Chapter 7 #2
“You could cut glass with those things, girl,” he says, gesturing at my very visible nipples. “Let me get you something so you can at least get warm. Okay?”
“Uh… yeah,” I say, crossing my arms again. When he walks away, I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
“Here ya go,” he says as he hands me a T-shirt. “Bathroom is the second door on the right.”
“Thanks,” I say slowly.
“It’ll be like a dress on you. Don’t worry,” he says, understanding my hesitation.
I nod and walk down to the bathroom. When I close the door behind me to see that the shower is bigger than my closet.
I live in a tiny one-bedroom trailer on the outskirts of town, so I think this bathroom is as big as my bedroom. This is only a guest bathroom too.
I take off my wet clothes and put on a massive but soft shirt. It comes down just about to my knees and even though I am completely naked under this, I feel less exposed. I gather up the courage I need and walk out of the bathroom.
“Here’s a blanket to cover up with,” he says as he hands me a throw blanket and takes my wet clothes and shoes. “I’ll put these clothes in the dryer.”
“Thank you,” I say as I sit on the couch. With the towel gone, I pull my feet up to sit cross legged and spread the blanket over my lap.
Cole comes back and sits beside me. A sudden wave of panic comes over me, but I try to hide it.
I set my pizza down and lean forward with my elbows on my knees.
I rest my forehead on my palms hoping it will help with how shaky I feel.
I know it’s anxiety, but I can’t make it stop.
I try to go with the flow, but the flow is so goddamn confusing.
“Riley,” Cole says softly. I shake my head. I don’t want to have to explain that I have near debilitating anxiety, especially not to him. He places his hand on my back and I flinch, but he starts rubbing my back anyway. His touch is soothing in a way that doesn’t make sense.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Don’t be. What’s wrong?” he asks.
“I have problems with anxiety. I’m fine most of the time, but I’m just confused,” I say.
“Confused about what?”
“Why I’m sitting in your living room with no pants on,” I say. “I don’t understand why you always request me and now I’m…”
“What?” he asks.
“You’re not going to like… wear my skin, are you? You’ve always seemed nice but who knows these days.”
“You are far too tiny to make anything for me to wear,” he says with humor in his tone.
“I’m being serious,” I say as I look at him.
“I am too,” he laughs. “You are what… five foot max? I am six foot five. I could probably make you into like… a bracelet.”
“Four foot ten,” I smile. “And I guess I’m just afraid of being I don’t know… raped and murdered.”
“No rape or murder, but I won’t lie. I am very tempted to touch you,” he says. “I sense you might actually implode if I do that.”
“I’m not a prude,” I say. “I just have no idea what to do or how to handle myself. You’re sitting over there cool as a cucumber with no shirt and I’m just practically naked on your couch now when I was just delivering pizza twenty minutes ago.
Then come to find out you’re my boss who I vented to about his shitty manager who likes to try and touch me…
sorry. I ramble when I’m nervous. I don’t know what to do with myself. ”
“I’ll make it easy then, okay?” he asks, and I nod. “I want to get to know you, but I also want to fuck you. So here is my offer… you hang out and wait for the storm to pass and your clothes to dry. We watch TV and you give me control,”
“Give you control?” I ask.
“Mhmm. Basically, you have a safe word, and you use it, if you want me to stop,” he says. “You have to be able to trust that I won’t hurt you.”
“I’ve seen you four times a week for a year. I feel like if you were going to hurt me you probably would’ve already done it,” I say.
“So?” he asks.
“So… I trust you, so I agree. “Safe word can be the red-light system.”
“Okay,” he smiles.
“Is that why you keep requesting me?” I ask.
“Partly,” he says. “I am fascinated by you. I have not met anyone who was not afraid of me. Although, I am sensing that you have no idea who I am even though you live your entire life working.”
“I am not scared of you, and I guess I don’t know who you are because I don’t even know what you do to afford living in this house,” I say. “But I’m sensing the pizza place is not the only place that you own.”
“It’s not. I own a handful of things,” he says, resting his hand on my lower back.
“Have you heard of the Roaring Angels Coalition?” he asks.
“In passing, yeah. It’s a biker gang or something. Why?” I ask.
“I’m the president of that motorcycle club,” he says carefully.
“So, is this like a drug money mansion?” I ask and he laughs.
“No,” he says. “I won’t say we don’t distribute things we shouldn’t, but drugs are not one of them.”
“I smoke,” I say.
“Cigarettes or drugs?” he asks.
“Cigarettes. Sorry,” I laugh.
“Well, you’re in luck, because I do too,” he says. “Is that your way of saying you need nicotine?”
“I think so,” I laugh. “They’re in the car though and it’s still pouring.
“I can share,” he says as he stands, he holds his hand out for me to take. When I do, he pulls me up and lifts me off of the couch to set me on the floor.
“You don’t sell people, do you?” I ask.
“No,” he chuckles and leads me into the kitchen. He opens the sliding glass door that leads to the patio and grabs a pack of cigarettes off the table. It’s covered where we are so we can see how hard it’s raining without getting wet.
He offers me a cigarette before lighting it for me then does the same for himself. I take a long drag and sigh as the nicotine soothes my nerves. “Better?” he laughs.
“Yeah,” I smile. “Thank you.”
“Tell me about yourself, Riley,” he says as he picks me up and sits me on the table.
“Sounds like you’ve already looked me up,” I say.
“I know what’s on paper, but that’s it,” he says.
“Well… I’m an only child and my parents died of an overdose when I was ten.
I went to twenty-five different foster homes in ten years, but I’m guessing already you knew that,” I say, and he nods.
“I work damn near one hundred hours a week just to get by. I have no friends because of this because all I know is the people I work with. The last relationship I was in, I got slapped down a flight of stairs… twice, actually. I guess I didn’t hit my head hard enough the first time.
I also have a very dark sense of humor so, be prepared for my morbid thoughts. They leak out sometimes.”
“My parents also died of an overdose,” he says.
“They tried to get clean but when they relapsed, they didn’t know how much they were supposed to be using and went right back to what they used to take.
They had been clean for three years but when my brother died in a car wreck, it was too much for them to handle. So, I lost all three of them.”
“Fuck. That’s awful. I’m sorry,” I say.
“It’s alright,” he says with a smile. “What do you do for fun?”
“I don’t know,” I shrug.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” he asks with a chuckle.
“More like I don’t remember. I work so much that I just work and sleep,” I say. “I work on my car when I have time but that’s more of a necessity.”
“What do you mean by work on?”
“Oh no!” I say dramatically and he laughs again. “Don’t tell me you’re sexist. I can handle biker gang red flags, but I have to draw the line somewhere.”
“Not sexist,” he says with a sweet smile. “Just surprised. What can you do?”
“Anything, probably,” I say. “I just look it up online and do it. I have most of the tools I need. If I don’t have it, I borrow it from a neighbor.”
“Why don’t you do that instead of delivering pizza!” he asks.
“Because no one wants to hire a girl in a shop, Cole,” I laugh.
“Well, that’s bullshit. I don’t know what being a girl has anything to do with it,” he says.
“What do you do for fun?” I ask, changing the subject.
“I ride,” he says. “If I’m not doing that or something with the club then I’m probably outside doing something.”
“Like, middle-aged man yard work or hiking?” I ask
“Both, I guess. I don’t know how I feel about you calling me middle-aged though,” he says, tickling my side.
I giggle and move his hands from my waist to my thighs.
Warmth flashes across me when he slides his massive hands to my bare hips and squeezes.
I bite back a moan until he steps between my parted legs and pulls me to the edge of the table.
Cole has dark brown hair that is just long enough to run your fingers through. It’s disheveled right now but, fuck, it’s sexy. His beard is neatly trimmed but on the longer side. He is looking at me like he is about to devour me, and I don’t know how to process that.
“I don’t know how old you are,” I say, trying to get back on topic before I make a fool of myself.
“Thirty-six,” he says simply with a playful smile painted on his full lips. “Does eleven years bother you?”
“No,” I whisper, barely audible. “How do you…”
“I know a lot about you, darlin’,” he says. “For the things I don’t know… are you clean?”
“Yes,” I answer.
“Are you on the pill?”
“Yeah,” I repeat. Another wave of anxiety hits me, and I close my eyes.
“Riley,” he says softly. “No one is making you do this.”
“I’m okay,” I whisper.
“When was the last time you had sex?” he asks.
“Uh… not since I dated Evan,” I say quietly. “That was over two years ago.”
“Do you want this?” he asks, lifting my chin so I look at him.
“I do,” I say honestly.
“I don’t think it would be very nice of me to fuck you for the first time in over two years on a table. So, let’s go back inside. Okay?” he asks, and I nod.
Cole lifts me off the table and sets me on my feet, then takes my hand and leads me back into the house. We stop by the laundry room, and he gets my clothes out before we continue. When we get to the living room, I freeze when I see eight burly men sitting on the couch and in the chairs.