15

Virgin Skin

Rampage

              Goddamn virgin skin. Fucking Snake knew what he was doing. He’s lucky it’s Lala’s birthday, and if she didn’t want that fucking tattoo so goddamn bad, he’d be breathing through a tube right now. I fucking hate that I’m stuck in the front, waiting like an asshole, twiddling my goddamn thumbs. Who knows what kind of shit he’s spitting in her ear back there, or what kind of shit he’s putting on her body.

I’ve no fucking clue what that asshole is permanently marking all over that perfect skin. All that soft and smooth will forever be changed. It’ll no longer be virgin skin. It won’t be completely naked anymore. Sweat starts beading on the back of my neck while my legs bounce. I think I’m about to have a fucking panic attack when a sweet and innocent Lala comes walking back out, followed by a smirking Snake. He’s looking like the asshole who just popped her cherry.

“Thank you, Snake.” She beams sweetly up at him. Hate when she looks at other motherfuckers like that. Those eyes, that smile − they’re mine. They are all fucking mine.

“Anytime, baby doll. All that perfect skin makes a man antsy to draw all over it. You want more ink, you come see me, and only me.”

“Deal. I’ll be back.” The fuck she will! Over my dead, cold body. That’s the last time anyone touches her.

“Later, Rampage,” Snake chuckles. Yeah, he’s super funny.

“Fuck you.” The last thing I hear is Snake’s laugh. Asshole.

              Stepping onto the sidewalk, I run my eyes from head to toe, looking for ink, but find nothing. Snake watches me through the window. He knows that I’m lookin’ ‘cause he’s pretty fucking happy as he watches me try to find it. The fucker tattooed somewhere under her clothes, or the little bit of clothes she’s got on, which leaves little fucking skin to tattoo. I’m going to kill the both of them.

Finding her wrists, I see a white piece of medical tape covering it. Grabbing her arm to take a look, she tugs it away from me. I hate that shit.

“It’s a surprise, Rampage.”

“I hate surprises.”

              I can’t wait. It’s not my birthday, so I’m not getting the surprise here, anyway.

“I wanna see it, baby.” Pulling her arm behind her back, she gives me that look − Sexy and feisty.

“Nope.”

“Not fuckin’ ‘round. I wanna see it.”

“You’re gonna have to wait.” Putting her free hand on my chest, she pushes me away. Goddamn woman. I have shit for patience and with her, it’s non-existent.

“Fine, but by tonight, I’m seeing it whether ya like it or not.”

****

             Following behind Lala, I watch her stop and start digging through a bin on the sidewalk outside of a store.

“The fuck you doin’, babe?” Reaching a hand inside, she digs around, tongue worried between her lips. She’s beautiful. I’m still not sure how I pulled that shit off. I’ll never understand why she picked me, but I’ll never fucking argue it.

Pulling out a CD, she looks at it and tosses it back, “Lookin’ for old school music,” she mutters. Old school music?

“Lala. Shit isn’t old school to you. Fuck, you were born like, eighteen years ago.” Pulling out another, she flips it over and smiles.

“I’m twenty-four, but thanks,” she laughs.

“Right. Still, babe.”  Seven years may not be a huge fucking number, but the way I’ve lived, that shit might as well be twenty years.

“Ohh! George Michael!” She screams. Jesus Christ. Give me a goddamn heart attack.

“You scream like that again, imma duct tape your goddamn mouth.” She just waves me off, smiling.

“What’s a George Miller?” Throwing her head back, she starts to laugh. The sound is something I’ll never get used to. The melody of her laugh still fucking lightens all that dark inside me.

Standing on the side of the road in some short, flowing dress, hair blowing in the wind, and tears of laughter running down her face, she couldn’t be any fucking sweeter. There is nothing better than her for me.

“George Michael,” she corrects me through her laughter.

“No clue, babe.” And that’s the truth. I don’t have a fucking clue, but whatever makes her smile.

“Father Figure, Faith, I Want Your Sex?” The last one sounds about right. I shrug and she rolls her eyes at me, “I’ll introduce you later.” No thanks.

“Hey!” She laughs and holds up the CD right in my face. “You kinda look alike.” She points to the picture and me. No way in fuck I look like that. I’m going to strangle her.

“Say that shit again, Lala, ‘n I’m gonna slap the shit out of you.” Giggling she starts off towards the front door of the store.

“You do. I’m going to get a poster too. Hang it above your bed at the club, maybe even on your door in the hall.”

“Lala.”

“Rampage,” She counters over her shoulder.

“Do it ‘n I’m kickin’ your fuckin’ ass, babe.”

Puckering up her lips, she blows me a kiss and says, “You’re full of shit.” True story. “Oh, and Rampage?”

“What, babe?”

“You don’t look like him,” Fucking right I don’t.

              She wanted some books and I got her those. She wanted that fucking CD, she got it. She pulled me through shops full of clothes and I bought her everything she touched. I watched her eat ice cream like something straight out of a fucking porn movie. I walked with her around the lake, let her pick flowers and be a goddamn girl the entire time. I did shit I’ve never done, and never thought I’d do. Would I do it again? For her, I would. There isn’t shit I wouldn’t do for her, especially on her birthday. Whatever she wants.

              Stopping on the sidewalk she looks up at me smiling, “Thank you,” she whispers.

“For?” Shaking her head at me, she grabs onto the sides of my cut, jerking on them. Only bitch that can do that shit and not end up wishing she didn’t.

Pulling me right to her, she leans up and wraps her arms around my neck, “For the best birthday ever.”

****

A tiny fucking chair, a too short table, elevator music, and an annoyingly bubbly bitch with a cheery as fuck smile stares at me. Lala is happy as fuck.

The waitress sets down my plate, with an exaggerated, “enjoy folks,” as she hustles her ass away.

“Fuck.” I hear a soft voice bark. What the fuck? I turn toward Lala and see that perfect as fuck face screwed up in irritation. Love hearing that dirty shit from her mouth. It makes my dick hard. “She screwed up your order,” she says all mad and shit, pointing at my food. I didn’t even notice. Pulling my plate over to her, she starts dissecting that shit while I watch her.

              Pulling off a pickle slice, she pops it into that beautiful mouth of hers. Next she goes for the tomato, and that goes right into her mouth, too. She sets the lettuce on her plate and puts everything back together for me and slides my plate back to me.

“There. Fixed it,” She does shit I hate and fucking love.

              I leave Lala in the restaurant to take a call from Tank. Of course he won’t shut the fuck up. I’m out here on the side of the joint, listening to him ramble on about shit I have no interest in right now.

“Listen. I left Lala in the damn restaurant for fifteen fuckin’ minutes ‘cause I’m listenin’ to you yappin’. Ya done? Or could you sum this shit up a little faster?” With a click, he just hangs up on me. That works too. Pushing back through the doors, I see a warm body in my recently vacated seat and I’m not fucking happy about it.

              A man is sitting there in my fucking seat, leaning over the table, touching Lala’s arm. The haze starts taking over. A few steps and I’m right behind the soon to be dead son of a bitch. Lala’s big blue eyes wander up my body, finally locking her eyes with mine. She looks scared… of me. I fucking hate that.

“Rampage,” she says softly. Sucking her bottom lip in, she starts chewing on it nervously.

              Jerking on the guys shirt, I pull his ass back, away from Lala. His hand tugs hard on her arm before letting go, causing me to pull so goddamn hard, the chair tips over. The only reason the motherfucker isn’t on his ass is because I’ve got ahold of him.

“Touch her again, ‘n I’ll dismember you.”

“What the hell,” comes a confused and alarmed voice. The guy fights a little, twisting around trying to break free.

“I was just being friendly,” Yeah that’s what I’m worried about, “Beautiful lady, all by herself…” Dropping him to the floor, my boot connects to his mouth, shutting him the fuck up. I don’t want to hear his excuse.

“Get up. Let’s go.”

“I’m sorry, Rampage.”

“Not mad at ya, baby.” And I’m not. Not sure I ever could be.

****

              The bathroom is fucking steamy when I step in and the mirror is fogged over, the air humid and hot. A trail of clothes are scattered across the tiled floor. Ten minutes ago, she said, “Shower with me?” How the fuck could I say no to that? I didn’t. I’ve never done this shit before with anyone. With the bitches I fuck, it’s a cut and dry deal. You wanna get fucked, I wanna fuck you, we fuck and that’s it. I might see you around and that’s all fine and shit, but you don’t get shit from me. There’s no foreplay. Definitely no dinner before or after. No showers together, no time in bed, but that’s all I fucking want with Lala. I want all that shit and more.

              Leaning against the doorframe, I watch her through the opaque shower door. That perfect body is only a shadow, but I see it all. I watch her run her hands down her body, and it’s like my own private show. She has her hands in her hair, then she’s running them over those big, round tits. Her hands are everywhere I wanna be. I watch her for a while until that ache becomes too goddamn much.

              I do something I wouldn’t do for any other bitch on this planet. I want a fucking taste. Stepping into the stream of the shower, I crouch down and push her ass up against the shower wall. Slapping the side of her ass, I tell her exactly what I want her to do, “Wrap those legs around my shoulders.”

              I want her juices on my tongue. I give her no time. I wrap those long legs around me and bury my head between her thick thighs. She doesn’t need time. My girl is always fucking wet for me. Running my tongue right through that shit, I get to work spelling the goddamn alphabet on that pussy.

Fuck, she taste so goddamn good. There’s a reason I don’t do this shit to any bitch. You wait ‘til you know you’re gonna taste someone as good as Lala. She’s moaning for me, begging me, nails digging into my skin, and I let her do her thing. I get to work on making her cum with my tongue. “Oh fuck. Fuck, Rampage!”

****

 

              Lying on the small bed in this old, rickety cabin, I remember the last time I was here. I was young as fuck. Mom brought me here to get away, and it was a good weekend. We played in the lake, got ice cream in town, and played at the arcade until my thumbs were about to fall off.

              This weekend rivals that fucking weekend tenfold. I’ve got Lala to myself. She’s on my bike and in my bed, and shit couldn’t be any fuckin’ better. For the first time in my life, I wonder if maybe there is more to life for me then my club.

 

****

             Ringing from my jean pocket wakes me up from a dead ass sleep. Rolling out from under Lala, I get out of bed, and of course, she rolls over and steals my spot. Looking back at her, she makes me fucking smile with her mess of hair and smooth skin. Her arm rests above her head, and I can see that pink little R on her wrist. Stupid, sweetest shit anyone’s ever done for me. I’m way over my goddamn head with this girl.

              Coming back to the ringing phone, I answer, “Yeah?”

“We got issues, brother. Shit went down at your place. Need you back.”

              Well, Fuck.