Bounty:Fury Riders MC(53)

But I can't call him that. Well, I can, but I don't believe it in my  heart. He saved my life. Even if I didn't have a tiny crush on him, he'd  always be special to me. He didn't need to come and get me, bring me to  his house, sit me by the fire, and make sure I wasn't on the verge of  losing a toe or a finger. He didn't have to take care of me. Demons or  not, he has a good heart. He just does his best to hide it.

I move away from the window, shivering from the cold that leaks through  the cracks in the frame. My nipples are painfully hard again, so hard  they could have etched the glass. I brush my fingers over them, unable  to help myself. Thinking about him. The way he looked last night.         

     



 

Before I know it I'm on the bed, hands inside the boxers I'm wearing.  I've been aching for touch since last night, wishing I could find some  sort of relief. The moment my fingers reach my aching clit I can't help  sighing, not bothering to stifle the sound since I know he's out of  earshot. But what would happen if he walked in, right now, and found me  like this?

My eyes are closed, my mouth open as I breathe heavily. I imagine him  stripping down, lowering himself over me, sliding inside me without a  word. I rub my clit, imagining the way he tastes, the sounds he makes as  he slowly fucks me. He's like an animal, rough, hard, pounding me  mercilessly yet slowly so he can relish the helplessness I feel. He  grunts every time he slams home, and before I know it I'm grunting too.  "Do you like that?" he whispers, and I moan as my hand moves faster and  faster.

Soon my hips are swaying in circles as I imagine himself grinding into  me. He throws his head back in triumph as he howls, exploding into me.  Then I explode, too, biting my lip to hold back the cries while waves of  pleasure roll over me. I can't help but smile, relieved. Now,  hopefully, I can keep myself under control.

A while later, after washing up and getting dressed, I go downstairs. I  explore a little, though there isn't much to see. A living room with a  wood burning stove in one corner. There's a TV in here, fairly low-tech.  A computer, also pretty simple compared to some I've seen. I guess he's  too busy working and keeping this place in one piece to spend a lot of  time on technology. I'm the same way. By the time I get home from work,  I'm exhausted-happy, but too tired to care what's happening on whatever  social media site people my age are spending their time on nowadays.

There's a dining room that looks as though it never really gets used. I  can see why-Jax doesn't seem like the type who entertains. I can't  imagine him throwing a dinner party, or even a holiday meal. I don't  even know if he has a family. I remind myself that it doesn't matter.

Then I'm back in the kitchen, which is clearly the heart of the home.  The fire is blazing away, the dog curled up in front of it just as he  was last night. I lean down to scratch him behind the ears. When I  straighten up, I notice how hungry I am. There's a pot on the stove over  a very low flame, and a bowl in the sink. He's already eaten. I take a  look inside the pot to find oatmeal waiting for me. How thoughtful. The  good, hot food warms me from the inside. I eat standing by the counter,  watching Jax all the while. He hasn't tired yet. I wonder if he's  planning to dig the car out next.

I remember something. My phone. Where did I leave it? I brought it in  with me, I know that much, not wanting to leave it in the frozen car. I  look around the room, in my coat pocket. Where is it?

I see it sitting on the counter, plugged into a charger. Thank God he  has a cord that works with it. I turn it on, wondering if I'll have a  signal this time. There's nothing where I'm currently standing, so I  unplug and start walking around the house in the hopes it will help.

Once I get to the living room, it does help. The signal gets stronger,  and suddenly my list of missed calls jumps to fifteen. I open the list  to find that many of them were from my parents, before I called from  Jax's phone. They left several voicemails, too, increasingly frantic.

There's one voicemail from a number I don't recognize. I assume it's a  telemarketer or something similar, and press the play button.

"Hey, it's me." My heart skips a beat, and not in a good way.  Immediately, my palms start sweating. Why the hell is he calling me now?  I told Tommy I never wanted to hear from him again after the last time  he called, begging me to take him back.

That's what he's after this time, too. "I don't understand why you won't  give me another chance. I know I messed up, but one of the things I  loved most about you was your forgiving nature. You're such a good,  sweet person. How can you do this to me? What's come over you? Is there  somebody else? I won't let anybody come in between us. All I want to do  is love you and be good to you. I know we can make it work this time,  but you have to be willing to give us a chance. Please, let me be the  man I know I can be. I know you'll never be sorry."

I've heard this all before, and I close my eyes. I'm trying to fight off the waves of nausea threatening to overtake me.

"Actually, you know what? Fuck you, you bitch. If you won't even answer  your fucking phone, I don't see why I bother with you anymore. You think  you can just break my heart and walk away like it doesn't matter. Are  you with somebody else right now? Sleeping with some other man, you  slut? When I'm here begging for you take me back, like I did something  wrong? Fuck you, bitch."

He keeps rambling on. I take the phone from my ear and see that there's  another two minutes left in the message, so I delete it without  listening to the rest. I don't know why I started it in the first place.

It's always like this. He starts off loving and apologetic, but  eventually begins spiraling. I don't even have to be in the room for him  to blame me. And he always blames me.         

     



 

I remember that last night together, the last time he hit me. The time I  decided enough was enough. I had made dinner, his favorite: chicken  parmigiana with homemade pasta and fresh-baked bread. I had spent all  day on it, pounding the cutlets, breading and frying them. Preparing the  pasta dough in my food processor, rolling it out and cutting it into  strips. Kneading the bread dough, letting it rise until it was time to  bake off. I even made a fresh marinara sauce. All for him, all to make  him happy.

But the butter was cold. When he went to butter his bread, he couldn't  spread it because it was too cold. I'd forgotten to take it out to  soften before setting it out on the table.

Before I knew it, the food was on the floor and I was against the wall.  "Why can't you do anything right?" he screamed in my face, his nose  inches from me. Then his palm was against my cheek, hard. A flash of  light in front of my eyes. I saw stars.

That was it. I'm still not sure exactly what about that experience was  enough to prove once and for all that I had to leave. Maybe the way I'd  tried so hard to please him. I'd worked my ass off all day. I'd even  planned a special evening afterward, complete with lingerie in the hopes  of getting him interested. He'd seemed to be less interested in me. Of  course, that was my fault, too, just like everything else. If only I was  sexier, thinner, thicker, whatever he felt was lacking in me that day.  The cold butter and his reaction was enough to finally get through to  me. Things were never going to get better. When he left my apartment,  leaving me to clean up everything he'd thrown around the room, I knew I  had to get out. So I packed what I absolutely needed into my car and  drove away.

I stare at my phone now, standing here in the middle of Jax's living  room. I can't help thinking that, no matter how far I go, he'll find me.  But I can't keep running away forever. It's over an hour before Jax  comes back into the house. I'm in a terrible mood now, wishing I could  punch something hard. Why can't Tommy leave me alone and let me get on  with my life? Other women break up with boyfriends and are able to move  on. Why can't I? I have my shop, and my customers, and I'm a part of the  town. I really feel like a part of something for the first time in my  life, like I'm adding to the community. Why can't I have this little  victory for myself?

I need something to do. Jax has plenty of books, more than I would have  expected from him. But no, sitting still won't do right now. I need to  be on my feet.

Before I know it, I'm back in the kitchen, not giving a shit anymore  about whether or not Jax cares that I've taken over. It's either busy  myself cooking or rip his head off for no reason the second he comes  back inside. It's not his fault I spent so many years with a sick  bastard who's creepily obsessed with me. It's not his fault my life is a  fucking wreck.

I must be masochistic or something because I decide to make a soufflé.  It's one of the most difficult dishes to get right. The slightest hint  of motion and the entire thing will fall. The effort it takes to whip  the eggs is exactly what I need right now, though. I need to beat the  hell out of something, even if it is just a bowl of helpless  ingredients.