Rage is the residential psycho of the club. Tormented by his own demons he lives in pain and agony, a constant state of rage. Everyone knows him as the Hellhound of the Riders of Tyr , known for his cruelty and the joy he gets from causing pain. To...
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Iris
Fixing a bike and riding one are two different things. Two extremely enjoyable things! I must confess I was a bit terrified when Rage proposed a ride, scared deep to my bones for opening up to a new experience. I was trembling internally since the moment he suggested it up till I exited the bar, dressed in that tight leather jacket he got me and those killer boots. I forgot all about my fear when he placed his hand over mine. To be precise there was no room for another feeling but a fluttering, buzzy sensation that tied me to sweet, agonizing knots. Throw hugging him into the deal and riding on a bike is the best thing in the world.
God, it is! We are riding through the city and Rage is taking me round the waterfront, as if he has noticed how I like to look upon the sea. He isn't speeding – like he promised – he's just cruising leisurely, leaving me time to adjust myself behind him. Truth be told I find it difficult to settle but agitation or fear have nothing to do with it. It is pure, sheer excitement that shakes the foundation of my being. I am happy and I can't even remember the last time I was. My body reacts as if I am straining it with things it's not used to but I do not care. I am happy and I am free.
"You OK?" Rage lets the handlebar and squeezes my hand over his stomach.
I tremble at the connection. How can I describe to him how I feel? I have my arms around his strong waist and even over the leather cut I can feel the muscles ripple under his skin. My fingers are knit over his abs and I sweat every time he flexes his body. My body is glued against his back and each move feels like a caress against me. And my thighs are wrapping him as I rub against him each time he breaks. Suddenly I feel this is too much. Too many clothes are between us and I feel the urge to rip all of them apart just to feel him against me, skin to skin and I flex my thighs at the thought.
"Iris?" he tilts his head to me.
"I am fine." I lean closer to his ear "More than fine. I am great."
I see the little hair on the back of his neck stand up, I notice his fingers clench around the handle, I hear him inhale deeply and I smile. I know he feels the same, thinks exactly the same thing and deep down I wish the he would stop the bike, right there in the middle of the street, turn to me, tug my hair and ravage my mouth. I am beyond kissing at this point, it just wouldn't be enough to clench the thirst I have for him. But he does none of these things, he just rides.
And I do not ask him to. Rage is so broken and tortured he might crumble if he feels pressure. He is making an effort here, letting me ride behind him. He is trusting me and I have to honor that trust. That means not asking him for things he can't give. I just pull closer and let my whole body lean on him grateful I have that at least.
After a while he comes to a stop and pulls the stand of the bike. I look around and we are outside a diner. The place is buzzing with life, people going in and out, mostly young ones making me think that all is nice and bright and vibrant in the world, healthy and prosperous.
"Why are we here?" I ask.
Rage takes off his helmet and I follow his lead. He messes with his Mohawk and by simply doing this he turns most heads his way. The guys are looking at him and his bike with an envious look on them, knowing well that they will never look that good hard as they might. But it isn't them that catch my attention. It's the girls.
Those closer to us came to a sudden stop ready to trip over to get his attention. Others are shameless enough to pull closer and look at Rage as if he is some kind of attraction. Rage doesn't seem to notice as he takes off his gloves and unzips his cut. But I do. These girls like him and they don't seem to share my spineless disposition. I see they are ready to throw themselves at my Rage. My Rage! The thought makes me turn to him as he secures his helmet on his handlebar. How I wished that these words were true, that he was truly mine. But...
With the corner of my eye I detect movement near us. I see one of the girls walk up to us with a wide smile on her face and I boil inside, my jaw clenched. She is in a short jean skirt with sandals and her long blonde hair flows down her back. She is good-looking and I don't like how she has Rage in her eyesight. She is all that I am not: fresh, happy, voluptuous, seductive and determined. She is only a few feet away when I quickly get off the bike with one sudden move, unzipping my jacket. The girl doesn't even glance my way, just toys with her hair and licks her cherry lip-glossed lips. She pulls closer and then I see her extend her hand to Rage in a slow seductive move. I am faster. I grab her arm and twirl her towards me. She is a bit taller than me but the surprise attack is enough to throw her off.
"Step away!" I spit in her face.
The seductive vibe she had going on falls apart and she looks into my eyes startled as if noticing I was there just now. I am used to be invisible but at this moment I want to be seen. I want to be seen by her and by all the other girls ogling Rage as if he is a chocolate cake. He is here with me!
"What the fuck?" the girl finds some composure.
"Hands. Off!" I get in her face and she stumbles back and leaves.
I look around and everyone else mutters something behind hands and walk away. I grin satisfied and the feeling is exhilarating, a rush I've never had in my submissive, miserable life. I was the one ordered around and the power I felt coursing through my veins makes my cheeks heat. I turn to Rage and...
Oh, no! The realization of what I have done hits me as I meet his look. He studies me like he has never seen me before and I realize that I very publicly displayed jealousy, turning away a girl he might actually like. All the excitement falls apart and suddenly I feel deeply sad. Of course he would like to go with that girl than stay with broken ol' me. And I ruined it for him. I bite my lower lip and look down, fumbling with the helmet still in my hands.
"So..." I have to say something "why are we here?"
"Definitely not hitting on girls if that's what you' re thinking." his voice has his usual roughness but there is something lighter in it.
I dare to look at his face and his lips are crooked to what might look like a smile if he knew how one was. He seems to be amused as he cocks his eyebrow and looks at me up and down with his baby blue eyes, bluer under the sun. The amusement disappears and something else takes over him, making him part his lips and narrow his eyes as he studies me like a predator, ready to attack. A voice inside me asks me to flee and survive this prevailing wolf that circles me but instead I look back ready for him to blow my house in.
He stands close to me, close enough for me to touch him, close enough for me to smell him. He still smokes a lot although he never does in the room we currently share. But he doesn't drink. He still sports a beer most of the time but he no longer empties bottles one after the other. So all I smell on him is his scent, the same one that reaches me in my bed, the one that fills the room, my dreams. That deep, sweet smell that makes every hair on my skin rise in attention and every cell in my body clap with exhilaration. He leans closer and my breath is caught. He raises his arm and his hand grazes my cheek as he moves it round my neck. I pray with all my strength that I do not faint but my wobbly legs can make no such promises as I try to control them.
"Let's get something to eat." he pulls away suddenly.
That's my girl!! Show these little bitches what you're made of. Ooops! I got a little carried away there.
