Kim

"I thought we said tight and short," Tank says by way of a greeting as I walk up to him in front of Dawn's Diner.

I'm wearing a pair of skinny jeans, a t-shirt and sneakers, because I didn't have time to change after visiting Benji and taking Mom home. I didn't even have time to shower.

“Next time,” I say and shrug regretfully instead of telling him that, because the first time I mentioned not showering was disgusting enough. No need to repeat that gem. Besides, we can take a shower together once we get to my place. Though I'm not sure we can both fit in my shower stall. He's twice as wide as me, his arms thicker than my thighs. And right now, noticing this, I want to just skip dinner and lick those crevices his muscles form until I'm full. Or lick something else too, but I'm not sure I can even fit his thick cock in my mouth. I mean to try though.

I check myself before that fantasy makes me unable to think of anything else.

"But I see you've shined your boots," I say and wink at him.

He pulls me closer, wraps his arms loosely around my lower back and presses his hard on into my stomach.

"They're new boots, Kim," he says. "How can you expect them to look old if they're new?"

"Well, maybe you should work on scuffing them up harder then," I say as I rest my hands against the sides of his stomach. He feels like a rock. A rock that could support me and shelter me from anything. I don't even fully realize we're standing on the sidewalk right now. I feel like we're alone, somewhere safe, comfortable and warm. I've never truly felt safe after my dad died, I suddenly realize, not even in my bedroom at home. I always had too much to worry about, too many people to take care of. Even after I left home, I had all those poor unfortunates that featured in my articles to take care of. I failed. And I never had anyone to help me pick up the pieces of myself after that.

But right now, standing in Tank's arms, I feel safe, I feel like I've finally found someone who can help me. It doesn't make a lot of sense, because I hardly know him, but it's such a warm, liberating feeling, I don't ever want it to end, and I don't want to doubt it either, because that's kinda the same thing. I suppose this elation I'm feeling could just be a delayed reaction to witnessing my mom's meltdown this afternoon, which didn't completely subside until she took her sleeping pill when we got home. And even then I had to sit with her until she fell asleep.

Having this kind of reaction to someone I practically just met makes no sense. But this—being with him and letting myself feel these things without questioning them—will be my break from everything that makes sense, because I need that break.

"I mean, a biker's boots are supposed to be well worn in from hard use, right?" I add, since he's just looking at me with a soft yearning in his eyes like I'm a whole cake and all his.

"You wouldn't buy it for a second, if I told you I'm a real biker who just happened to need new boots? I mean, due to all the hard use the old pair got. Right?"

A mischievous, playful light dances in his eyes as he smirks at me, waiting for my answer. I want to kiss it right off.

So I do. Because apart from making me feel safe, he also makes me think I can do exactly what I want to, do what feels good and not worry about the consequences, makes me believe it. Especially as he returns my kiss, hard and dominating, but sweet and soft too. Lasting. This connection between us is weird and welcome and so damn right, I can't even question it, because it just is.

"To answer your question, no," I say after kissing him for a good while. "You play the part OK-ish, but I'd never believe you were a real biker. You're too clean."

He barks a laugh at that. "Right, 'cause all bikers are dirty. I'll have to remember that one."

"The ones I've seen mostly were," I say. "And no, please don't take that as advice."

He loosens his hold on me. "Come on, let's go get the dinner part of this date over with now. Oh, and just so you know, I picked a flower for you, but I somehow managed to sit on it."

He pulls a squashed yellow rose from the front pocket of his shirt, and shows it to me. "Sorry. I'll be more careful next time."

I can't say anything because he just took my breath again. He moves to toss it away, but I grip his hand with both of mine.

"No, I love it, thank you," I say breathlessly.

He gives me an amused look like he thinks I'm either very cute, or faking it. But I put the rose in my purse very carefully, because I can dry it between the pages of a book and keep it as a memento forever. I'll want to keep things to remind me of Tank, because I'm having the time of my life with him so far.

Once I'm done with that, he practically pulls me after him into the diner, and his eagerness is contagious. I'll take him on more dates, and next time I’ll wear the pretty dress. But tonight I'm just as eager to get back to my house as he is.

* * *

Dinner was short, made even shorter by him eating half my fries after he finished his. I almost ordered dessert just to toy with him a little more, make him wait a little longer, because he so wanted to hurry me back to my place, but I didn't, since I wanted that too.

"Wanna see the dress I was going to wear tonight?" I ask once we're in my living room and our ferocious kisses wane. He's still licking and nipping my neck though, and each and every one of those sends a spark of searing hot electricity deep into my core.

He grunts something, which I take as a yes, and bend down to reach into the shopping bag I dumped inside the door before rushing to meet him.

I take a step back from his embrace, his arms reluctant to let me go, and hold the dress up against my body. It's shimmery and gold, and I never wear gold, but the saleslady convinced me it looked great on me. I thought so too as I checked myself out in the dressing room mirror, and even though I never imagined myself getting a gold dress, I wanted to wear it for him. That cracked look in his eyes tells me he'd like that very much too.

"I'll be just as happy, if you take everything off," he mumbles after staring at me for a few seconds. "But the dress is nice."

I like his suggestion very much too, so I let the dress fall and take his hand. "Shower first."

"I thought you said I looked clean," he complains, but lets me drag him across the living room easily enough.

"Maybe I'm not," I muse over my shoulder. "Or maybe I just want to run my hands all over you with purpose."

"As long as you're thorough, I won't complain," he shoots back, and yeah, just the tone of his voice is enough to make me wish we were naked already.

A couple of minutes later we are, the bathroom quickly filling with the steam from the shower I let run while we discarded our clothes.

I grab his hand again to pull him after me into the shower stall, but this time he doesn’t budge. Instead he pulls me into his arms and kisses my neck so intoxicatingly well I see stars. By the time our lips meet for a kiss, the stars are already exploding into a brilliant, multicolored mess.

Then he guides me into the stall, which as I feared, is not big enough to fit the both of us. We have to keep the door open, and the water is splashing everywhere but I don't care. That's what towels are for.

He stops kissing me and reaches for the gel, looking at me with all sorts of mischief in his eyes.

"Time to make this dirty girl clean, am I right?" he says and pours a good amount of the gel into his palm, filling the air with the scent of oranges. I like the way he says dirty girl, and I like that playful light in his eyes even more, the one that's so soft in the center—like the calmest ocean wave—but has such an undeniably sharp edge. I love that edge, it tells me he's strong, as strong as I've always had to be. Maybe stronger.

He works the shower gel into a lather, the smell of oranges growing stronger in the steamy heat. I shiver from the current that flashes through me as he touches me. His touch is like electricity in water. Not as deadly, but every bit as devastating.

He washes my arms and my back, my breasts, pinching my nipples, making my sighs and moans catch in my throat. My breaths are coming in jagged little gasps as his hands approach my pussy, but he veers to the sides, lathering up my butt, before kneeling down and washing my thighs, calves, each of my feet, which are usually ticklish, but not right now, not amid these streams of desire flowing all through my body. I barely just met Tank, but somehow I feel like we've been here before, thousands of times, and each was better, more intimate, more bonding than the last.

I gasp as his hand finally touches my pussy. The suds are mostly gone from his fingers, and the streams of desire cascading inside my body become rivers as he rubs my clit, getting it clean, sure, but doing so much more besides. My nails are digging into the flesh of his shoulders, my head spinning, my sighs and moans mixing with the hissing of the water.

He stands up abruptly, his hand still on my pussy but only until he's once again towering over me. Then his touch is gone and a complaint is right at the tip of my tongue.

"My turn," he announces, and I can just barely make out his wink in the steamy air between us, in the fog filling my brain,, since I was about to come when he stopped touching my clit. Which is frustrating, it's like a jet of cold water got mixed in with the hot. But the prospect of what he's suggesting is very tantalizing too.

I smile at him as I take the shower gel he's offering me, dump some in my palm, and actually moan a little as I lather his bulky, wide, hard arms. It's like touching a marble statue of some Greek warrior god, only he's warm and human, and mine. I have long fingers, but they don't reach around his biceps, don’t close around his forearms.

His stomach is covered in rippling peaks and valleys, which flow around his sides too. I've never seen abs like that on a man, let alone had the pleasure of touching them. If I wasn't doing it now, I'd say it was impossible to have muscles like that without surgery. He must spend hours at the gym for them, but right now I don't want to know that, I want to believe he got them fighting bad men and doing hard, manly work.

I kneel before him, just as he knelt for me and lather up his thighs. They're wide too, and taut, shaking a bit under my touch, but I think the real reason for that is that my mouth is now a mere inch from his rock hard cock, so close he probably feels my breath against it.

He grips it in his fist, the black of his knuckle and hand tattoos stark against the flesh of his cock.

"You know, soap's overrated," he says, and I know exactly what he means, he didn't even have to brush his cock against my lips to get his point across. But I'm glad he did, because those rivers of desire rushing through me just broke their banks as I tasted him for the first time.

I lick the head of his cock, swirling my tongue around it, making him groan as I try to decide whether I should even attempt to take it into my mouth. My body's need to do it wins out over that logical voice telling me it's impossible since it's too fat.

I open wide and take it in my mouth, slowly, carefully at first, afraid my teeth will damage him somehow. But he doesn't seem to mind them grazing his smooth flesh, since he pushes more of himself into my mouth, making me gag. But I recover quickly, because it was mostly just from surprise. I take a little more of him before I have to come up for air. I twirl my tongue around the head of his cock getting a second taste, before bobbing down and letting him fill my mouth again.

I'm only bobbing down on the upper third of his cock, since it's all I can take without gagging. He's letting me take as much as I want, but his fist in my hair at the back of my head is telling me he's not truly surrendering his control over the situation. I swallow more of him then let my tongue slide against the throbbing vein as I come up, do it again and again, slowly, tasting all he has to give and wanting more.

His fist in my hair tightens, and that's all the warning I get before he thrusts his cock down my throat on one of my downward bobs. I gag and he lets me get a breath of air, but then he does it again and again, faster and harder each time. I'm gagging, struggling to breathe, even as I rub my pussy, because I love getting used like this, like I'm just a vessel for his pleasure, and he for mine.

I'm just starting to get used to the onslaught when he pulls out all the way, and lifts me up by my hair, the stinging pain in my scalp only adding to my desire, my need to have him inside me.

"Enough of this," he says hoarsely and twirls me around, then pushes me against the tiles, spreading my legs with his knee. I arch my back and offer myself to him without needing a reminder, without needing to be told. It's a reflex, one that's never worked as well as it does with him.

He wastes no time either, his fist still gripping my hair, pulling my head back, so he can kiss me in the exact same moment as he thrusts his cock into me. I come up on my toes, gasp, moan and shriek at the same time, because that single thrusts almost made me come. Now I'm stuck at the very edge of that orgasm, my body taut and rigid, my mind not working. A second hard thrust undoes me, my body melting into the steamy air around us, as I come so hard I'm afraid my heart will stop. But he just keeps thrusting into me, my body now completely open to him, the intense orgasm he just gave me fading one jagged breath at a time, turning into something almost as intensely searing.

I love being taken like this, with no excuses, no warning, no caring questions whether I'm alright, which only ever served the purpose of making me think I was doing something wrong, when I moaned and shriek my way to an orgasm, trying to feel at least a fraction of what he gives me every time. All I ever wanted was to feel this animal passion that dictates his thrusts now. To unleash my own too. My pussy is yearning for more, for deeper and harder, my whole body is.

His hands are all over my body as he accepts my surrender to his thrusting cock, to his need to possess and use my body, which is matched only by my need for him. The orgasm he's bringing me now is approaching in a series of waves rising ever higher, ever stronger, each more breathtaking than the last, until I can no longer breathe, no longer feel his hands on my body, until all I feel is his cock ripping me open, giving me pleasure like I've never felt, the kind of pleasure that's better than walking on a field of soft grass, better than feeling the summer breeze on your naked skin, better than eating chocolate, drinking expensive wine, helping someone who needs you, touching someone who loves you. It's better than all those things rolled into one.

* * *

Tank

She brings out the beast in me. The one that doesn't care about anything other than feeling good. It's been years since any woman's been able to do that. But Kim is very good at making me feel good. She's sleeping in my arms now, in bed, the steam from all that hot water we wasted still lingering near the ceiling. It's clearly visible, gleams like rainbows as a car pulls up into the driveway, illuminating the room for a few moments before plunging it back into darkness.

I'm wide-awake. Couldn't sleep if I tried. It always happens to me after good sex. But Kim is sleeping peacefully in my arms, her even breaths making her chest rise and fall, her hard nipple brushing against my arm each time. I want to wake her and get more of what she gives me. I'll do it soon. But for right now, I'm happy exactly where I am, and it's been awhile since that was the case. So I'll savor it for a little while longer.