Griz
Giselle must be looking down on me, thinking what a colossal piece of shit I turned out to be as a father. Fuck. I am fucking up. Not just with Shannon, but with Cary, too.
My sister is not wrong. We are it for the Grisham family and I know what my death would mean for her, for Shannon. I remember how it felt to see Dad, bleeding, dying, and know that it never would’ve happened if he hadn’t been in the club in the first place. I remember how it felt to lose our mom, too, and thinking there’s literally no fucking God. I was just a teenager. I could’ve turned out a million different ways.
I thought it a million times. I should get out. Go to college. Get a normal job. Get a wife and a white picket fence. But the allure of metal and rubber and adventure was too strong. And I was literally a child, not even out of high school, when a dark-haired beauty took my virginity for fifty dollars. I knew she wouldn’t ever love me. I was paying her to act like she found me even remotely interesting in bed.
And then, suddenly, she did find me interesting. We started fucking because we wanted to. We started talking. And like that, my little teenage heart was hers and I was all in hero mode and there was no fucking way that I’d ever make enough money as some fucking accountant or whatever to get her free so we could be together.
I did whatever I could to make money. Ran errands for club bosses, washed bikes, buried bodies. Eventually, I found myself hearing things, stashing away details, learning from others’ mistakes. People started paying me for secrets and suddenly, I had enough to get her out, and thank fuck, because she was pregnant with my kid.
I hope someone’s learning from my mistakes now. Because I’m making them.
I find a bottle of liquor and guzzle about a fourth of it, the liquid burning down the back of my throat. I look at the room around me, all full of pictures that Giselle picked out.
I’m fucking furious. Giselle is gone, and my daughter will never know her mom. Angry that I feel connected to this little waif of a girl who has no idea how fucking sexy she is. Little virginal girl. I want to devour her and I’m angry about that, too, because …
Fuck.
I slam my fist into one of the framed pictures. The glass shatters and it feels satisfying so I do it again. I swig some more alcohol and take aim at another, and another, then grab the lamp and throw it against the wall.
I just drink and drink, and rage and rage. I’m fucking angry and I hate feeling out of control. And I hate this fucking club and I hate fucking Spike and I swear I will rip that motherfucker’s head from his shoulders the next time he shows his fucking face. I’ve had enough and I want him gone and I’ll put the bullet in his head my goddamn self if I have to.
In the meantime, another swig never hurt a goddamn anyone.
# # #
Tanner
When I wander back to the room, I find Griz and a whole heap of mess. Broken lamps, pictures thrown from the wall, clothing shredded to bits. It’s like a hurricane ripped through the room, leaving nothing but broken memories in its wake.
And Griz is in the center of it with a bottle of Wild Turkey, nearly three-quarters empty.
“What the?” I ask. If I wasn’t sober after my interaction with Spike, I sure as hell am now.
He stands, his gaze intense as he approaches me. The bottle of liquor dangles from his fingertips. He’s got a cut on the other hand, bleeding red. He looks like walking despair.
“Are you okay?” I whisper.
“I’m a fucking failure,” he says. “But I guess I’m fine.”
“Why are you a failure?”
“I’m here, right? At this miserable fucking club instead of living with my daughter, giving her a normal life. Can’t even show up for the first day of school.”
He hones in on the pink tie in my hair. Wanders over and reaches out, running his hand over it. He undoes it, letting my hair fall around my shoulders.
He looks at the hair tie and says, “This is Shannon’s.”
“I figured,” I say.
“I need to … stop things,” he says. “I need to get things in order so I can be with her. Give her some kind of life. Things are so out of control right now.”
“You are, literally, the most controlled person I’ve ever met,” I say. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”
“Feeling sorry for myself?” he asks with a bitter laugh. “I don’t get a second to piss most days, let alone feel sorry for myself. There are a hundred guys working for me, probably fifty spouses. Some of these guys have families, other jobs, but they show up every job, every ride. They ride with me. For me. And I’m responsible for every single thing that happens to them.”
“And you’re here, taking care of business. What else can they ask from you?” I ask.
“They want blood. They want money. They want excitement. They want me to take more risks,” he says. “I just want to run my business, be a father.”
“It’s your business to run,” I say. “You built this. I think more of them are in your corner than you know.”
“What the fuck do you know?” he sneers. “You’ve been here like three days. You don’t know a fucking thing.”
“You know less,” I argue. “I talk to people. I don’t just boss them around. You walk around like you’ve got a fucking mile-high wall around you. You think your guys ride with you because they just like taking orders? Fuck, no. They believe in what you built here.”
“They’re off cutting deals on the side, making me look like an asshole,” he scoffs.
“Some, maybe,” I concede. “But most still follow you and if you made a mess, you can clean it up. Send those fuckers packing. Keep the guys you want. Rebuild if you need to. Make it what you want it to be.”
“You are a woman,” he says, his upper lip curling. “A little girl, mostly. What the fuck do you think you’re doing telling me how to run my shop?”
“Telling you the truth, you asshole,” I say. “I’ve got nothing to lose. Nothing. I don’t work for you, and I won’t shut up just because you don’t want to listen.”
“So you talk to people, do you?”
I give him a look to let him know that I do, in fact, talk to people. “You want me to think you’re this hard ass with no feelings. You lost your dad. You lost your mom. You lost your girlfriend. You took a bullet for a friend once. You love your daughter. Those are good reasons— damn good reasons—to be afraid to show anyone anything. I get it. But it doesn’t make you a better leader. It just makes people look to others for something real. Even if it’s bad.”
“Those fucking assholes talk too much. Christ,” he says, shaking his head.
I watch a million emotions pass over his face. After anger comes frustration, then sadness. He looks me in the eye, as bare as I’ve yet seen him, and says, “My sister is worried I’ll end up like my father. Maybe I should cut my losses. Send you back to your father. Ask his forgiveness. Cede territory, join the clubs. Walk away.”
“You don’t want that,” I say. Then, quieter, “I don’t want that.”
“Your father is a good man. He runs a good club,” he says, stepping closer.
“He is,” I say, biting my lip, tears burning in my eyes. “Yes.”
“But?” he asks.
“But I think you need to fight for what you want sometimes. You have to fight and claw and kick. And take it. Just take what you want.” I can’t breathe and my heart is in my throat. “Fight for it. Whatever it is, you can have it. You can have it all.”
And that’s it. That’s the end, because the bottle hits the ground and he’s right there, so close, and his lips are on mine. His tongue runs along my bottom lip tasting of sweet, burning liquor, his teeth nip at my neck. My hands are in his hair, my leg wrapped around him. We’re up against the door, then my head hits the wood and his hands are under my ass, under the thin material of the bikini I’m wearing.
Oh my god, I want him so bad. So bad. I want him on my skin and in my mouth and inside my cunt. I want him.
I writhe against him as he holds me against the door, his jeans blocking me from accessing his thick cock, so frustratingly concealed. He bites at me, my clavicle, chest, ears, lips. His tongue circles close behind, soothing each bite, adding layer upon layer to this frenzy we’re in. I pull at his hair and he growls, shoving his tongue in my mouth. We battle, angry, frustrated, pissed off.
He moves, and I’m only vaguely aware until he tosses me to the bed, tearing away my bikini bottoms, shoving his bearded face right into the apex between my thighs, that wicked tongue finding my folds, my clit, and finally, that virginal hole. I buck up off the bed when he adds his fingers to the mix, working my buttons, laving me, creating a torrent of sensation that builds and builds.
When he inserts a finger, I move to the rhythm. He inserts a second, and it’s so tight. He slows his assault, but only slightly, only to allow me time to adjust. When my pussy is once again slick with want, he picks up the pace once more. I claw at the bed like an animal, thrashing side to side as the wave builds, a tsunami approaching. When it crashes, I cry out. It’s a lost, incoherent sound, not human, because I swear I’ve left my own body.
“That’s right,” he growls. “Come for me.”
“I need you,” I say, still a little lost, still floating away. “I need you.”
“What do you need?” he asks, moving upward, his fingers still working their magic, his lips finding my tits. I reach behind my neck, untying, freeing them. He takes one nipple in his mouth and sucks hard, releasing it with a loud pop.
“More,” I beg. “Inside me. I want you inside. Please.”
He moves back down, his mouth taking the place of his fingers as he undoes his jeans, shaking them to the floor. Eventually, he asks, “Are you on the Pill or anything?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
“Then hold on.”
His huge cock is at my entrance now. He says, “Look into my eyes. Breathe.”
I do as instructed and when he enters, it’s slowly, in short spurts. I feel like I’m being ripped in two and I feel tears well up, spill over. He leans in and licks them away.
“Breathe,” he says, the word a long breath itself.
When he’s fully in, he tells me to take a few more breaths. I do, trying to relax, trying to enjoy the fullness. But it hurts.
He stays still, focusing his energy on my tits, rolling my nipples under his talented tongue, forcing them to harden once more.
“You have the best tits I’ve ever seen,” he says, nipping at one.
It sends a shockwave straight to my core. I feel my juices return and Griz grins. It’s not a full-on smile, but it’s the first thing I’ve seen that comes close.
“Manipulative bastard,” I say. “Biting tits to get the result you want.”
“One of my better torture tricks,” he says.
“I think I’m okay now,” I say. “I want you. I’m so sorry I’m …”
“Tight? Well … I can’t say I’ve had this exact sexual experience, but it’s good. We’ll get through it.”
He starts to move. I close my eyes and he says, “No way. Look here. Look at me.”
We lock gazes and he pumps in and out, biting at my nipples then kissing me deeply. I start to enjoy it, the feel of him inside of me. I move my hips more and wrap my arms around his neck, bringing his face to mine, running my tongue along his lower lip, opening my mouth, allowing him inside.
It’s a sensual kiss. A real kiss. I can’t get enough. I just cling to him, kissing and kissing as he fucks me, his pace picking back up as I feel the swell of orgasm building once more.
He pushes out of my grasp and says, “Grip the headboard.”
I do, my tits high on my chest, jutting out as he pays them the attention they demand. He spreads my legs wide, hooking them over his shoulders, burying himself deeper inside of me. A thumb finds my clit and I cry out.
“Is this good?” he asks. “You like this?”
I moan in confirmation.
“I’m going to take you so high, you’ll never come back down,” he says.
“You talk too much,” I say.
He growls and bites me before increasing his strokes, his cock so deep within me I swear I will shatter. He goes so hard and I go with him, hanging onto the headboard, ready to combust as the fire rages. His finger vibrates a rhythm against my clit and the orgasm comes. It comes and comes, and I feel like it might be hours before it starts to wane, the muscles inside of me pulsing, aftershocks rocking through me, pinching Griz’s cock.
When he spills, he kisses me hard. I feel the spasm of his cock and then he slows and stops. He flops to the side, bringing me with him so that I’m on top. We stay connected as I lay my head on his chest, the hair there tickling my cheek.
We lay there together, quiet, for a long time. I think I might even drift off because suddenly, he’s gone and then he’s back, lifting me, carrying my limp body into the bathroom.
He sets me in the tub and starts the water, adding something lightly floral to the water.
He climbs in and finds a seat behind me, pulling me back against him. It’s similar to that first bath we shared, but this time, he’s more relaxed. Calmer.
I realize that many of our interactions have happened in this bathroom. It’s starting to become a little bit sentimental to me.
As the water rises, he takes a washcloth and wets it, dipping it between my sensitive folds, gently washing me.
“Does it hurt much?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Not too bad, no.”
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he says.
“Why?”
“Because you’re … you were a virgin. That should have been something you did with someone you care about. At least like a little.”
“I like you a little,” I say.
“That seems unlikely,” he answers.
We’re quiet again after that.
# # #
Griz
We soak for a long while. We must doze off, but I don’t really know. I just know it’s really fucking nice to be able to breathe for a minute.
I feel more centered, somehow. Tanner, she …
She said things no one would ever dare say to me. She challenged me. Told me to stop feeling sorry for myself. I should be livid but … I’m not. I’m not.
I feel a tightness in my chest as I think again about Giselle. About how I felt for her. About how every woman I fucked, I compared to her. No one was good enough. No one held a candle to her.
And tonight, while Tanner came around my fingers, around my cock, all I saw was her blonde hair, her sweet lips, her big, doe eyes. I only saw her. Only felt her. The ghost of Giselle was nowhere to be found.
As the water cools, I reach around and play lightly at Tanner’s breasts. I feel the soft, supple skin, the peaks of her responsive nipples. I caress and play, pinch and tickle. She arches into my hands, soft sounds coming from her chest.
Her sweet round ass moves against me, my dick hardening in response. Not for the first time, I imagine slipping inside her tiny brown hole, taking her from behind, fingering her sweet cunt until she cries out, her muscles straining against me as she finds her pleasure.
For now, though, I let her wriggle against me, my fingers finding their way between her legs, stroking between those sweet lips, not entering, just caressing.
I play and play, and when she begs, I push her ass up a bit, guiding her sweet cunt over top of my cock, sliding inside more easily this time. I splay one hand across her chest, tweaking a nipple as my other hand works her button. I press her to me, torturing her as she rides me. My mouth finds her neck and we fuck like that, my front to her back, her gorgeous tits coming in and out of the water with each movement we make together.
It takes longer this time, the building. We go slowly, savoring the feeling of this connection. When she comes, it’s long and slow and she breathes soft noises of satisfaction. I come right afterward, pumping my seed deep inside of her.
When I withdraw, it’s to clean her once more. I help her out of the tub, dry her, return her to the bed. My mouth finds hers wet and wanting. I haven’t kissed a woman since Giselle. I forgot how intimate it is.
“Is it always like this?” she asks.
It’s a naïve question. An inexperienced question. But it makes my cock swell again and while I’ve always been a virile man, I’m honestly shocked to be ready again so soon.
“No,” I answer simply.
“You’re ready again,” she observes.
“You need to rest,” I say. “You’ll be sore in the morning. I don’t want to hurt you.”
I lie next to her. She’s gloriously nude, sprawled out on my comforter like a satisfied cat. Her lean stomach is so gorgeous that I have to reach out to trail my fingers over it. Goosebumps erupt on her skin and it’s more satisfying than I’d like to admit.
She grins and it breaks my heart. She’s happy.
She pushes me to my back and crawls on top. Her lips find my chest, my nipples, my stomach, my pelvic bones. She bites a little here and there, finally finding my cock, her full lips parting, her tongue licking against my shaft. She takes me in and slowly makes her way down, opening her throat, taking in my full length.
“Talented,” I choke out.
She grins again and takes it all the way again. Again and again until I empty into her throat. She swallows, kisses the head, and then crawls into my arms, her head on my chest, her leg draped over mine.
And who would have guessed when this day began that Tanner Williams, abducted daughter of Draven Williams, would fall asleep in my arms, fitting against me like she belonged there all along.
# # #
Tanner
I feel drugged as I try to draw my body from sleep. My limbs feel heavy. My eyelids feel like concrete. It’s very hard, this waking up thing.
As I pop my head up, eyes blurry, I realize Griz is naked beside me. Holy hot bikers, Batman. I thought last night might have just been one extended, amazing wet dream. Yet, here I am, and here he is in his full, gym-hardened glory.
If I wasn’t already pretty hardcore crushing on David Grisham before now, having lost my virginity to him sort of cements that I’ll forever be a little swoony in his presence. Waking up with him like this moves me beyond crushing. I think I might like him, like him.
I’m not stupid enough to think he’ll ever love me. He probably regrets what we did, for whatever stupid man reason he’s concocted to convince himself that this is wrong. I’m too young, or I’m Draven’s daughter, or he can’t ever love another woman like he loved Giselle.
It’s okay. It really is. Because I don’t regret it one bit. I wanted him and he was a little drunk and a lot emotional and I took advantage of that. So whatever else happens, I’m fine with what went down. It felt good—so good—better than I expected for my first time. I mean, it hurt a little, at first, and women aren’t supposed to come like that when they’re doing it for the first time, right? Or maybe that’s just because most women lose it in high school, usually with a boy who has less experience than I had. Griz, however, is a man. A man who knows his way around a woman’s body. Score for me. Whoop!
I get up, dodging Griz’s temper-tantrum remnants as I head to the bathroom and wowza! My thighs feel like I ran a marathon and my pussy is tender like a young chicken. Holy cow, is that normal? I do all the standard morning things, and then crawl back into bed. Griz finds me, his eyes opening as he wraps an arm around my waist.
“Good morning,” he says roughly.
I wrinkle my nose. “You have morning breath. Pussy mouth. Go brush your teeth and come back to try that again.”
He chuckles. The first time I’ve heard him laugh. Score!
When he returns, minty-fresh, he kisses me softly. As he pulls away he says, “You were amazing last night.”
I blush ten thousand shades of pink. He gets hard, his cock pushing against my belly.
“You have no idea what effect you have on people, do you?” he asks as I lift my leg, inviting him in.
Belly-to-belly, we move together, a slow salute to morning. I’m sore, but having him close to me feels so right that I simply don’t care. I grab his ass and he sucks on my neck.
“Can you come for me?” he asks. “I want to feel you come on my cock.”
Oh, the dirty talk. Griz has a wicked mouth and I love it. I push my hips to meet his, my clit rubbing against him. The pressure builds and it’s not long before I feel that tingle of pre-release.
“Almost there,” I whisper against his mouth. “Keep going.”
He takes it up a notch, his cock stiffening inside of me as I fall over the edge. I had no idea. No idea. Christ.
We lie there, staring at each other.
For no good reason, I blush again. He rubs his thumb against my cheek and leans in for another kiss.
“I should have someone clean this place up,” he says. “I’m surprised neither of us got cut last night.”
“Yeah, it’s a … bit of a mess,” I agree. “Let me see your hand?”
As expected, he’s got a deep gash that’s now crusted over. “This probably could’ve used stitches,” I say.
“I’ve had worse,” he says.
“I heard. Where’d you get shot?”
He turns, showing me a puckered scar in his side. “Just grazed me, really. I dove to push my buddy out of the way. Two guys in two other clubs got in an argument at a party. They started getting physical and then one pulled a weapon. My friend Sam tried to be a peacemaker, because that’s just the kind of person he is. He thought everything was fine so he started walking away, but the guy was blitzed and he got a shot off. I dove and pushed Sam, because he had his back to the guy. Bullet grazed me. No big deal.”
“You have friends?” I ask, hoping he hears the humor in my tone.
“A few,” he admits. “But that’s what you got out of that story?”
“Well, it surprises me, honestly,” I say, cringing a little. “You seem really closed off,”
“I guess I am,” he says. “Just a byproduct of losing the people you care about.”
“Where’s Sam now? Not in the club?”
“Nah,” he says. “He stopped riding. Married his old lady. Went legit.”
We kiss a little, just brushes of the lips. He asks, “What about you? You have friends?”
“Sure,” I say. “One thing my father never limited was time with my girlfriends.”
“But he locked the chastity belt nice and tight?”
“He just made it intimidating for any guy who came around. No one wanted to cross him,” I answer. “Plus, I …”
Griz makes a questioning face.
“I never … I mean, I messed around some but I never felt … like, whatever that was between us.”
“Chemical attraction,” he said.
“I guess. Sure,” I say.
He sucks in his lips and rolls away, tiptoeing around the broken items that remain strewn about the room, finding clothing and dressing without another word.
“I’ll send someone to clear this out right away,” he says. “I need to prep for a club meeting tonight. Grab yourself some breakfast and do whatever you want today. If you want, I can send for someone to give you a massage.”
“That sounds nice,” I answer, my tone confused.
We were just having a nice chat, learning more about each other, and then—bam—he’s cold again. Rolling away, all business. I mean, I sort of figured he’d be out the door as soon as he woke up, so our sleepy little conversation was a really nice surprise, but now he’s doubled back, the open Griz gone.
I look around, knowing that the next time I come into this room, it will look different. New artwork, new lamps. Who knows, maybe the furniture will change. It occurs to me that this may have been a room he shared with Giselle. My heart breaks for him, destroying things that may have reminded him of her. I can only begin to imagine what that must feel like. All that loss in his life—he’s lost so many people he cares about, it’s a miracle he has anything left to give. Or maybe that’s it? Maybe he doesn’t think he has anything left in the emotional tank. Being here with me, close to me, sharing his stories with me—there’s an emotional price for that kind of interaction, and I suspect that David Grisham might have spent every penny before he ever even knew I existed.
Pity, really. Because I really like him a whole lot.
Strange, how this place has started to feel like home to me. It feels like I belong here, and that alone has me feeling all kinds of feels. Disloyalty to my father, to his club. Excitement for feeling like I have a place that could be only mine. Angry that I had to discover it by being a pawn in some political game. Emotional. Strange how much this man has come to mean to me, how much I find myself feeling like I really am his, really am claimed.
I sit in bed for a long while before finally rising to find a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Slipping on my flip flops, I clack out into the hallway, off to attack the hell out of some pastries.
Who knew sex would work up such an appetite?