“I need to kiss you, baby.” And that’s all she needs. Her hands stop fighting. Her body relaxes and she makes an attempt to stifle her cries so I can kiss her mouth. But I don’t want the set of tear-stained lips on her face. I want the smooth, wet lips of her *.
When my head is between her thighs, her legs are open—inviting me in, and there is dampness on her panties where she is wet for me. I want her taste so fucking bad that it takes every ounce of my willpower not to shred through the material with my teeth. I’m so impatient that I don’t bother to remove them, I just pull them to the side and slide my tongue between her slick lips.
My moans mirror hers as I devour every drop of her arousal, kiss every inch of perfection, and fill her with my fingers. I let her come and I continue. I kiss her, lick her, overwhelm her with my mouth until she is breathlessly begging me to stop. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve tasted her release, how many hours have passed and how long I have been in the heaven that’s between her thighs. But, when I come up to kiss her mouth, she is without energy, without thought, and without a tear. And just like every other way, I like her just like this.
9
THE NEXT MORNING, I find Saylor writing in her diary at the small table across the room. She doesn’t know that I’m awake, and I take this time to study her. Her hand is moving fast across the pages of her diary, and her face tells me she is in deep concentration. I know if she is writing about yesterday, they are definitely words I don’t want to see. And I don’t want her to think about it. I want her to forget it ever happened.
“Do you believe in God, Dirk?” she asks without looking up. How the hell did she know I was awake? I shouldn’t even ask myself that. I already know the answer. It’s because she is in my head. And if she is, then she should know the answer to her question. But I tell her anyway.
“Yes.” She turns to look at me and she is surprised. Shocked. Unbelieving. Maybe I should elaborate. I don’t want to, but I will because I owe it to her. “I believe there is a God, I just don’t believe that he created me.” That probably sounds crazy to her ears, but it makes sense to me.
“Why would you think that?”
I clear my throat and continue. Even though this shit is too deep to talk about when I first wake up. “There is no way the same creator of someone as perfect as you, is responsible for creating someone as fucked up as me.” She still doesn’t get it. I can tell this by the incredulous look on her face.
“Do you really believe that?”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I tell her, and I wait for the whining to start. I wait for her to tell me how important it is that I change my ways. I wait for her to bitch at me for not taking this serious. I wait for her to quote scripture and start singing hymns. I wait for that look of pity or disappointment. And I wait. And wait. And wait. And it never comes.
The subject is dropped. That look of happiness that covered her face when she first mentioned her god is still in place. But now, it’s directed toward me. I’m glad. I’m a jealous man. I hate to be jealous of the creator of the universe, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t glad that I am back at the forefront of her thoughts.
“I’m really, really hungry.” Saylor’s words along with her growling stomach are music to my ears. Now she needs me. It may just be to feed her, but it’s good having her back at my mercy.
I stand, ignoring thoughts of what I want to eat this morning, and grab a pair of clean jeans, thanks to Saylor. She runs around the room gathering her shit while I watch. But when she takes her shirt off, I can’t watch any longer. My willpower isn’t strong enough. I have to walk out.
The Colorado air is clear and cool. I almost feel guilty for lighting a cigarette, but when I inhale the smoke into my lungs, I no longer care. It’s Saturday and we will be in Jackpot by nightfall. There is a mandatory meeting, and someone from each chapter is required to be there. I’m not part of a chapter so the responsibility falls on me.
I get that sick feeling in my gut when I think about what will happen when I get there. Saylor will be the topic of conversation, and I will have to keep my shit in check. I can’t lose it on my brothers. If I do, then I will be dealt with, which means Saylor will be dealt with too.
I take a deep breath and vow to myself to not fucking think about it anymore. I’ll handle it when I get there. But, when Saylor walks outside with her bag slung over her shoulder, thoughts of the club and what might happen to her hit me full force. The innocent look she wears reminds me of how much I might’ve fucked up her life. I grab her bag, packing the bike with more force than necessary.
“Dirk? You okay?” Her sweet, cautious voice is laced with concern.