Strung (15 page)

"I didn't figure you for a biker or rocker either."  I muse.  "And might I add you look relaxed, dangerous and incredibly sexy tonight."

"I can't speak for sexy; but dangerous?  Possibly.  Relaxed?  Far from it."  His eyes are burning and a familiar charge is swirling between us.  Chayton stands and cups my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against my cheeks.  His lips seal onto mine and as I groan, he invades my mouth with his tongue.  His kiss is desperate and tender all the same time.  He tastes of beer and desire and our tongues explore each other, dancing to a sensual tune of their own. 

I don't know when he turned us around but I feel him lifting me, straddled, onto the fuel tank facing backward while straddling himself forward onto the saddle.  He lets me slide down against his hips and I wrap my legs around him resting my feet on the back of the saddle behind him. 

"Who needs alcohol?  You are intoxicating enough for an entire army, of hot blooded men," his voice is soft and filled with secret reverence.

"I thought we needed to talk.
”  I whisper.

"God help me Acacia, but for the life of me, I can't think of a single thing I want to say to you right now
.  My mind is bursting with things I want to do to you."  He tilts his hip into mine and I gasp as feel his arousal, pressing against me in the most private of places, through our jeans. 

He leans me back, my spine arching over the fuel tank and one hand cups my head, above the gauges and between the
handlebars.  The fuel cap presses into my back, between my shoulder blades, but as his free hand slides from my hip to caress a needy breast and his mouth claims my neck, I forget the discomfort.  His nimble fingers find a traitorous nipple, through the thin fabric of my blouse, teasing me mindlessly.  I surrender to the sensations. 

Sparks blaze at the end of every nerve in my body and my hormones are firing on all cylinders.  I feel his hips flex against me again, the seam and fly of his jeans adding to the
prominence of his erection and rubbing delectably in all the right places – again and again.  Tension is building deep, deep inside me, as his sweet assault continues.  His teeth nip, his fingers squeeze, hips flex again and... 
Oh, shiiiit!

My body spasms violently.  Sweet, delicious ripples that start in swirling golden pool, clenching then firing out in tidal waves, flooding my body with pleasure and relief.  I
cannot believe I've just had an orgasm, fully clothed, on a motorcycle, in a crowded parking lot! 
What this man does to me!

I open my eyes and Chayton is gazing at me in amusement, his fingers still, on my heaving breast.
  "You didn't!?!"  Is that a question or an accusation?  I don't know I can't think.  I just blink at him blushing furiously.

"Oh Acacia
, you did!" he chuckles against my skin, running his lips from my ears to my clavicle. 

It's the first time I've heard him laugh. 
It is a remarkable sound and I want to hear more.

"I wanna lay you down on a bed of roses."  He sings softly against my neck as the same music wafts outside from the bar. 
Mmm, I want to hear him sing more as well.

Chapter 8

Slowly the world outside our bubble drifts back into focus.  I am making out with a sexy as fuck bad-boy, on a bikers wet dream, in the parking lot of a Bikers Bar - like a teenager.  Could this be any sexier? 

"I think it's very rude of you not to share Acacia.  I think we will need to do something about that." 

"Oh?" 

"Definitively," he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, his fingers hovering longer than necessary.  "I think a lesson in manners is in order." 

I may regret this in the morning, when the alcohol has cleared from my brain, but right now, I want that more than anything else in the world and start nodding furiously in agreement, biting my lip and trying to look contrite.

"You're very eager Acacia but not now.  They are playing our song and I wanna dance.
” 
We have a song?
  "Then we need to have that conversation.  Perhaps later, if you misbehave – well – we'll see."

"Chayton, you have to be the most frustrating man I have ever met," I pout.

"And here I got the distinct impression that you have just released a fair load of frustration!" he mocks, eliciting a furious blush from me.

"Come on."  He leads me inside, sweeping me straight on the dance floor to move to 'Sweet Child of Mine'. 

We stay on the floor for five songs and we both dance our arses off, neither of us touching but both of us communicating with our bodies, eyes and the words from the songs.  Wow this man can move!

We are both breathless when he finally leads me to a quiet table near the kitchen door and leaves me for a moment to get a round of drinks.  When he returns his arms are full.

"It's late."  He shrugs.  "They'll call last rounds in a few minutes."  He puts three beers, vodka and coke and a jug of water on the table and sits down next to me. The music has been turned down, playing at Jukebox level in the background, allowing us to talk. 

"Morgan has already taken Savannah home.  I told him I would take care of you." 

I stare at him, a little annoyed.  He had no right to do that without asking me first, but I want to be here so I leave it alone.  My mood sinks as I recognise the control by stealth and promise myself that this will be the last time he gets away with it.

"I never figured you for a drinker.
”  I comment.

He gazes at me for a moment.  "There was a time, I wouldn't touch the stuff.  I think I was scared I would become like him - my father."  He stares at the brown glass bottle in his hand.  "Then I went through a bad patch and purposely tried to become like him," he shrugs and my eyes widen in horror. 

"Your father was a drunk?"

"Yup.  He was incredibly good at everything he did – including drinking."

"Must have been terrible growing up," I muse.

"It had its moments.  Anyway, I met
a person who I guess saw something in me that I either couldn't or wouldn't see.  Over time he helped me grow up and see through that crap."  His eyes meet mine again.  "It's all about knowing your limits, knowing your strengths and weaknesses and working with them to achieve your goals.  Self control." 

"That scares me," I whisper.

"What does?"  He leans forward and grasps my right hand, sandwiching it between both of his.

"Control.  It confuses me, and scares me but I need it like oxygen."  My voice is small.  Perhaps it's the alcohol or maybe it's this incredible man, but for the first time since Robert, I want to talk to someone other than Victoria.  Chayton waits patiently.

"I'm scared.  Scared that if I don't take control over all the details of my life; that I will be swallowed completely and spat back out.  Like I was with Robert."  I can feel the burning pinpricks of tears welling and I mentally force them down and continue.  "Then I think of Robert and how he was...."  I trail off, staring at our hands.

"You worry that you'll become like him?"

I nod.

"Baby, there is a huge difference between being in control of yourself and being in control of someone else." 
He is right, but there is a grey area in the middle, that feels a continent wide.

"Recently I've started wondering if the control I thought I had over myself, is just an illusion."  I don't know where that came from, but the minute the words leave my lips, I know
it is true.

"Why?"  Chayton tilts his head a fraction.

"Because no matter how hard I try, ever since I've met you, I find myself struggling with even the most basic aspects of self control."  He lifts my hand and runs his lips across my knuckles and I squirm as his stubble grazes my skin.

"Angel, I have mastered self control on so many levels.  But even I struggle with the concept when
we are together.  I don't think that is a bad thing.  Do you?"

"It just scares me.  I'm confused."  The tears are building up again and I will them
down.

"Oh baby, what has that prick done to you?"  He whispers and stands up.  "Come." 

I look up at his out stretched hand and then at the largely untouched drinks on the table.

"I normally sleep upstairs if I'm over the limit.  It was my intention tonight, but now I have other plans.  Come, while I'm still legal to drive."

"You have a room upstairs?"

"For when I need it, yes."

~.~

30th March

Savannah and I are busy clearing away the lunch dishes and the inquisition is in full flow.

"So how exactly did you and Chayton end up together?  He is a good catch but not the easiest."

"I'm not exactly sure," I mutter.  I'm not going to tell her that he came right out and propositioned me.  "Besides, I'm not entirely sure I have 'caught' him."

"What do you mean?" she hands me a cup, her beautiful face marred with a frown.

"Well for one thing, I live in Tacoma."

"But you are moving the shelter here, aren't you?"

"I'll still have the shelter in Tacoma and my role requires me to be in the city."  I have not forgotten that I won't actually need to solicit funds anymore, so that is not technically true.  How do I tell her that we are only fuck-buddies, not actually dating?  God I feel like such a slut.

"I see.  Chayton does spend a lot of time in Seattle you know.  It's not
as if it would be a long distant relationship.  Not really."

"I'll take it a day at a time," I mumble, hoping to end the line of questioning.

"So what's he like in bed?" she asks with an enormous grin.

"Savannah!  Really?
” I gasp in protest.

"What?" she shrugs as if this is the most normal question ever.

"Okay!  What about Morgan?”  I pry, determined to steer the inquisition towards Savannah and give me a break.

"Morgan is nice, but really not your type," she grins.  She knows exactly what
she is doing and I groan loudly, rolling my eyes toward the ceiling.

I load the last dish into the machine and set it to work.  "Where are the boys anyway?"  They didn't appear for lunch and Savannah has placed their
covered plates into the warmer.

"There's work to be done.  I'm sure they'll appear soon.
”  Savannah replies giving the last counter-top a wipe.

I woke up alone in Chayton's bed this morning and haven't seen him today.  His distance has been playing on my insecurities and now I just want to go home.

The sound of a vehicle pulling up in the drive draws our attention to the kitchen window.  We both watch curiously through the glass.

“It’s okay
; Morgan will take care of whoever it is,” Savannah says but continues to watch with me. 

A
hefty, grey haired man climbs out the driver’s seat of an old Ford pickup and Savannah and I both gasp in tandem.  Cradled over his left arm is a large, ominous looking, shot gun. 

Savannah
’s hand flies to her mouth, eyes wide, as Morgan appears from a cottage facing the yard at right angles to the main house.  He strolls purposefully toward the armed man and stops an arm’s length away.  The man looks agitated, his free arm gesturing wildly at something in the back of the pickup, but Morgan doesn’t seem at all concerned.  If anything, he looks cautiously amused.  I wish I could hear the conversation.

Movement catches my eye and Chayton strolls from a side door of the homestead, hands in pockets, approaching the two men.  The armed man now turns his attention to Chayton who ignores his agitated gesturing, offering a hand instead. 
Finally, the armed man shakes Chayton’s hand and visibly calms down.  They talk for a while, or rather the armed man talks for a while, while both Chayton and Morgan listen with sincerity. 

I take the opportunity to gaze in adoration as Chayton leans casually against the Ford.  Something about the stance is familiar but I just can’t place it.  He is dressed in jeans, work boots and a thick chequered, winter shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 
It is a wonder he is not feeling the cold.  It really doesn’t matter what he wears.  He always looks at ease, quietly confident and totally out-of-this-world yummy.  He smiles briefly at a comment Morgan has made and turns to peer into the back of the pickup, affording me a nice view of his broad shoulders and narrow hips.

Chayton shakes his head and shrugs speaking a few words.  Then all three of them lean over the back of the pick to study something inside.

Chayton’s hand dips into the back of the pickup momentarily and then pats the man on the shoulder who looks a little more relaxed now.  Finally, Morgan lifts a large box from the bed of the pickup, grinning like a lunatic.  The armed man climbs into the Ford and with a single wave, drives off.  Drama over, Savannah and I continue to clean up. 

“I wonder what that was all about,” I muse.

“Probably nothing, the folk around here can appear pretty dramatic.” Savannah replies, seeming no longer interested.

“Ladies.”  Chayton’s voice distracts us from the doorway.  “We have some guests.”

Savannah and I look at each other questioningly, sure we had both just seen the ‘guest’ drive off.

“Guests?”
Savannah raises her eyebrows.  “Well, see them in.  I’ll get a fresh pot of coffee on.”

“Um, maybe just some milk - in a bowl.”  He grins, almost shyly.

We both hear a small whimper in the hall behind Chayton and two fur balls stagger from their hiding place behind his feet.  It’s almost as if they understand the word milk.

“Oh my gosh!  Puppies!  They are adorable!” squeals
Savannah.

“Yeah well don’t get too excited.  I think these two are going to be a handful.”
His sighs wistfully.

I’m on my knees
, watching the two puppies explore the room and the smallest one finds its way toward me, licking my hand vigorously.

“He seems to like you!” 
Savannah and Chayton both state as one.

“I think he’s chosen his new companion,” says Chayton smiling at me.

“Me?  Oh no, I couldn’t.  I have nowhere to keep him.  My schedule is far too full.  It wouldn’t be fair to him.”  He is adorable though.

“Keep him at the shelter,”
Savannah says earnestly.  “You’ll be surprised how healing an animal can be, especially for children.”

“I don’t know,” I muse, chewing my lip.

“When did you decide to get dogs?”  Savannah asks Chayton.

“Actually I didn’t.  It seems Dog has been whoring and touring his way through the area and settled on one of Doug’s purebred breeding, Japanese Akita.
”  He pauses to sip on a cup of coffee Savannah has just handed him.  “Doug isn’t a monster so he didn’t put the pups down when he realised they weren’t from any of his stud.  They are six weeks old now.  He has though, threatened to shoot Dog if he sees the mutt on his property again.  As much as I keep telling him I don’t own Dog, he insists the pups are my responsibility.”

“Thank goodness she only had two then.”

I listen to their banter while fondling the pups.  Both are stumbling around in front of me, vying for attention.  They are strange looking.  Their legs have almost disappeared in their long, thick fur, making them look, literally like ball of fur.  Both pups are a dark, unbroken copper, just like their father but the most striking thing on them, is their slightly sharper faces and their startling, ice blue eyes.  The tail of the larger pup is curled tightly.  It’s strangely adorable.

Savannah
passes me a bowl of milk, which I place on the floor, for the pups and they greedily lap it up.  Leaving them to it, I stand and brush my knees subconsciously.

“Can I think about it?  I mean
, would it be okay for you to keep them both for now?  The shelter would need to be dog proofed and I’m moving from my flat this week.”  I ask.

“Sure.  Besides, this way you’ll have a reason to come and visit,” winks
Savannah. 
Oh, she is good!