Page 15 of Loan Wolf
“My masculinity isn’t fragile,” Gabe said dryly. This one was painted with northern lights, bright green and magenta over a sparkling midnight blue scattered with stars. “This is Aurora.” His personal helmet came from behind the counter, and was painted with snarling wolves that matched his tattoos.
He set the “I’ll be back” clock in the window for their estimated return time, locked the shop behind him, and took off down the street without waiting for Clara. He heard her chain scramble behind him, and when he glanced back, she was catching up, her braids streaming to each side. He wondered what it would feel like to yank one of them, or hold on to both of them as he?—
He ran a stop sign into rare Green Valley traffic and got honked at as he swerved to the side to avoid the truck, Clara following hot behind him.
Someone shouted through the open truck window, but Gabe and Clara were long gone, racing in the opposite direction along the flat road out of Green Valley.
14
CLARA
“You didn’t tell me how much you were charging for your services,” Clara said, when her breath was finally less ragged and desperate. Gabe had led them at a brutal pace, pausing only to warn her about the hazards they were approaching and remind her about the gearing he’d showed her. Her whole body ached; biking was subtly different muscles than dancing, and it worked out her core and back as well as her legs. Most surprising was the effort in her arms, balancing her weight on the handlebars and braking. She sat down almost never, which was good, because those parts were still sore from the night before.
It was wonderful, exactly what she’d been hoping for, from the challenging exercise to the breathtaking views… of Gabe’s extremely fit ass as he navigated the trail in front of her. He wasn’t into loitering over conversation or flirting with her, though he took the time to explain how to use the gears going uphill, and that was absolutely perfect.
“Depends on the services,” Gabe said, putting his head back to drink from his bottle.
Clara had also been drinking and she choked on her water and coughed and had to lean on Daisy and laugh.
Gabe reached over to pound her on the back and it turned into exactly the invitation Clara needed to lean closer to him. They each dropped their bikes with a clatter and were pulling off their helmets and shirts without any consultation. He was even more gorgeous in daylight, his tattoos rippling like they were alive with the muscles underneath. Clara scratched them with her nails, not hard, but hard enough to make him hiss.
There were no bike blankets in the back of a pickup here, and the moss on the rocks did nothing to soften them, but it wasn’t going to stop either of them as they kissed and clawed at each other.
“Condom?” Clara had the wits to remember, and Gabe produced one from his pants pocket.
“I’m a fucking boy scout,” he reminded her, and then he was sheathing himself and leaning her onto a rock to take her from behind.
It wasn’t the slow, experimental sex of the night before, everything distanced by darkness; this was two people who were hot for each other in broad daylight, with the sun beating down on their sweaty skin. He held her hip in one hand and leaned against the rock with the other to support them as they thrust at each other in frantic need and hunger. Clara came, a rolling orgasm washing over her like a tide, and then Gabe was making a strangled noise of surrender as he slowed his thrusts and tightened his grip.
Clara felt like she’d never have enough air in her lungs again as they leaned together against the scratchy rock, his arms protecting her and holding her close. His breath was ragged near her ear and when he kissed her neck, she felt like she was undone even more.
“I usually advocate pack it out,” Gabe said, peeling the condom from his cock and tying it off. “But I draw the line at putting this back in my pocket.”
He did dig a hole for it, and bury it neatly, and by the time he was done, Clara was doing a better job of breathing again.
She was also ravenous, and delighted when Gabe produced a protein bar from one of those pockets that men always got and women never had room for.
“My hero!” Clara sang, peeling off the wrapper. She broke it in half and gave back the part she didn’t stuff in her mouth. He looked like he was going to refuse for a moment, then wolfed it down as eagerly as she had.
She followed it with water and felt considerably better as the sweat on her skin gradually cooled. They sat in the shade together once they were dressed, admiring the view and leaning into each other.
“Green Valley looks so small from here,” Clara said.
“Green Valley is small,” Gabe pointed out.
“You don’t like it here, do you.”
Gabe was quiet so long that Clara feared she’d shut him off. “It’s not that I don’t like it,” he finally said. “I just…always thought there was more out there to see. Cities. Culture.”
“Overrated,” Clara said, more bitterly than she meant to. “Why didn’t you leave?”
“I was going to go to college,” Gabe said, which confirmed Clara’s suspicion that he hadn’t. “Then Mom got sick. I took out a loan for the bike shop so I could make a living here and take care of her. You might have noticed our little influx of millionaires, building bakeries and theatres. The Powells are sort of pushy and they convinced me to open the shop and then pretty much single-handedly got it going. I wasn’t going to take charity, and I got the loan on my own, but every time things got tight, they’d donate a fleet of bikes to a youth outreach in Madison or something. They tried to leave us our dignity, I guess. When Mom…was gone, I felt like I kind of owed it to them to stick around and keep it going, and I didn’t have anything better to do with my life. It’ll be a while before I can finish out the loan and pay off her house. My house.”
Clara was tracing the tattoos on the arm that rested in her lap, following the line of a vine and the curve of a wolf’s tail. She looked at Gabe’s profile. His nose was a little beaky, there was stubble coming in on his cheek, and he was frowning down at the tiny town. “Don’t feel sorry for me,” he warned her. “I know that sad, dead mom is always the pity card, but I’ve got my own business, and it’s solid, doing what I like to do. I don’t have anyone to tell me what to do or who to be.”
“I don’t pity you,” Clara snorted. “I envy you. I have everyone telling me what to do and who to be. I can’t even have a milkshake without being tsked about my weight.”
“Screw ‘em,” Gabe said, bumping her shoulder with his. “You should drink a milkshake every day and gain two hundred pounds and have rolls of tattoos everywhere if that’s what you want.”
