but from nothing other than one hundred percent alpha male arousal.

Although we were standing in the hot sun, his breath against my ear caused me to shiver, “You little tease. You said whatever I told you to do, you’d do. Now reach your skinny little arm back here and grab that big fucking cock of mine.”

I reached behind me, slid my hand along the thigh of his jeans, and felt around until…

Oh God.

“I said grab it. If you can’t grab it any harder than that, I’ll toss your little ass in the dirt and ride the fuck out of here. Now grab it,” he growled.

Staring straight ahead with my eyes closed, I squeezed his cock firm in my hand. It felt as if I were gripping a baseball bat.

“Now tell me just what it is you feel.” he said as he released my ear from his teeth.

“Progress?” I squeaked.

He released my jaw, spun me around, and stared into my eyes.

“You’re God damned right. That’s progress.”

“Now you want to know why that motherfuckers hard?”

I bit my lower lip and lowered my head.

“Because every time you stick your hands in your pockets and twist around like you’re some innocent little farm girl, it makes me want to fuck you. Bad. And for right now…”

He reached down and grabbed the rubber band.

Snap!

Snap!

Snap!

“For right now, I’m exercising patience,” he huffed. “Now, you got any more God damned questions?”

I shifted my gaze to meet his. My eyes now trained on his, I reached toward my left hand. As my fingers found the hair tie which was wrapped around my wrist, I pulled against it and released it sharply into my skin.

Snap!

Incapable of speaking, I simply stood and lightly shook my head.

Again, I pulled against the hair tie.

Snap!

Officially head over motherfucking heels, sir.