Sunlight from outside shines on her, illuminating her shiny black hair with a halo of light that sits above her crown, like she’s a real-life angel. Too bad she’s actually a devil in the flesh just like me.
But is that really a bad thing?
Rolling onto my back, I look up at the ceiling above us and the crown molding around the edges of the room. It’s an old-world style architecture, heavy on the years of paint that coats the plaster walls. If the place ever caught fire, it would go up in a heartbeat.
The hardwood floors are warm under my feet when I rise, and the area rug at the foot of her large bed is fluffy and soft as I pick up my pants from the floor, shaking off the dried mud from them, immediately wincing at the dusty mess in the off-white fur.
“Shit.”
“Hmmm?” Phoenix says sleepily, rolling over, covering her eyes from the light pouring in.
Walking over to her as I step into my leathers and shove my tank in my waistband, I bend down and gently kiss her forehead, brushing her hair off her face with the back of my knuckle.
“Nothing baby girl. Go back to sleep.” I whisper, letting my lips linger on her warm skin for a moment longer than necessary.
Leaving is hard, and I don’t want to, but this was all a bad idea. Stalking her apartment, following her, killing a man, getting her involved with me, then fucking her all night long in her sanctuary. It’s all wrong, even though I want it all to be right.
The sun is bright as fuck on the ride back to the firehouse, heating my bare chest and back. I’m blinded without a proper visor on my helmet, and I curse as the reflections from windshields on cars make spots in my vision. I’m already in a foul mood from walking out of her place, leaving her without an explanation, and everything else is just pissing me off.
The bike is dirty, with mud coating the tires and wheels, with splashes of it on the fairings. The red streaks in her paint are almost hidden under the filth, and that makes me mad too. She’s always clean. Everything in my life is clean and orderly, and now, it’s not.
God, you’re fucking stupid.
“Like I don’t already know that.” I growl in my helmet to the voice in my head, angry at him too. It’s him that always gets me into trouble, or at least that’s who I blame, when really it’s me, because well, he is me.
We had a good life, and now it’s fucked. You should have just let him do her. But no, you and your dick couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.
“It’s your fault.”
Yeah keep telling yourself that.
“Fuck you.”
Fuck you too.
“Prick.” I mumble, pulling into the garage at the station, my engine echoing off the large walls as I park next to the ladder truck that sits there all shiny and clean, her red and white paint glistening in the overhead lights.
I need to wash the bike, but first things first, a shower for me, and to burn my fucking leathers and the wife beater shoved in my pants like an oversized handkerchief. I’ll never be able to wash all the evidence off them.
“Hey, look who’s back.” The captain says, popping out from behind one of the trucks wiping his hands clean on a shop rag. “All good?”
“All good.” I say nodding to him, pulling off my busted ass helmet and hiding it behind my back as he walks around the garage checking on everything.
I never had a father, but he’s been close, well, as close as I would let anyone be. If he were to see the broken gear, he’d be worried, then look into it, and I really don’t want to have to murder the only person who’s ever cared about me. That would suck.
“If ya need anything just let me know.” He says, disappearing again as quickly as he appeared, going back to his business of checking out all the trucks and their equipment.
“Yep.”
Hustling through the garage, weaving in and out of the trucks, I make my way upstairs to the bunkhouse. It’s peacefully quiet, with most of the guys either off for the day, or out doing work around the neighborhood, helping to keep it clean and tidy. There’s a huge sense of community amongst the guys, and they are rarely hanging around the house unless they have to be, or of course at meal times.
The communal shower room is blissfully all mine, and it’s nice to shred off my clothes, hiding them under my bunk for now, and step into a hot shower alone.
The hot water pours over me from the high-pressure showerhead, beating my skin with the droplets that are sharp like little knives, making my skin as red as the water swirling at my feet. Blood washes from my hair and skin as I scrub myself carefully, making sure to get behind my ears, in all cracks and crevices, and especially in the creases of my hands. Under my nails is the last place I wash, making sure to scrape underneath their tips for any residual evidence.
Staring at my hands, watching the little pieces of God knows what wash away, all I can see is the way they looked on her skin last night. Both in the water of the river and in her soft bed, I touched her everywhere. My large, pale, veiny hands caressed and fondled her tanned, satiny skin memorizing the feel of every inch of her.
Blissfully alone with my thoughts and the images behind my closing eyelids, I reach down and stroke my cock. It’s already hard, jutting out from my body with a mind of its own, wanting her from just the memories.
