Wolf's Den - A BBW Shifter Romance Novel (41 page)

“Sheila’s been busy. No, my parents didn’t name me Dutch. My real name is Harold Van Der Burg,” he said. I wiggled from beneath him and sat up. Dutch lay on his back with his hand behind his head.

“That’s a Dutch last name, isn’t it?” I asked as much as stated.

“You’re cute and smart,” he replied. That explained the nickname.

“I like Dutch better,” I said.

“Me too. Harry isn’t a good biker’s name, you know,” he said and chuckled.

“So tell me more. How’d you end up being Dutch?” I asked. Dutch seemed to hesitate for a moment as if he was deciding whether or not to tell me. Finally, he did.

“I was normal kid. I wanted to go to college and did for a while. I majored in engineering just like my old man. He had a heart attack and died my sophomore year. I remember what my mom said after we buried him. She told me she regretted waiting. She regretted waiting to enjoy life with my dad. She regretted assuming he’d always be there. That hit me hard,” he said. I wanted Dutch to open up but I had no idea.

“I’m sorry about your dad. You loved him a lot, didn’t you?” I asked.

“Yeah, he was the best. He taught me to be a man and I wanted to be just like him,” Dutch told me and then paused. He fought back tears and I took his hand. “But I couldn’t be. Not after hearing what my mom said. I dropped out of school and never went back. I had to do something, so I joined the service. I did a few tours in Iraq but I left the Corps before my unit went to Afghanistan. I’d had enough and I’d done my duty. I met Locke at a veterans support group and he and Sheila took me under their wings and we’ve been friends ever since,” he finished.

“Wow! That’s quite a story. I went to college and work at an insurance company,” I said playfully. Dutch laughed as I lay next to him. “Thank you for telling me,” I told him and hugged him close.

“Thanks for caring enough to ask,” he said in reply. I wondered if I was the first. I decided not to ask. The quiet biker with the sexy blue eyes had opened up to me. I wasn’t going to push my luck. In any case, the way he said it made me feel pretty special.

>>O<<

The next morning Dutch and I went out for breakfast. There’s nothing like waffles, eggs and bacon to take the edge off a slight hangover. I think it was as much the drinking as it was the sex. My ass still hurt from where Dutch spanked me but it was a pleasant reminder of the wild and rough sex we had the night before. After we both wolfed down more than our share of cholesterol, Dutch looked at me inquisitively.

“You’ve never asked me what I do for a living,” he said.

“I guess I haven’t. Honestly, I didn’t know you did anything but I guess being a sexy biker isn’t a career, is it?” I said playfully.

“You want to see?” he asked. I did. Dutch opened up to me the night before and I was grateful for it. Up until then, we were just playing around. Hanging out, drinking, having sex. Suddenly, he felt like a boyfriend.

“Yeah, right now?” I asked.

“Right now,” he said. I wondered suddenly what a man like Dutch might do to earn a living. I might have guessed he did something with his hands, but that was obvious by the way they looked, rough and calloused. But what, I wondered. We rode into the industrial part of town. The streets were lined with warehouses, garages and small factories. Then we pulled up in front of an old red brick building with a single glass door and a big roll up door next to it. On both doors, the words “Softail Customs” were painted.

“You work here?” I asked.

“No, I own it and the only employee,” Dutch told me. It wasn’t pretty, an old industrial building in the middle of other industrial buildings, but it still was kind of cool. Dutch led me inside to a small but clean office area. It had a counter with stools, a leather sofa and motorcycle memorabilia on the walls. It also had its fair share of posters and calendars with half-naked women posing on motorcycles. Every one of them was curvy like me.

“What do you do here?” I asked. Dutch led me through another door and into the heart of the building. It was a shop, not overly large but filled with tools, machines and motorcycles.

“You were wrong. Being a sexy biker is a career,” Dutch said and slapped my ass playfully.

“Do you fix these or what?” I asked.

“I build custom bikes and restore factory bikes. I built Locke’s bike. I restored mine from barely a frame. It’s one of the first Softail Harleys they made. I found it in some guys garage all torn apart,” Dutch told me. The thought of him building the bike he drove me around on with his bare hands was making me rather horny.

“So is that why you call the place Softail Customs?” I asked him.

“Partly,” he said before wrapping his arms around me and squeezing my soft, round ass. “That and I like big, soft tails, especially yours,” he said and then slipped his tongue into my mouth. Oh yeah! I loved it when Dutch told me how much he enjoyed my curvy body, even more so when he touched it. I pushed Dutch away.

“You ever get a blow job in here?” I asked but didn’t wait for an answer. I dropped to my knees on the concrete floor and began working at Dutch’s jeans. It didn’t take long to get his warm and quickly hardening cock out and wrap my lips around it. I stared up into his eyes as I slowly sucked him. Dutch stared back as he stroked my hair. It didn’t take long for him to become fully erect.

I started using one hand to stroke his shaft as my lips caressed his crown. God, his cock felt like an iron pipe within a velvet sheath. I placed my other hand on his ass, his hard, muscular ass, and pulled him in deeper. I never took my eyes from of his. My pussy was begging for attention in my jeans but I was going to wait. This was about my daddy and his pleasure. I really did love it when he told me how much he loved my plump body and I wanted to show him how much.

Alone in his garage on a Sunday morning, I gave Dutch a long, loving blowjob. I took my time, letting his orgasm build slowly and enjoyed how sucking his cock made me feel. Sexy, beautiful and a little submissive. I basked in his gaze and he obviously enjoyed watching his cock disappear over and over between my red lips. His eyes were so sexy. I swear I almost had an orgasm just pleasuring Dutch while I stared into his eyes. However, all good things come to an end and this thing came to warm, wet and tasty end.

Dutch stiffened, he never said a word the entire time, and suddenly he erupted into my mouth. I could feel his cock surge as his orgasm filled my eager mouth and I dutifully savored every drop. I stroked him, coaxing every last bit from Dutch and then I pulled my mouth free, showed him the treat it held and then swallowed it all. Dutch smiled and I could tell by the look in his eyes that he appreciated that as much as the blowjob that led up to it.

I stroked his cock and I could feel Dutch’s heart pounding in my hand. I continued to play even when he had gone soft, our eyes never parting. Finally, I stood, helped Dutch put himself away and then let Dutch wrap his arms around me and just hold me. That’s all I really needed. Sex with him was amazing, mind-blowing, life altering, but all I really needed was to be in Dutch’s arms.

“You’re not the girl I met in that club anymore,” he said after a while. I looked up at him.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You’ve really embraced all of this. I knew you were different. I told you didn’t I? You didn’t belong there. You belong here, with me,” Dutch told me. He was right. It hadn’t been that long ago that I rolled my eyes as he approached and joked with my friend about the out of place biker. I felt it too. Almost instantly. When Dutch told me I could call him daddy, it the most preposterous thing I’d ever heard but deep inside, I wanted to do as he suggested.

I did finally call him daddy, just a week later, and I never looked back. I was having the time of my life. I was falling for Dutch, had found new friends in Locke and, especially, Sheila and was living a completely different life. I still slaved away in an office, still lived in the upscale apartments and frequented many of the same places, but I had changed. I discovered I wasn’t happy, that I was living for others instead of myself. Dutch, the biker with the sexy blue eyes, changed all that.

“I didn’t belong back there, that’s for sure. Here, with you I feel like I can be me,” I said. I shouldn’t have expected Dutch to go on, but I did. However, true to form he remained quiet. I tried hard just to enjoy the moment but I couldn’t stop my mind from overthinking things. Did Dutch really want me all to himself? He almost said as much...almost. I knew he liked me but I wondered if there might be more and if there were, how long would it take the quiet biker to say so.

The strange moment I shared with the other biker in the hallway the previous night weighed on my mind too. Dutch seemed to take it in stride and I was glad for that but why did I do it? Why would I let a man kiss me like that? Why would I respond the way I did? I suppose I knew why. I loved the way Dutch looked at me, the way he touched me and the things he said. I’d never felt so wanted or pretty in my life. Then here is this other man looking at me the same way. It felt good. It felt really good.

Sheila was right. I could look, maybe even flirt. This was all so new to me. The freedom, the way it made me feel, all of it. Maybe I should let myself enjoy it. I mean, I wasn’t married. I’d only known Dutch for a few weeks. I liked him, I liked him a lot, but maybe I was expecting too much from him. He was a free spirit and maybe I should be too. Or maybe I should just stop thinking so much.

“So where do you live. We always end up at my place,” I asked suddenly trying to shut my brain up.

“I live here. I’m either riding, hanging out or working. A house would just be an unnecessary expense and hassle. Besides, sometimes I get a burst of energy in the middle of the night and living here, I can just come down and start wrenching,” Dutch told me. So he didn’t even have a place to live? I suppose it made sense but it was so foreign. In the city, amongst my old friends, having the perfect apartment or house was a status symbol. It signified your success. Practicality had little to do with it.

“Don’t you ever want to just get away?” I asked.

“From what? I love being here. I love doing this. Why would I want to get away?” he said as if it were painfully obvious.

“Oh, I guess,” was all I said. Now my brain was working overtime. I suddenly had visions of myself walking around the office, barefoot, suckling a baby as Dutch worked feverishly on some bike. Was he just going to strap our baby’s car seat onto his bike? Jesus, where did that come from? I must be going nuts. My God, I barely knew this guy and suddenly I was worried about where we were going to raise our kids?

“I should get home, I’ve got stuff to do,” I told Dutch and he only nodded. Sometimes his quiet nature was sexy but when my mind was running off on its own, it was frustrating. Wasn’t he going to tell me it could wait until another time? Wasn’t he going to beg me to stay? Dammit, why was I having these stupid thoughts? I was having so much fun and suddenly my head wouldn’t shut up.

Dutch took me home. The fresh air in my face, the feeling of holding on to Dutch as we rode made all the negative thoughts recede. This is what I loved. Just being with Dutch. I did have stuff to do but it could have waited. I don’t know why I made him take me home but maybe it would allow me to remember why I so enjoyed being with Dutch and work through all the crazy thoughts. Or maybe it wouldn’t.

>>O<<

I didn’t see Dutch for a couple of days. That wasn’t unusual. I had to work and so did he, though now I knew what he did. However, a couple of days by myself proved to be too much. In retrospect, I know why I did it. I know why suddenly everything went from being so right to being so wrong. My life had taken a sudden and unexpected turn and I was having buyer’s remorse, so to speak. I was questioning everything.

I stopped feeling sexy and started feeling self-conscious about my weight. I wondered if Becky had been right. Maybe this was some desperate attempt to feel good about myself. Dutch wasn’t a loser, like Becky claimed, but he lived in a garage. Part of me thought that was sort of cool, but another part was judging Dutch for it. I was seeing things through the prism of my old life and my old friends.

I was worrying suddenly about what people might think. I was dating a biker who lived in a garage that treated me in ways some people would find demeaning. I loved it, I really did, but I knew so many people that wouldn’t see it the way I did. Only one thing helped. Thinking about being on Dutch’s bike, carving up the road as I held on to his rock hard torso made it all go away, but getting a clear vision of that in my head became harder and harder.