Chasing Storm (6 page)

The blanket falls off my shoulders, sliding off the glossy bonnet. He jams his fingers inside me where they squelch in my desire.

A tub of oil falls off the roof of the car and flows down my back and sides to spill over the front of the car onto the floor. My body slides on the hood in the slickness, rocking back and forth as I try urgently to take in air as we part.

He reaches down and pulls at my blouse, pulls until two buttons break free. I lift my skirt up around my waist as I take one half of the blouse aside and remove a breast from my bra, fuller than most men expect from a girl of my frame and always met with enthusiasm. He drops his head and takes a nipple into his mouth while his fingers continue to plunge into my slit below, my desire gathering thick around his fingers, oil warm and viscous against my buttocks and the tight balloon knot of my anus flattened out against the hood.

I open my mouth and look to the fluro lighting above, overcome by the moment. The resolve remains. Without these clothes his cock would already be inside me. I’m definitely wet enough, wetter than I’ve ever been in my life, thin rivulets running down my thighs to mix with the oil that drools off the bonnet.

I need him desperately, the need urgent and pressing as it coils in the pit of my stomach and core. I want his cock more than anything. I want it buried deep inside me - now.

I make the move, reaching between us and pulling his zipper down. I fish in his jocks for his cock, finding it hard as a steel bar. I pull it out, directing it towards my pussy.

My only heel drops off onto the concrete and pooled oil as he continues to suck and pull at my nipple, his tongue leaving it to loop around my areola.

I roll my hand over the fat knob of his cock, feel the tip of it leaking pre-come. He gasps aloud as I place him against my opening, spreading my legs so the hot mouth of my pussy widens and beckons him inside.

His scent becomes stronger, as done my own, the union sending my hips jerking towards him. My groin aches for him.
Fill it!
it begs.
Fill me!

I know all the blood in my body is pooling between my thighs, that my lips are swollen to soft pillows there. Even I can smell the earthy female aroma that emanates from between them, that which spellbinds men so.

He holds the fleshy undersides of my thighs, my cunt split wide for him.

I am powerless to stop him. I simply need the fire that has ignited between my legs to be quelled.

I bite into his shoulder as he enters me, my flesh stretching to accommodate him. He thrusts forward, my body swallowing his cock with hunger.

He slams forward and I respond, clenching my muscles, milking him as he works into a rhythm. I place my hands on his buttocks, pressing into the denim to rock him forward against me, whispering
god, god
over and over as he grinds down against my clit and his cock slides right into the hot compression of my pussy.

He’s breathless by my ear. I close my eyes. “Fuck me,” I beg.

His cock is silky inside me. He slides in deep. An actual tear falls down my face onto the hood of the Chevy as I swing against him, ass cheeks rolling against the metal until he hilts himself inside me.

He thrusts harder, faster, building and building as I lift with him. My fingers claw into his backside. He hammers against me like a madman, the oil that was spilt cooling around my ass.

I’m clenching him so hard I’m sure it will leave bruising, but I don’t care. I don’t give a flying fuck about anything but getting off.

He pumps into my pussy harder still as I rise up to meet him. He lifts me from the car, punching into me with everything he has.

When he nears, when his breath becomes as rapid and ragged as my own, our mutual orgasms building, I press my lips to his ear and whisper, “I want your cum inside me.”

It sends him over the edge immediately. He pushes his pubic bone hard against my clit and, cock pulsing, pumps his release deep inside me.

My own orgasm rushes up and I’m drawn so far into it I’m blinded momentarily as we convulse and twist together.

Finally, my back wilts and I collapse against the hood of the car.

He steps back and his cock comes free slick with sperm, birthed from my pussy as he stands there trying to regain his composure.

My orgasm continues even as my vision clears, my jaw clenching and releasing, back arching and throat contracting. It seems endless as I reach between my legs to stifle it.

Done, I look down and see my wet and flushed sex aflame, bright red, my lips raw.

I still cannot believe what I have done, what has just taken place here. He stands back and examines me when I try to sit up. My legs are shaky, Jello-like as I stand. Oil slides down my legs and backs in thick sheets.

Storm comes forward and begins to peel the wet layers off.

Not a single word is spoken.

When I’m naked, he picks me up under the legs and carries me through the shed into the hammering rain outside and the house beyond. Droplets of oil and cum stain his carpet, but he doesn’t seem to care, carrying me to the bathroom and setting me up standing in the shower. He turns on the taps to full blast and I scream as cold water belts my body. It soon turns warm and then hot. He watches on with his cock still out and wet from its time spent buried in my body.

I run my fingers through my hair, attempt to squeeze the oil away. He helps, using a flannel to wipe the murky substance from my back and legs, taking extra time around my buttocks as I hang my head and watch the dense substance sucked away down the plughole.

When I’m suitably clean, he pulls the shower curtain closed. “I’ll leave you to it.”

I brush the curtain aside and pull him in, clothes and all, into the scalding stream of water. I draw him to my body and reach down for his cock.

I don’t even know who this Alice is.

I look into his eyes as I start to jerk him off, bringing his member back to life. “No, stay.”

I wake in a panic, sitting bolt upright. I’m in a strange room, a strange bed – again. There’s barely anything in here.

I look around to try to find something that might provide context.

Storm.

Steam clouds out from the bathroom doorway. I can hear the shower going.

My pussy’s actually throbbing between my legs and my entire body aches. When I lie back down I feel every joint working to accommodate the motion.

What. The. Hell, Alice?

What
was
I thinking? Did I even initiate it, or did he? I’m confused, disorientated. One minute I’m walking through the fields in the middle of nowhere and then I’m fucking a complete stranger – not just once either. No protection, Alice? God, what is happening to me? Who is this person, this alternate Alice who goes around sleeping with men she barely knows, or remembers?

I don’t know any more.

I roll over and take in his scent. It lingers, undertones of our many sex acts returning and the vividness of it rushing into my head.

It was amazing, yes. Different to my time with Dan, no doubt, but with an edge, a desperation and danger.

Can I allow myself to fall like this? Does he even want it? Maybe he’s simply hoping I just leave.

In your broken car, genius?

Oh.

He comes out of the shower drying his hair. He’s otherwise completely naked, his cock swinging freely between his legs. A pang of need shoots up my spine.

It’s different in the stark clarity of day. His scars have more contrast, his tats standing out on his skin. He makes his way over to the bed. He sits down on the edge and runs a finger up my exposed ankle. “I fixed your car. Hope you don’t mind.”

“What was wrong with it? The electrics, right?”

“Out of gas.”

I mentally slap myself.
Idiot.

“Taped up that window too, but I’m afraid it’s still a bit of a swimming pool in there.”

“I figured. That was some storm.”

“Well, it is the season for it – twisters, hail, flying cows, you name it.”

“Flying cows?”

He laughs. It’s the first time I’ve seen him soften – figuratively and literally. “Perhaps not, but you don’t want to be anywhere near Rosie or Millertown when one of those twisters comes through. Take it from me.”

He picks up his jeans from the floor and pulls them on not bothering with underwear. He finds a crumpled white tee in the corner and slings it over his head.

I get a hot flash as I remember his chest sliding over mine last night, the way my hands fisted in the sheets as we made love.

That wasn’t making love. That was raw, dirty fucking. You enjoyed it, didn’t you?

He looks at me curiously. “Knock, knock, anyone there?”

“Sorry, I-, I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

I grasp at the first thing that comes to mind. “My story?”

He holds his head in his hands and comes back up with a long inhale of breath. “You’re just not going to give it up, are you?”

I shake my head. “It’s not in my nature, sorry.”

He smiles. “I like that.”

He stands and leans against the wall. “Look, if you want to see the real Millertown, if you really want to tell her story, let me show you.”

“What, now?”

“There’s no better time than the present. Come on, we’ll grab a bite later.”

He tosses my clothes back at me warm from the dryer. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

When I come out, Storm’s already got his motorbike running. He twists the throttle and clouds billow from the back of the death machine through a blanket of heavy fog.

“I thought you said you weren’t a bikie.”

“Bikie implies I’m part of a club.”

“You’re not.”

“One man band.”

“I’m not getting on that thing,” I tell him.

He gives the throttle another squeeze. “My way or the highway.”

“What is this, cliché 101?”

He tosses me a helmet and scoots forward.

I throw the helmet on and swing up behind him, settling myself against the leather and dip of his back, closing my arms around his torso as the bike chugs below. The last time I was on a motorcycle was with Tim.

“I should warn you,” I start, raising my voice to compete with the erratic idle, “It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a-” but my words are lost as we take off at breakneck speed, burning out up the road towards Millertown. The world swims by in a blur as I press myself to Storm’s shoulder. He smells of machines, of sweat and the country and living free. He’s the complete antithesis of every guy I’ve dated, except for Tim.

In no time at all we’re into Millertown proper. It looks just as shabby as it did yesterday.

Storm drives down the main street, waving at the occasional passer-by, and heads out into the residential area.

He pulls up outside a solid brick home, bringing the bike to the curb and helping me off. The fact he cups my butt to lift me from the seat does not go unnoticed.

I look around. It’s quiet enough. “Where are we?”

“Come,” he says, walking towards the house. “There are a few people I want you to meet.”

A large lady greets us at the door.

“Storm, my dear!” she beams, embracing him and pulling us both inside.

He turns to introduce me. “This is Alice, from the Big Apple. She’s here to do a piece on Millertown for one of the big New York papers. Alice, this is Monica.”

I extend my hand, but Monica pulls me in for an embrace instead. It’s like my lungs are going to pop out of my mouth. “Beautiful Alice. You know, I don’t think Storm’s ever brought a girl here. You must be real special.”

“Please,” says Storm, cutting between us. “Is Lucy around?”

“Sure, right down back.”

I peer into the rooms as we walk. “Is this some kind of halfway house?”

“You could say that. After the mill closed a lot of the older folks here were left without a home, income, pension… Monica opened her doors and this place was born. She doesn’t make a single dime from it.”

“That’s really great. I mean, I had no idea. How do you know her?”

“She’s something of a surrogate mother to me. Found me in town one day going through the bins, gave me a meal. That’s how it all started. She put me through school.” He knocks on a door down the back. “Lucy, it’s Storm.”

The door opens and an elderly lady’s face lights up. “Oh, Storm, you devil. You’ve come calling, and with a lady friend.”

He motions me in and we both sit on a small sofa as Lucy goes back to her knitting.

I take out my recorder and she tells me her story, how she lost everything after the closure of the mill. I listen attentively.

Halfway through, Monica taps at the doorframe behind us. “Alice, dear, mind if I borrow your man for a moment?”

“Sure,” I offer, “he’s all yours.”

She slaps him on the ass as he walks past. “Come on, big boy. ’Bout time you helped out around here.”

“He came every day.”

It takes me a second to realize Lucy is talking again, her weathered, tissue-paper face folding over with each word.

“Sorry?”

“Storm. When I was alone, when Jerry left me, he came over every night and delivered me meals, cooked, helped me get a room here before the bank took the house.”

“Cooked?”

“Oh yes, he’s a marvelous cook, my Storm.”

My Storm.
I love that.

Cooking? That’s the last thing I would have expected.

“People get the wrong idea about him, you know,” Lucy continues. “They put him in the same basket as his no-good parents, damn their souls, but he’s different. He’s smart as a whip, that one. Compassionate, too.”

“I had no idea.”

“Oh I know he’s handsome. If I was 50 years younger, well…” she drifts off and I can’t stifle the smile that’s spanning across my lips.

“I guess what I’m saying is, give him a chance.”

“I will.”

Storm and Monica arrive with tea and I give Storm a warm wink. His face remains blank. He’s got no idea.

On the way back to the bike, I ask, “How does she fund it all?”

“Monica?”

“Yeah.”

“Anonymous donor, I hear.”

“Really?”

“Any idea who it is?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Nope. Hungry?”

“Starving.”

“I know just the place.”

We head off to the outskirts of the town, the poorer residential homes and streets full of weeds and cracked concrete. We pull into a home that looks like it’s on crutches, about to fall over at any second.

I take my helmet off and shake my hair out with my fingers. Something smells amazing.

Storm leads us down the side of the house into a small backyard. There, a man tends to what at first looks like the engine of a steam train but on closer observation is a BBQ.

Storm claps the man on the shoulder. “Alice, meet Texas Pete, the finest barbequer that ever lived.”

I shake Pete’s hand and try to take in his, uh, contraption. He closes the hood of it and looks me over. “Gosh, you are a pretty one. I hope Storm’s being a gentlemen.”

“Yes,” I admit, “he is.”

“Good, good. Two?”

Storm smiles and rubs his hands together. “You know it.”

Pete opens the hood and pulls out a rack of ribs, basting them in sauce. He moves behind the grand BBQ and comes back with two plates, standing with our back to us while he works.

“He never lets me see exactly how he makes them,” Storm whispers.

“Makes what?”

“The finest rib sandwiches in the universe.”

“Rib sandwiches?”

A terrible look of concern comes over Storm’s face. “Oh hell, you’re a vegetarian, aren’t you?”

I laugh, “Oh man, now it’s you that’s doing the stereotyping.”

“Thank god for that.”

Pete hands over two plates. “Here you go, kids. Two of my finest. Dig in.”

He watches as I try to lift the sandwich up. It’s a monster.

“That’s right,” he enthuses. “You’re going to have to get messy. Just go with it.”

I look to Storm.
Indeed.

I open my jaw wide and shove a corner of the sandwich in.

Storm was right. This thing is amazing.

I nod. “Mmmmm,” wiping my mouth, “that’s delicious.”

Pete smiles and bows before returning to his BBQ.

“You should start a franchise or something,” I tell him.

He laughs, turning to point to his house. “As you can see, I’m not exactly swimming in capital here. Besides, I think it’s better this way, keeping it between friends.”

“I know a guy,” says Storm.

Pete waves it off. “Yeah, yeah, and I appreciate the offer, but I’m doing just fine.”

Storm nods.

When we’re done, I notice that Storm leaves Texas Pete a significant tip as he leads me back to the bike. “I know it looks kind of shabby and dirty from the outside, but the best things in life usually are.”

I laugh. “Are you referring to yourself?”

“Maybe, but I take offence to ‘shabby’. Disheveled, maybe, but shabby’s going too far.”

We take off back into Millertown. It becomes clear throughout the day that Storm plays a large part in this community. Even the street urchins I saw yesterday swarm to his bike, jumping up onto his shoulders as he swings them around and play-boxes with the boys, the girls swooning as he takes off his leathers. I watch from a distance.

Am I falling for this guy?

My head almost can’t process it. It seems outrageous, wild.

We cruise out of Millertown just as the sun sets in a neon ball behind us. I press myself tighter against his body.

Back at his place he hands me a beer, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “So, what do you think?”

“About Millertown?”

“Yeah.” There’s genuine curiosity in his eyes.

“I think there’s a story to tell, for sure, and I’m going to tell it… right.”

He sinks back the beer. “I’m glad to hear it.”

I run my fingers over the condensation on the beer bottle, ringing the neck of it with my thumb. “What should we do now?”

“I have an idea.”

He comes against me, lips pressing to my own just as there’s commotion outside. He pulls the kitchen curtains across. Through the gap he leaves I see a group of bikes pulling up, men in leathers getting off and standing amongst the dust they’ve kicked up.

“Shit,” says Storm. “Stay right here. Don’t come out no matter what happens.”

“What’s going on? Who are those guys?”

“No one you want to meet,” and he’s gone, swinging out of the kitchen.