Fawnie would say that I’m not going against any of it. That two consenting adults having a relationship isn’t a crime, it’s a thing of wonder and beauty.
Relationship. Jesus. I’m a hot fucking mess every day, but especially tonight. What we’re doing can’t be called a relationship. It can’t ever become that. To have that, it takes two normal people, and I’m far from that benchmark. Extremely fucked, more like. I know Fawnie would say that she does care, but caring means accepting someone for who they are, heart, soul, and all the messy, broken pieces.
She might be miraculous. Kind. So fucking beautiful in every way. But me? I’m not. Her saying it doesn’t make it true. I’m flattered that she might see bits of me that she thinks are worth something, but that doesn’t mean that they really are. It doesn’t mean that I’m good for her, or that she should put her trust in me, or that I won’t hurt her no matter how badly I want the opposite.
I park the bike a few blocks from the tattoo shop, then walk down the sidewalk as quietly as I can in shitkicker biker boots feeling like a fucking creeper. I skirt well away from the street that the building fronts, choosing the alley like I did before. I know there are cameras on the front and sides of the brick structure, as well as on the inside of the tattoo place. I figure there isn’t one on the back because Crow is notorious for likinghis privacy, and he used to live up here. The place has served as home for more than a few of my club brothers over the years, or their women, and they appreciate their privacy as much as the next man.
It’s not like I’m doing anything illicit. For fuck’s sake, she’s invited me over… explicitly. And Preacher hasn’t told me to keep away from his daughter. Though maybe he felt he didn’t need to, as he assumed I’d know she was fucking off limits.
After all my trouble, I still hesitate when I reach the landing. I stand at the door, hands clasped tightly in front of me, my heart beating up in my throat so brutally that I just might puke again if it wasn’t for the threat of death by complete and utter humiliation.
I tilt my face up to the black night sky. There’s only a sliver of moon and it’s mostly cloud covered.
Here I am, about to further wreck this night—as if getting us kicked out of a symphony wasn’t enough. I’m trembling with the desire to turn and storm down the stairs, get back on my bike, and just ride. Keep riding. Leave. It’s a cowardly thought and I know it. Why am I soafraidof Fawnie? It’s not just her desire. If she wanted to straight up fuck, I could deal with it. It’s themorethat she wants. How she’s looked deep inside of me and declared me capable of it. Capable of having a soul. Capable of opening myself up to all the things I gave up hope of ever having.
Hope for the future.
A family in the truest sense.
Love.
I grind my teeth, raise my hand, and tap my knuckles against the door.
There’s not much of a wait, it’s as though Fawnie has been hovering right by it ever since she sent me that video, knowing that I’d have no choice but to come.
Goddamn pun intended.
The door opens a crack and her hands snake out, tugging me in. She slams it shut behind me, locks it, then launches herself at me. She smashes into me, our bodies colliding with more force than should be possible given the small distance between us. She propels me into the wall, wraps her fists in my leather jacket, then urgently tugs my face down to hers. She kisses me with such wild hunger that anyone would think she’s been craving this moment foryears, not a few nights.
She peels herself away, allowing just a breath of room between us, and she does stare at me. She looks, drinking her fill.
I’m not damaged in her eyes. I’m not the loser kid with crushed dreams.
She brushes her fingers along my clenched jaw, her eyes on fire, and her pupils blown out, and slowly runs her tongue along her bottom lip, tasting my saliva that’s still glistening there.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she says, the weight of every single word, the absolute pleasure, gratitude, and sincerity in them wrapping so tight around my throat that my oxygen is cut off.
If I could draw a breath, I’d straight up lose the ability when Fawnie, still wearing that star pattern blouse and black skirt, sinks down to her knees. Her eyes never leave mine, andthey never stop shining with that absurd wonderment, as though she’s unearthed a priceless national treasure.
“Can I touch you?”
The fact that she asks my permission, not because she’s afraid or hesitant of what she might find beneath my clothes, but because she respects me, nearly undoes me. I nearly say something crass about her having felt the shape of my cock quite intimately before, so it can hardly hurt that she sees it, but I control the snark. I’ve used it so often that it’s become a crutch. I want to be more than an asshole with a smart mouth, claiming to have zero real feelings.
I nod, not trusting myself with the words. My voice might waver and then I might do something stupid like give into the pressure that’s been building in the bridge of my nose and clogging my throat ever since the symphony.
Ever since Fawnie’s compassion, and her family treating me like I’m one of their own.
Fawnie doesn’t undo my zipper, peel me out, and get down to it, eating my dick with the same ravenous hunger she devoured my lips with. Instead, she nuzzles her face into my groin, inhaling deeply andloudly. I nearly swallow my tongue.
It’s nothing compared to the sensation of her hot, open mouth as she presses sloppy, wet kisses over the bulge in my jeans. Thankfully, I’d showered after I’d gotten back from the ride, I’d been planning on an early night after what happened. But Fawnie’s X-rated video derailed those plans in the best way possible.
My throat bobs sharply with every swallow I attempt to force down.
Fawnie mouths my cock through my jeans, soaking the denim with her saliva. I’ve never seen anything so hot.
She drives me insane before she even reaches for my zipper and peels it down, so agonizingly slowly that I can hear it opening tooth by metal tooth. My hand tangles in her hair, messing it up. I want Fawnie to be an aching, destroyed, beautiful mess. I want her makeup running down her face from the tears at gagging on my cock. I want saliva leaking down her chin and her jaw aching. I want to fuck her mouth nice and slow, then hard and hot, before I fuck her tight pussy. I want every single one of her holes, one after another, all of them clamped around me as she cries and begs and takes me out of this godforsaken body.
I should hate myself for this. I’m good at doing it. Hating on me. Tonight though, when I wish I could summon even just a small amount? It’s not there. I can’t concentrate enough to get the buzz of it flowing beneath my skin. It’s a different kind of buzz flooding my veins.
