Chapter Four
Spike
Contrary to the image of biker dudes who drank beer and shot pool all night, I was an early riser. Nothing I loved more than heading out onto the open road and watching the sun rise. Tuesday morning, I did just that. Followed Railway Avenue to where it joined the Number Seven and rode right out of town toward Deroche. I wanted to go up to Agassiz or Hope, but I had to be responsible and open the store at nine-thirty. Unlikely anyone would notice if I was later, but I’d know. Responsible business owner.
Scared shitless.
I had a stack of paperwork I ignored last night as I painted my living room. In hindsight, I should’ve opened the windows sooner, but the day’d been hot and my a/c kept my place cool. Plus I blared my music pretty loud, and I didn’t want people meandering down First Avenue to hear my eclectic choices. No, better to keep all that to myself.
The sun glittered across the Fraser River as I drove down the winding road. My sunglasses dulled most of the glare, and despite having my helmet on, the wind whipped through my hair as I’d left it loose. I wanted to floor it, but traffic was getting heavier. With reluctance, I turned back at the dike. More cars surrounded me as I made my way westward.
A few of these insane souls made the drive to Mission City every morning before either hopping onto the commuter train or—if they were really nuts—driving the rest of the way to Vancouver.
As the Mission City sign greeted me, I soaked in the welcome implicit in the greeting. I’d made the right choice, coming out here.
Plus, real estate was half the cost of Vancouver’s. Creeping up with stunning velocity, but still cheaper for now. Even less than Surrey.
No, small town living suited me. I’d come from Kitimat, a small town up the coast toward Alaska. I’d blown town the moment I turned eighteen and hadn’t looked back. My father hadn’t asked me where I was going, and I’d never written to let him know.
I slowed down at the sign for thirty kilometers per hour through this main part of downtown Mission City. The street ran one way, and I eyed the Tim Horton’s. Better not. Until I had a steadier clientele, I couldn’t afford to eat too many meals out.
I’d taught myself to cook more than just KD and ramen noodles, so I had plenty of healthy foods in my fridge. A quick omelet before I started the day would hit the spot. Maybe a piece of toast with peanut butter and blueberry jam. I parked the bike by the front gate, hopped off, opened the gate, then drove through. I shut off the engine and was making my way back over to the gate, intending to lock it until opening time, when a blur of movement caught my eye.
Bookstore Dude strode into my yard, arms gesticulating. He was shouting something, but I couldn’t make out the words. I held up my hand, and he halted. I removed my sunglasses and helmet. As I shook out my hair, I asked, “What are you blathering on about?”
A vein in his neck pulsed and his cheeks were hectic with color. His hair looked extra spikey, as it he’d been running his hands through it. “I said, ‘what the fuck is wrong with you?’ ”
The words came out venomous, and I gaped. “What are you talking about?”
He waved wildly. “You play that god-awful music half the night, and then you’re up before the ass crack of dawn, gunning your engine and taking off to God knows where—”
“Deroche.”
“Deroche,”
he repeated. His face contorted into a weird look of disgust. “You got up at that hour to go to Deroche? Why, for God’s sake?”
“You’re taking the Lord’s name in vain quite a bit this morning.”
Former Christian who attended the church from the moment I was born until the moment I told them I was gay. Let’s just say the Lord and I parted ways after that clusterfuck.
He chuffed. “Apologies to your moral sensibilities. Why…”
He floundered. “Why Deroche?”
“Because then I was driving into the sun. Lovely morning, and I wanted to get a ride in before the day started. Responsible entrepreneur and all that.”
I removed my leather jacket. The sun was high and climbing higher by the minute. Another scorcher.
“Well, I barely got any sleep.”
His scowl was both deep and sexy.
“Yeah, you said something about music?”
“Your horrendous music. You played it so loud and—”
I held up my hand. “You’re saying you can hear it through the brick wall?”
“Yes, I’m saying I can hear it through the brick wall.”
He wagged his finger at me. Actually wagged his finger at me. “I wanted peace and quiet, and I got Aerosmith.”
“I’m surprised a young one such as yourself would even recognize eighties music.”
“I’m twenty-seven years old, for fuck’s sake.”
“You’re kind of making my point. Millennial.”
He scowled. “What are you, a Boomer?”
This guy was way too smart for that comment not to be sarcasm. “I’m a late Generation X.”
“You’re not that old.”
Damn cocky, this one. “Maybe not, but I feel that old.”
I did. I was also a Millennial, but I straddled the line. Most days I felt old. Not wise. Just old.
He waved me off. “What does this have to do with respecting your neighbor?”
“Look, I didn’t know you could hear the music. I’ll keep it down from now on.”
I yanked my keys from my pocket and moved to the side door to my shop. I figured he’d take the hint, and once he disappeared, I’d go back out and lock the gate. I strode into the store and was hanging my jacket on the peg when I realized he followed me.
He slammed the door.
Then he had the temerity to wag his finger in my face. Swear to God, I was within a breath of breaking the fucking thing. “What do you want now? I told you I’d keep the music down.”
“And what about taking your motorcycle out at five in the morning?”
“Doesn’t the train leave the station at five-thirty? I’ve heard the bells at that hour.”
Drove me nuts the first few days, but I got used to it. Just like Bookstore Dude would get used to hearing me drive away. “And, for the record, my bike isn’t that loud.”
He grunted.
That sound shot right through me and straight into my cock. I growled.
He took a step back. Then he cocked his head.
The moment spun out until understanding dawned.
“Fuck me.”
His words whispered across the space.
“Well, frankly, I’d prefer you fuck me.”
I started to tug my hair so I could tie it. “If it’s all the same with you.”
“Leave your hair down.”
My hand stilled.
“I’m going to yank it while I pound into you. I’m going to make you fucking scream.”
Okay, then.
To be clear, I was completely onboard with this notion. I’d wanted him since the moment I spotted him yesterday, and the less-than-subtle hints Sunshine had fed me over the past week assured me we’d be compatible. In passing, I wondered just how much this dude shared with his employee, but part of me also sensed she was determining my suitability as a match. Well, she hadn’t been wrong. We were going to be a good match.
In bed, at least.
Except there wasn’t one in sight, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to drag him up to my apartment. Not only was the place a disaster area, but that felt too personal. This wasn’t about forming a relationship. This was about him getting inside me as soon as possible.
This time, when our gazes clashed, he advanced.
I retreated. Not to get away, but so I backed into the solid wall. I had a good four or five inches on Bookstore Dude—and another forty pounds of pure muscle—but the look on his face warned me he meant business.
He pressed his hands against my chest, anchoring me to the wall. As he raised his chin, I lowered mine.
Our gazes met and held. So many turbulent emotions swirled in those deep-blue irises. I read doubt—and that made me hesitate—but I also read determination.
And that revved my engine more than anything else. I didn’t even want to contemplate how long it’d been.
So when he snagged my neck and yanked me toward him, I fell metaphorically into the kiss. Our mouths clashed as we each fought for dominance.
He thrust his tongue into my mouth as he yanked on my hair.
And, as predicted, my cock hardened. In turn, I grabbed his ass and dragged him against me.
The kiss went on and on. Exploring and teasing one moment, fierce and passionate the next. Time spun out as need ratcheted up within me. I’d never wanted anyone more in my life than I wanted this man.
Right here.
Right now.
I pulled back and my head hit the wall. Not hard, thank God. Not that it would’ve stopped me. Nope, nothing was going to halt this…whatever this way. “I want you to fuck me.”
His eyes blazed. “Yes. So much that.”
He winced. “I don’t have a condom.”
I yanked my wallet out of my back pocket and held out a condom and lube.
He arched a brow.
“Well, I like to be prepared.”
I wasn’t going to tell him how long it’d been. Both packets were starting to show some wear, and I honestly couldn’t remember the last hookup. Hell, in this moment of haze and passion, I couldn’t pull forth the memory of the last guy.
He cupped my chin and drew me down for another long, drugging kiss. “Strip.”
I quickly surveyed my clothes.
“Just the jeans…it’ll be hotter that way.”
And awkward, but I was game. Whatever got him inside me the fastest was high on my list. I unzipped my jeans, yanked them and my underwear down to my knees, and palmed my cock.
His eyes grew impossibly wide.
I slid my thumb across my slit, capturing a drop of precum. Deliberately and slowly, I raised it to my mouth and sucked.
He palmed his dick through his khaki pants.
“Make it good.”
With that, I turned my back to him.
He growled this time.
Such a fucking sexy sound. I placed my hands against the wall and stuck out my ass. My cock ached, and I hoped he wouldn’t make me wait long.
Within moments, the whisper of a zipper lowering.
His fingers touching my nape startled me, even though I expected them. He skittered them down my back and lower still. He grabbed my ass and squeezed. Then he leaned against me, and his button-down shirt brushed my skin. “I want to fuck you senseless, but I also need to prep you. I don’t know if we have enough lube.”
We had plenty of lube, but his words made me wonder if he’d ever hooked up like this, or if his sexual escapades had all been restricted to a bedroom with a bottle of lube at hand.
“Don’t prep me, just fuck me.”
I loved the burn and reveled in the carnality. I needed him to get a move on, and whatever words it took, I’d happily offer them up.
To my shock, he kissed my neck.
“Okay.”
The word was an affirmative, but the hesitation was noticeable. I wanted to reassure him. To tell him this was always my preference. That my round of bed partners always knew the score, and that’s why I chose them. If this guy offered me tenderness, I wasn’t sure what I’d do. Possibly lose my boner.
Possibly enjoy myself.
Possibly develop feelings for him.
Hence the wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. Or sir.
He pulled back, and I heard the tearing of the foil packet.
After a moment, it fell at my feet.
Thank God he understood mess didn’t matter. I had plenty of time to clean up before customers arrived.
A second packet tore, and I imagined him slathering lube on his cock. Then, to my surprise, he ran his finger down my crack and slipped it inside.
I adjusted my stance as wide as my clothing would allow.
He slid a second finger inside.
Jesus, it felt good, but I wanted more.
Before the words could leave my mouth, he scissored his fingers.
Okay, the beginning of a burn.
He angled them, twisted them and, fuck me, hit my prostate. Like a pro, he hit it unerringly.
Pleasure sang through my veins and my cock hardened further. I mightn’t have thought it possible, but apparently it really liked where we were headed.
I pressed my forehead against the wall. “Please.”
I wasn’t above begging. I needed more, and I needed it now.
He withdrew his fingers, and a deep emptiness welled within me. Knowing he’d fill it again quickly didn’t alleviate the feeling of loss. So much loss in my life. If this was the best way for me to connect with people, I had no problems with that. Pathetic? Maybe. But I’d take whatever I could get.
His cockhead nudged my entrance as he slowly pushed in.
Fuck this shit.
I pushed back, attempting to impale myself on him.
The burn I craved lit through me, settling my restless soul. This. This was what I needed.
“Spike, I…”
“Just fuck me.”
I almost uttered his name. It suited him, but I didn’t want to grow intimacy between us. I needed to be taken to oblivion, and he was the guy to do it.
Then, as if a switch flipped in his brain, he did exactly what I needed him to. He grabbed my hips and began thrusting in earnest. Each push forced me against the brick wall. Each slam brought me closer to my orgasm. I wanted to make it good for him as well, but in that moment, I wasn’t sure how.
When his hand left my hip, he slid it around my waist, and encircled my cock. Even that simple contact sent my synapses firing.
He squeezed, I panted. He twisted, I bucked.
And still he continued to drill me.
“Dickens, I’m coming.”
Said through gritted teeth as I struggled to hold back.
“Do it,”
he growled.
I wasn’t known for being an obedient guy, but this time I happily obliged. The orgasm ripped through me, and my cum spurted against the wall.
He continued to nurse me through the climax even as his thrusts increased in franticness. Then, suddenly, he held himself still.
I knew.
His breathing was harsh against my shoulder and then, without warning, his teeth settled on the fleshy part and he applied pressure. Not enough to break skin. Likely not even enough to leave a mark.
But enough that I’d feel it later and know he claimed me.
Without warning, he withdrew.
I winced.
His hand was on my back, but not in a soothing gesture. No, he was telling me not to turn around. He withdrew it, and a moment later, a knotted condom fell at my feet. The sound of a zipper. Then the squeak of his shoes as he left.
The door slammed.
Well, then.
I leaned against the wall. Not just for support, but for the cool against my heated skin. That’d been one of the hottest sexual encounters in my thirty-five years and also, perversely, one of the least satisfying. I wanted… To hold him. For him to hold me. For, God help me, cuddles. Something to assure me we’d resolved our differences. Something that promised we’d do it again.
As I righted myself, I made a vow. We’d do that again. And again and again and again.
Until I got Dickens out of my system once and for all.