25. Candy
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CANDY
A lone, we stand embracing each other, neither of us willing to let the other one go.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, leaning in to brush my lips against his in a feather-light kiss.
“Goddess,” Butch murmurs, softly kissing me back. “I’m sorry, too. I should’ve handled myself better.”
“No kidding,” I say, with an amused snort. “Unbeknownst claiming and forced eviction was not on my Bingo card, babe.”
He rubs the back of his neck, a cheeky grin on his face showcasing his dimples. He’s super cute when he gets shy. “Not my smoothest moves, I agree.”
“Why not claim me the night before, when half the crew caught us exiting the closet? It would’ve made sense compared to hauling my shit to your room today without my knowledge.”
The smile he’s sporting falls away, replaced with a down-turned scowl. “You’re right. It would’ve been a perfect time to state you were my old lady. However, I was jealous.”
“Jealous? Why?”
“What we shared last night was between us. Having the other guys catch us leaving the closet felt intrusive, like they were part of the experience.” He falls quiet, looking away from me.
“Butch?” I probe.
He looks back at me with a hint of possessiveness darkening his features. “They may have had a taste of you in the past, but fuck ’em all to hell if they think they can ogle you after we’ve been together. There was no way I was going to stand there a second longer than need be with you thoroughly fucked and my come running down your legs. You’re mine now. For my eyes only.”
Oh, Butch—sweet, territorial Butch. “No one was ogling me—they were ogling the two of us together.”
“Didn’t feel like it at the moment,” he grumbles.
I place my hand on his chest, over his heart. “It’s okay. I can see how it may have looked from your perspective, and I understand why you hurried us out of there.”
He clears his throat. “I have another confession.”
There’s more? “What’s that?”
“You’ll get no apology from me for moving you in here. I’m not sorry about it. Not even for not asking.”
Though I was angry when I saw my stuff was gone, I’m not ready to admit I was excited to find my belongings amongst his, at least not until he explains why he did it without my permission.
Bracing myself, I ask in a measured voice, “Mind explaining why you did it? It can’t only be you getting fed up with waiting for me to make the move first.”
He shrugs. “I experienced caveman mode.”
Puzzled, I blink my eyes slowly. “Caveman mode?”
“You know, when a guy becomes super territorial over his woman and pulls wild shit to bring her to his cave.”
“Ah.” I recall Red explaining it as the love-struck phase .
Love-struck. My tummy flutters, giddiness bubbling inside of me.
“I was worried when you weren’t in my room—our room now. I looked in all the usual places for you and panicked when I couldn’t find you. When I figured out you were with Ebony, I sort of shifted from nervous to pissed. If I had to give you space from me to sort out your feelings, then I was going to make damn sure when you emerged from her room, you would have to come to mine.”
What am I going to do with this man? His reaction to me not being where he expected me to be was over the top. His solution to moving me into his room was bold.
However, if I’m being honest, I’d react similarly out of retaliation had the shoe been on the other foot. Can I blame him for his outlandish reaction when I know my reaction would be no different? Yes. But will I? Absolutely not.
I shake my head at how ridiculous the two of us are—vindicated individuals of the same mindset.
My shoulders bounce with silent laughter. “Since we’re being honest, I have a confession, too.”
“Which is?”
“I’m not upset with you moving me in with you.”
Butch ducks his head to look me in the eyes. “You’re okay living with me?”
“More than okay,” I confess, happiness coating my tone. “I was more pissed with the lead-up to finding my stuff gone—not the arrangement.”
Butch’s smile stretches across his handsome face. “So you’ll stay?”
I nod, matching his smile. “Of course I’ll stay with you—I’m your old lady.”
My biker’s arms engulf me in a firm hug, lifting me off my feet. I squeal, laughing as he swings me around in a circle like I’m some kind of fairy tale princess and he’s my dashing knight.
Back on my feet, he holds me tight against him as my body molds around his like a second skin. The moment is something serene. We’re quiet, absorbing each other’s presence. It seems to be our thing, to take the moment in as it’s happening.
For me, I have few memories of happiness. It makes these moments more intense—something to cherish. And I suspect Butch feels the same .
There’s a certain reassurance knowing we’re the same. We’re learning this new life together.
For reasons I cannot quite explain, it feels like our relationship is experiencing a breakthrough moment. The openness with how we talked, the vulnerability with an audience present when neither of us is great with self-expression—him because he’s self-conscious of his voice and accustomed to internalizing his feelings, and me because I’m learning to process my emotions in a healthier manner.
Maybe it’s different with couples who have healthier communication skills in their arsenal. I wouldn’t say we’re emotionally incompetent, but we’re emotionally stunted.
Relationships are new. A romantic partnership is more foreign. We’re bound to stumble this early in the game.
But goddamn, those were a lot of hurdles to jump during the honeymoon stage. Here’s to hoping the rest of our relationship isn’t as turbulent.
“Goddess? Can I please help you into this jacket? I’ve waited a long time to see my property patch on you.”
Squealing, I spin around, practically vibrating with joy as Butch helps me slip my arms into the soft leather of the sleeves. When it’s snug around my body, I peek over my shoulder at him, giving him a wink.
“Fuck, Candy.” Butch palms his chest. “You look good with my name on you.”
A flash of my wedding dream dances through my mind where a strange man announces us as “Mister and Misses Penn Lawson.” The dream feels oddly like a hazy memory. Too bad it’s not. I’m over the moon wearing my biker’s patch. But having his name is something I long for, a dream I want to come true.
Maybe someday…
Butch gently turns me around, holding me by my shoulders at arm’s length. “Are you still mad at me?”
I can’t help smirking. “Yes. I’m still hella pissed with your caveman antics. ”
There’s a sinful gleam in Butch’s hazel eyes. “Good. I’m still upset you didn’t talk to me first.”
He slips away from me, backing up a few steps. I frown, hating the distance he’s created.
“Don’t be distraught, Goddess. There’s a way for us to work out our frustration on me.”
Huh? What is he talking about?
Confused, I watch Butch reach for the buckle of his belt. He undoes the buckle and slips the belt out from the loops in his jeans in one swift motion, creating a whooshing sound of denim rubbing against leather.
A twinge of fear grips my insides, squeezing my stomach uncomfortably. I eye the belt wearily.
Whether he senses my duress or sees it in my expression, Butch holds up his free palm. “This is not for you, Candy. It’s for me.”
“It is?” I question, eyes wide. “How?”
To answer my question, Butch slips the leather strap through the buckle and comes back in the opposite direction through the buckle again, creating a figure eight. His hands go into either side of the loops before he takes the long strap between his pristine teeth, pulling the figure eight tight around either of his wrists.
My biker has made makeshift handcuffs for himself.
Seeing my tough biker restrained has me rubbing my thighs together. There’s something very erotic about seeing a man behaving submissively. I bite the inside of my cheek to stifle my wanton moan.
A tiny smirk plays at the corner of his mouth, probably because he’s enjoying taking me by surprise.
Holding out his restrained wrists to me, he says, “I’m ready for my punishment.”
Gobsmacked, I stare at him. “Punishment? For what?”
“For displeasing you earlier in front of the others, for losing my temper, and for not asking to speak to you privately about my annoyance.”
This is a lot to take in. “What do you expect from me? ”
“As your sub, I’m expecting you to discipline me for my poor behavior.”
“Discipline you how?”
“There are a lot of ways. Spanking, flogging, paddling?—”
Holding up my hand, I stop Butch from speaking.
“I won’t beat you,” I object in a shaky voice. “The BDSM lifestyle is fine. Not shaming it. However, my experiences with it from the sub level are not pleasant. I will not abuse you if you upset me. That’s a hard no.”
Butch’s lust-filled eyes sober at my words. “Punishment will never be a beating, Candy. Your experiences were not consensual. You were at the mercy of sadistic abusers.”
He waves his cuffed hands between us. “What we have is consensual. Perhaps it’s better if we first discuss what you’re comfortable with and not comfortable with, and I’ll do the same.”
Releasing a sigh of relief, I nod. “I think that would be best.”
He holds his arms out in front of him, wiggling his fingers. “Should I remove my restraint?”
My eyes wander over my tall biker, handcuffed in worn leather. He’s massive compared to my smaller stature, and he’s experienced in this type of sexual dynamic. I’m not.
It’s oddly comforting seeing Butch in a vulnerable state. Almost like the playing field has leveled.
Bashfully, I bite my lip before meeting Butch’s eyes. “Would you mind leaving it on?”
His eyes soften, crinkling slightly in the corners. “Don’t mind at all, Goddess.”
He sits on the bed, motioning with a head tilt to take a seat beside him. “Let’s talk.”
With some of the awkwardness out of the way, I sit beside him, our thighs grazing each other. I peek at him, feeling my cheeks heat under his gaze.
“I don’t know why I feel shy, but I do.”
“It’s ’cause this is new to you,” Butch explains gently, contradicting the roughness of his fatigued voice. “Things are uncomfortable until you’re familiar with them—in all things.”
“True,” I agree, already feeling more at ease.
“This is our safe space, Candy. What we share between us is ours, and no one else’s. I want you to feel comfortable sharing any of your concerns with me—sex or other. There are no stupid questions. What’s on the table to start with can always be changed based on preference or curiosity.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
We spend the next hour discussing our likes and dislikes in the bedroom. Butch is more trusting and adventurous, with interests in bondage, wax, impact, and a bit of degradation. My interests are milder—soft bondage, sensation play, sensory deprivation, and absolutely no impact beyond spanking.
“I can work with that,” Butch says, his kissable lips tipping up in a smile.
The things his little smiles do to my insides.
“You’re okay with me being a soft-domme?”
“Absolutely,” Butch says, with reassurance in his rough tone. “But I’m only half of the equation. Are you okay taking on the role of a soft-domme?”
“After discussing it, yeah, I am. Just promise to speak up when you’re uncomfortable with anything I’m doing. I would hate to hurt you or make you feel uncomfortable at any point.”
“There is a certain level of added excitement not knowing what your partner is going to do to you before it happens. But if you question if I’d be okay with it, it’s best to ask before proceeding.”
“And if it’s something you don’t like while we’re in the act?”
“Then I’ll use a safeword.”
“Which will be what?” I wrinkle my nose. “Don’t be cheesy and use streetlight colors.”
Butch barks a rough laugh. “Fine. No over-used safewords. We’ll be more transparent. ‘Stop’ is pretty cut-and-dried. ”
“I agree. I’d like to remove gagging from the table. Besides, you talk so little as is. I like the sound of your voice.”
Butch’s eyebrows rise to his hairline. “You like my voice?”
The doubt in his tone hurts my heart a bit. “Yes, I do. It’s yours.”
He says nothing, perhaps shocked by my confession. “You don’t care that it’s…coarse?”
“That’s my favorite part,” I admit. “It’s jagged and unruly—sort of like us.”
A delectable blush blooms across Butch’s sculpted cheekbones. He drops his eyes from my face. A shy smile turns his lips upward. “I’m glad you like it.”
Needing his eyes on me as I reveal another truth to him, I use my fingers to tilt his chin until his hazel eyes land on mine again.
“Not ‘like,’ Butch. Love . I love your voice. Love how I get to hear it more than most. It drives me wild how it gets rougher with each word that passes these lips,” I confess, running my thumb along his bottom lip that’s slightly fuller than his upper.
Butch sucks in a stuttered breath, his eyes widening slightly. “Goddess…”
I press a finger to his tempting mouth. “Besides, a gag would only hinder me from hearing all the delectable noises I plan to conjure from you.”
He groans, a deep throaty sound, as he closes his eyes.
I release a tiny chuckle. “Yeah. Like that.”
“Fair enough. No gags,” he agrees in a husky voice. He opens his eyes, a gleam of mischief flashing. “About my punishment?”
I throw my head back, laughing. “You’re such a horny boy.”
He flashes me a blinding smile of pearly white teeth. “But I’m your boy.”
Smiling, I run my fingers through his hair, earning me another throaty, contented sigh. “Yes, you’re mine.”
My biker alternates between holding me in a smoldering gaze and staring at my mouth, licking his bottom lip.
Before I can lean in to grant him a kiss, something shifts in Butch’s expression. It’s almost like he’s suddenly remembering something. His brows pinch together in contemplation. My man tends to overthink at all the wrong times.
“Candy?” His voice edges on nervousness. “You know we’re in this for the long haul, right?”
“Bikers don’t ask women to be their old ladies otherwise,” I say matter-of-factly, answering his question.
“And you’re good with this arrangement? Us together indefinitely ?”
Why is he being weird all of a sudden with this arrangement? He’s the one who moved me in here and was saying I was his property —rude as hell, but bikers aren’t exactly known for being courteous.
Still, why is he acting cryptic? We have nothing to hide from each other. His behavior seems bizarre.
“Getting cold feet already?” I accuse, raising an eyebrow at him in a teasing manner to lighten the seriousness of his questioning.
Butch releases a humorless snort. “Like hell I am.”
“Then why are you being hesitant with me? Say what you need to say, or else I’m going to assume the worst,” I admit, trying to stop my own nerves from escalating.
“Not trying to make you think the worst. Far from it. My questions are to determine if we’re in sync,” he explains. “You want me, right? I’ve claimed you, but you want me, too, right, Candy?”
Ah. The truth comes out.
My biker has been transparent with me, and he’s asking for the same in return.
“I get wondering if you’re wanted. I was in your shoes last night, demanding if you wanted me. Remember? And you gave me verbal and physical reassurance you wanted me. I can’t believe I overlooked giving you the same courtesy in return.”
Butch eyes me wearily, waiting for my answer.
Gazing at him, I say, “I want this. I want us.”
“And you’re okay with more between us? ”
I’m about to ask him what he means by more when there’s a knock at the door.
Flay’s deep voice rumbles through the thick wood. “Church meeting in ten. Bring Candy.”
Butch hangs his head, cursing under his breath.
I lift his chin with my fingers, pecking him on his lips. “We’ll talk and play later. Time to work.”