Page 9 of Forty

I waited until she was sixteen to pop her cherry. She was at me to do it for months beforehand, always grinding on me, sucking my fingers, trying to get me to lose my shit. To date, the hardest thing I’ve ever done is waiting two years to fuck Nevaeh Ellis. I was gonna marry that girl. I told her I loved her. Bought her a ring. Not a diamond; I couldn’t afford that. This was way before Heavy went to college and came back with the plan that turned everything around.

The ring was a pearl. The band was too big, and the gold was too thin to resize. She wore it on a chain around her neck, and it’d roll between her tits when we fucked. When she’d get antsy—and she was always antsy—she’d click-clack the pearl between her front teeth. I nearly came in my pants from watching her tongue roll that pearl.

She was perfect, and I was a dumb redneck with zero prospects. I joined up so I could make a life for us. She had a year left of school. I had it all figured out. All she had to do was sit tight, and I’d be able to buy her a house and a car. Whatever she wanted.

Instead, almost the minute I got to basic, I got emails that she’s out fucking around on me. I’d call her, and all she’d do is cry and tell me to come home. Like I had a choice. Then, one night, she came on to Heavy. She didn’t deny it. I dumped her. And all she said?

“You’re not coming home, are you?”

Heavy said she left town the next day, and as far as we know, she hasn’t been back since.

My blood’s burning as I shove my phone in my pocket and duck into the men’s room. I run some cold water, splash it on my face. That all happened a lifetime ago. We were kids. What some seventeen-year-old chick with issues did back in high school shouldn’t throw me for a loop.

Back then, I decided she did me a favor. After all, my mom was the same type: weak when it mattered. When the mill went under, Dad was out of work for years. He was Steel Bones, and he made ends meet by doing what he had to do, but it was feast or famine, depending on how the jobs panned out. He was on the road a lot. My mom couldn’t handle the lean times, so she left. Haven’t seen her since.

I don’t let myself think about her, either.

Now that the shock of hearing Nevaeh’s name is wearing off, my body’s chilling out. My dick’s hanging loose, and my muscles feel normal again. Stiff, tight across the shoulders, ready. The right amount of tension.

I’ve got an attractive woman, well fed and ready to fuck, and damn—I no longer have the slightest bit of interest in taking her home.

My teeth grit. What the fuck is Nevaeh Ellis doing coming around the clubhouse now?

She never had any sense. No loyalty and no common sense.

You always had to make things crystal clear to her. Speak loudly, be direct, and repeat yourself.

I should ride out to Lou’s place; she’s probably staying there. Lou’s her half-brother, a decent guy, although he’s rides a Suzuki. He hangs around the club, comes to parties. He never brings his sister up, so we’re cool.

He better not have anything to do with this. I like the guy, but he won’t be welcome anymore if he brought her around.

Yeah, driving out to Lou’s is a good idea. I’ll paint her a picture so there’s no room for confusion. When she came on to Heavy, she tried to drive a wedge between me and my brother. Steel Bones is a brotherhood. She’s not coming back from that. Not in ten years. Not in a hundred.

Even though it doesn’t need it, I slick down my hair with my wet hands, and I head back to Amelia. She’s ordered herself another glass of wine since I’ve been gone, and she’s posing, legs crossed, back arched. She’s hot. Nice proportions. Shiny hair.

“Emergency?” She smiles. She has very white teeth.

“No. Nuisance.”

She smiles wider. There’s a bright pink lipstick smudge on her front tooth. “So we have time for dessert?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

I sit in Broyce’s another hour regretting that “sure.” I don’t like sweets. Amelia seems to have forgotten she was feeling me up, and now she’s really into a story about a time her car broke down. It keeps going, and the whole time, my brain flashes through still shots of Nevaeh—shit I haven’t let myself remember in years.

Nevaeh’s chin dimpling when she tried to keep from crying that time she wanted to try anal. Her thighs hot around my obliques in the freezing water of Lake Patonquin. Her giggles tickling my ear in the back of the dollar movie theater.

My face flushes, feverish, and so I make myself remember the rest. My muscles swell with rage. Pictures of her twerking on some guy’s jock. Another guy’s arm around her shoulder, his hand in her hair. Heavy describing the mole right below her right nipple. I force myself to drag in a deep breath.

It’s insane to get upset about shit that went down when I was eighteen. Still, while Amelia goes on about roadside service and estimates, my brain’s projecting the world’s most fucked up slideshow.

Over and over, the instant I wrestle the rage under control, my dick gets hard enough to pound a nail. Again, nothing I’ve felt in years. My balls ache under the table as my fingers drum the table and my knee jiggles.

I want to stroke soft skin, sink my cock into hot pussy, but I don’t want this put-together woman with the matching leather boots and purse. She’s confident. Driven. Calm, cool, and collected. She’s a ten.

I don’t want her.

I want to touch a wild woman who’ll wriggle and buck and lose her dignity. I want a short woman with a fat ass—all meaty and jiggly—who’ll climb me, ride me, let me do whatever I want. A slut who’llbeg meto do whatever I want. That’s what Nevaeh was like right before I left. Starving. Insatiable.

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