Kim

"You missed Benji's rehearsal yesterday," I tell Tank as I let him into my apartment. I wanted to go out to dinner, since I've been cooped up inside all day, maybe even take another ride on his bike, but he just wanted to come over, said we can order in if I'm hungry. That annoyed me. "He was under the impression that you promised to be there. So was I."

He said he'd only be gone for a day or two, but it turned out to be four. It's Saturday night. He didn't even mention taking me to his house for the weekend like he said he would. That annoys me too.

"Yeah, it couldn't be helped," he says and glides his hands down my cheek, cups it, stares deep into my eyes with such softness, such devotion, I forget why I was annoyed at him. How could I not?

He's looking at me like I'm the only person worth looking at, like nothing and no one else exists, like he'd spent centuries yearning to look at me and now finally can. I can't stay annoyed with him under that look, it's impossible. That look goes deeper than any words ever could, than any action ever could, goes straight to my soul.

"I told him you had to work," I whisper. "And he understood."

He smiles at me faintly then kisses me, softly and gently, yet purposefully too, like he's taking a drink of water after going thirsty for eons. And the sensation tops the look, makes the room vanish, the world disappear, all my other cares, all my annoyances, all my upsets blown back by strong winds into oblivion.

We just kiss for a long time, his hands gentle as they caress every part of my body they can reach, mine more demanding in their exploration of his.

I don't remember walking, but we made it to the bed somehow amid all the kissing. He's on top of me, but we're both still dressed, kissing, groping and grinding like a couple of teenagers pretending to study but making out instead.

I never had a boyfriend in high school, nor until after college. But this makes up for all that, makes up for all the loneliness I felt before I met him, all the things I missed, because I had to stay home and be my mom's rock. Once in a while the kisses grow more intense, but they ebb back into the timeless, space less connection we share.

I'm breathless, my lips swollen and pulsing by the time he finally breaks away and balances over me on his strong arms.

"Wanna get naked?" he asks, grinning at me.

I nod and grin right back. "You first."

He narrows his eyes and looks at me sideways, then sits up and proceeds to rip his sweater and t-shirt off in one, well-practiced motion. His smell, muffled by his clothes before, explodes all around me, musky yet clear like the fresh air high in the snowy mountains. It makes my pussy tingle, grow even wetter than it already was. But this isn't what I meant…

"Not like that," I chide. "Do it slowly and sensually."

This time there's no mistaking the disdain in his eyes. "I ain't stripping for you like some damn pansy.”

He unbuckles his belt and undoes his jeans with no more grace than when he took off his sweater.

"Fine," I say and stand up, while he takes off his jeans and boxers. "I'll strip for you then."

"Now, that's more like it," he says and leans back against the headboard, his hard cock a distraction, but not worse than the desire and anticipation in his eyes.

Sunset is not quite over yet outside, and the sky is striped in shades of dark blue, purple and pink. This is the perfect end to this day. The perfect end to any day, for that matter.

I've never taken my clothes off for a guy like this before, but the intimacy in the air, the bone-deep knowledge that he'd love to watch me in any way I wish to present myself to him, gives me all the skill I need to do this right.

I pull my t-shirt over my head, loving the serene smile on his lips as his eyes take in my bra-covered breasts and my white-as-milk stomach, which used to annoy me, but in this moment does not. I unbutton my jeans, then twirl around, looking at him over my shoulder as I stick my ass out and peel them off. I've seen it done this way somewhere before, or maybe just in a picture. Either way, I'm clearly doing something right, judging by his groan. Or maybe that's all down to the lacy thong I'm wearing under my jeans, which I bought at the mall the other day while Mom and Benji weren't watching.

I got the matching bra too, and I unhook it now, my back still turned to him as I slide it all the way off. I twist and toss it at him while covering my breasts with my arm.

"Take it all off," he instructs hoarsely, like I'm actually a performer at some strip show, but he's grinning widely too, because it's me he wants to see.

I release my breasts, my back still to him, ass out, and slide my panties down. Only after they're all the way off too, and I step out of them, do I turn around and let him see me whole. He whistles at the sight, a practiced sound like he'd made it a thousand times before, for a thousand women, but his eyes tell me I'm also a thousand times more important, more desired, more needed than any of them.

"Now get over here," he says and gets comfortable on the bed. "You can be on top today."

I need no telling twice, straddle him and let my hair fall like a sheet around us as I kiss him again, because my lips have been very lonely this whole time.

His hands are sliding up and down my sides, caressing and kneading my breasts, cupping my ass, stroking my back, but slowly, leisurely, the passion he has for me just a lazy-flowing, deep river of desire. I'm perfectly happy just touching his cheeks, caressing his neck, running my hands through his hair. His cock is pulsing against my wet pussy, soft yet hard, just the way it should be.

He slaps my ass suddenly, not too hard, but not innocently either, then stops kissing me as I gasp from the sudden stinging jolt back to reality.

"What are you waiting for? Get on," he says, grinding his cock into my clit to make his point clearer.

I rise a little and reach back to position his cock, since he's not helping at all, clearly intent on letting me do all the work tonight. Which I'm more than happy to do.

I gasp as his cock slides into me, my pussy swallowing too much too fast. I rotate my hips to let myself get used to it, let it hit all the spots inside me it somehow hasn’t managed to find yet during all the times we've been together. Before him, I used to always worry I wasn't doing it right when I was on top, but with Tank it all just comes so naturally. Everything is second nature with him.

The soft, glazed look in his eyes, and his hoarse breathing are telling me he's enjoying this as much as I am. So I keep going, keep rolling my hips, sliding up and down on his cock, letting it fill me, fuse to me, make me complete. I feel like I'm filled with a million butterflies, flapping their colorful, velvety wings in the summer breeze, bliss, belonging and pleasure all I know.

He slides his palms up my body, across my erect nipples up to my neck, resting them there until I feel my own heartbeat through his hands. In this moment, we truly are one. As much as two separate people ever can be. It's such a surreal feeling, so senseless, yet more concrete than anything I've ever felt.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers coarsely. "Do you know that?"

I can see myself in his dark eyes perfectly right now. And yes, in his eyes, I am beautiful.

He narrows his eyes slightly, his lips curling up to the left. "No, you don't know," he concludes. "But I plan on telling you and showing you, until you do. Until you believe it like I already know it."

Those have got to be the sweetest words anyone's ever said to me, or said about me. It's enough to make me tear up a little, even though I never cry. "Thank you," I whisper.

He smiles at me softly, pityingly almost, but it's only because he cares so much. And for the next few seconds we're both still, his cock buried deep inside me, pulsing in rhythm to my heartbeat. He looks like he's gonna say something else I've always wanted to believe when I heard it, but never could. Because it was never true the way it is between us.

"Let me give you something else you'll say thank you for," he says instead, and I gasp as he grabs me and flips us both over so he's on top again.

That's not what he was gonna say, but even that knowledge fades as he starts pumping his cock into me. Steadily at first, then faster and faster, the movement of his hips, of his cock filling me, just parts of a wave, a wave of pleasure and bliss, of belonging that has no beginning and no end. Just like all life. Just like all love.

The wave rises ever higher, its frothy whitewater ends thickening with searing, breath-taking pleasure, heralding my orgasm, the one that will take me under, take my air and my sanity, my awareness, my sight, my everything. I welcome it, open to receive it, surrender to give, let it wash all over me, coloring everything inside and out in bright light that’s sparkling like rainbows, like mists, like diamonds, before all turns to black. But I fight the blackness, return to him once feeling other than that of endless, searing pleasure returns to me.

"I love you, Tank," I whisper into his ear, since he's lying on top of me, recovering from what must have been an orgasm as strong and violent as my own. So I said it first, but he was gonna say it before, I know he was, and it doesn’t matter who actually says it first because we both already know it.

He raises his head and looks at me, my face mirrored in his eyes, as his must be in mine. "Yeah, me too."

I cringe, because that's not how I wanted to hear that sentiment for the first time from him. He chuckles.

"I mean, I love you too, my beautiful Kim," he corrects himself.

"That's better," I whisper, before closing my eyes and letting my kiss do all the rest of the talking.

* * *

Tank

I could sleep. After all the stress of the last few days I could sleep until Monday. But unlike all the other times we've had sex up to now, Kim's wide awake and intent on talking. I'm trying not to doze off, I really am, but she's been at it for an hour or more, just talking, asking me questions, telling me about her life.

She hasn't done much of that until now, unless it was to tell me about that shit she went through in Africa, and how she always had to take care of her mom and her brother. And I like seeing her carefree like this, unguarded, easy, happy.

I don't think she was very happy before we met, but she sounds it now. I wasn't very happy before I met her either. And I have to find a way out of all the lies I told her, so we can continue being happy together.

She's lying in my arms, gliding her hand across my stomach, but not looking to get me started, it's more like she's just enjoying the feel of my muscles.

"Why won't you tell me anything about yourself?" she suddenly asks, raising her head a little to look at me in a stern way that tells me this is one question that's been bothering her for awhile.

"What do you mean? I've told you plenty," I say. But yeah, it was mostly all lies. And I think she suspects that.

"You have not," she says exasperatedly. "You change the subject back to me every time I ask you something. I've now told you everything, but my third grade teacher's name and I know next to nothing about you."

That's not, strictly speaking, true. She just told me a lot about the articles she's written, about her life back in New York, and how she misses all the whacky food you can get there as opposed to here, where we only have two Chinese restaurants, and lots of burger and pizza places. I didn't want to hear much of that, because it sounded like she was leaving soon. In those cases, she was the one that kept dodging all my questions about why she came home and how long she's staying for. But I feel too good to point that out now, because she'll just argue with me about it.

"All I know about you is that you fix old cars and like to dress like a biker," she adds.

I am a biker, I almost tell her. But with all the heat and problems currently surrounding me it's not a good idea to mention it yet.

"You also know you love me," I say and grin at her. But even though her eyes get a little softer at the edges, I can tell she's having none of my evasive jokes anymore. Not tonight. Tonight she wants honesty.

"Fine, my third grade teacher's name was Ms. Brown. She was an old spinster bitch, and she didn't get any better after I was forced to live with her and her equally bitchy sister," I tell her, since it's time for some truth, and my past that far back is relatively safe to talk about.

"Why did you live with your teacher?" she asks, sitting up and looking down at me intently, her wavy red hair catching the light from the nightstand lamp and glowing like the best fire I've ever seen. "Where were your parents?"

I'm not getting out of this questioning easily. She looks like a dog with a bone right now, only way cuter.

"My mom died when I was born, and my dad when I was eight," I tell her. I don't mind talking about my mom, since I never knew her, but remembering my dad's death still doesn't sit easy with me even after all these years.

"I knew you understood," she whispers, her eyes even softer than before and glowing blue like the noonday sky.

"When I told you my dad died, I knew you understood all about what that was like," she elaborates, but I already knew that's what she meant.

I shrug. "Not much to understand. It sucks. But I never waited for mine to come back. I knew he was dead for sure."

She looks at me intently for a couple of seconds after I stop talking like she's waiting for me to say more, but as far as I'm concerned that's as much as needs to be said.

"You saw him die?" she finally asks in a shaky voice.

"Yeah, but…" I was gonna say, "It's not a pleasant bedtime story". But maybe after hearing this sad story, she'll take it better when I admit I've been lying to her about everything else since we met. Maybe it'll even make her more sympathetic to the truth when I finally reveal it to her.

Besides, I've told this story many times over the years, since it's the reason why I believe I can get away with dealing out death left right and center with no consequences. I have it down to a concise little tale by now. And she's already seated for it, which is always a good thing.

I sit up too and lean against the headboard, wishing her body was still pressed against mine, since I'm kinda cold without it. But not as cold as I was for those three fucking days that I'm about to tell her about.

"A little background first, to ease into the story," I say just like I always do when I start telling it. She nods very intently, and I can clearly see the nosy journalist in her, but she'll probably be sorry she asked by the time I'm done.

"I come from a small town at the foot of the Rockies in Montana. My father was a real mountain man, you've probably heard of the type, a wooden cabin in the wilderness, no social security number, guns everywhere, a generator for electricity, a water pump, hunting for food, and no steady job. He was happiest living out in the middle of nowhere with the wolves and the bears, and no one in town had any idea how he got my mom to live there with him too, since she was a waitress in one of the town's two diners before she met him, and she died after she gave birth to me. Which probably could've been prevented if she hadn't attempted to do it in the cabin, but apparently there was a huge snow storm the day she went into labor and there really wasn't much choice. At least that's how my father told the story."

I pause to gauge her reaction. She's got a broken sort of look in her eyes, which I assume will only get worse, but there's no turning back now, so I keep talking.

"My father would've been more than happy to keep me out of school and away from civilization, but after what happened to my mother, the town preacher and a bunch of busybodies like Ms. Brown insisted I go and kept an annoyingly close eye on us. He still kept me out of school most winters, since it could take half a day just to get from our cabin down to the town. So on one such winter, not long after my eight birthday, there was another blizzard, this one bad enough to uproot trees. And a pine fell on our roof."

She gasps, that's how intently she's listening to my story. Her eyes are wide too, her lips open and sexy as hell. I should've just kissed her instead of lunging into this story. That's what I should've done, but it's too late now.

"Yeah, it was pretty bad. A part of the roof caved in and some of the pine branches were poking through. So my father took the chain saw and went to take care of it, which proved to be a big fucking mistake. His last mistake as it turned out." I pause because I always pause here when I'm telling this story. It's for effect.

She's trembling, her eyes even wider now, her lips even more inviting. I don't want to scare her. I want to make it all better for her. Everything.

"He sliced his neck open with the chainsaw, but still managed to come back into the cabin where he bled out at my feet," I conclude. "And it didn't stop snowing for the next three days, so I was stuck there with his dead body and most of his blood on the floor, before I could finally get down the mountain for help. And by that time, I was pretty fucking sure he was dead."

"That's such an awful thing to see," she says, her voice muffled since she's holding her palm over her mouth from the shock. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

Her eyes tell me she really, truly is so very sorry.

I shrug. "Accidents happen. The preacher got Ms. Brown and her sister to take me in after that. They only did it because they were both secretly in love with him, since I was a handful, I'll tell you that. Me and the preacher's son, we both were. I don't think anyone in that town was sorry to see us go when we left at seventeen. But we're still happily working together to this day, so it turned out fine."

I don't know why I started talking about Cross just then. When I tell it to the MC brothers, this story ends with me explaining all about how me and the Grim Reaper struck a deal during those three days while I watched my father rot. How we made a pact that I'd never be punished for dealing out death, because death himself took me under his wing while he made me wait for him to clean up his mess. But that's not something Kim can hear.

"I'm so glad you had people to lean on through all that," she says and runs her hand down my cheek. "Is that why you like to volunteer at my brother's home? To pay it forward?"

I lay my hand over hers on my cheek. "Yeah, something like that. Now let's stop talking about death."

I smile at her and she returns it faintly, before leaning down and giving me the softest, most caring kiss I've ever received in my life. It's just too bad I'm gonna have to leave soon.

My phone's been beeping with missed calls on and off since I started telling her my story, and they only call that many times when there's something that requires my urgent attention.

But for once, I'm gonna put my own needs before the MCs. Because the way I feel right now, I wouldn't stop kissing Kim even if the house was burning down around us.