Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
My bad boy biker.
My love.
Saxon.
8
TAMMY
I can’t stop thinking about last night. About Saxon.
The way he held me. The way he kissed me. The wonderful things he whispered into my ear that I never thought I would be ready to hear.
I told him I loved him, and he said it back.
I told him about my past, and he accepted it.
He accepted me.
And now, it’s like I’m living in a dream. Everything feels too good to be true. This gorgeous, tough, rough-riding man who could get any girl he wants says he loves me? How did I end up so lucky?
My heart aches in such a wonderful way. And not just my heart, my body as well. But that’s no surprise considering how hungrily Saxon took me last night. Three times before falling asleep on me, his body’s warmth pressed against me like I had my arms wrapped around the engine of his bike.
He’s a dangerous man, there’s no doubt about that. But I’m starting to understand him now–the things that fuel the strength and dominance so cemented into his being. When he looks at me, I feel protected. I feel safe.
But even as I lie in bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling, the outside world starts to creep into my apartment, invading the little sanctuary Saxon and I have begun to forge for ourselves.
He left early this morning after waking me up by sliding his cock inside me. I guess he’s got some club business to attend to, but he said he would call me after. And despite the fact that I’m still glowing inside, still tingling, still feel like I’m floating on a giant pink cloud–the weight of the everything outside the security of our relationship starts to sink down on me again, reminding me of just how fragile I am.
I think about how I told him about my father. How he would break me down, piece by piece, until I was exhausted and ready to collapse. I think about how Saxon’s eyes softened when I showed him the scars my dad left on me. But then I remember how I felt when he showed me his. A collection obtained from a lifetime of living life as an outlaw.
Trauma bonding. Is that what we’re doing? What we did?
We’re building a life together, but the world out there is still harsh. Still unforgiving. And as hard as I try, I still can’t get that damn bitch Roxy out of my head.
Something about the way she talks, the way she struts, the way she looks at me like I’m beneath her…it just doesn’t sit right with me. But Saxon told me not to think about her, so I’m trying my best not to. He told me I belonged to him, and he wouldn’t lie to me. He wouldn’t hurt me.
I trust him.
I’d love to lie in bed all day, but I’ve got a shift at Jayne’s in a couple of hours. So I force myself out of bed, take a shower, and throw on just enough makeup so I don’t look like a zombie. I’m going to have bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, but I notice an orange juice and a cardboard to-go box on the counter with a note:
Hope you like egg and cheese -Saxon
My heart warms, and I smile as I open the box and see an egg and cheese breakfast sandwich from the deli down the street. A sigh of contentment slowly drifts out from my lips as I smile, feeling myself blush.
Could this man be more perfect?
I grab the juice and the sandwich and rush out the door. I’m already running behind and am stuffing my face as I drive to work. By the time I pull up in the lot behind Jayne’s, it’s 10:57, three minutes before I’m supposed to clock in.
“Phew,” I mutter as I slip in the back door. “Made it.”
The familiar scents of smoke and stale beer really don’t mix well with my breakfast sandwich, so I stuff the remainder in my mouth and wash it down with my drink. I’m greeted with the low murmur of non-enthusiastic, midday chit-chat and make my way behind the bar, where George is glancing at something on his phone.
“How’s things?” I ask. His only reply is a shrug as he grimaces down at his screen. I don’t even want to know what he’s doing on that thing. Somehow, there are already a bunch of unwashed glasses in the sink, so I grab the soap and a rag and get to work. I barely get through the first two when the front door swings open.
Great. Customers.
I glance up, hoping it will at least be somebody I know and who is friendly and easy, and that’s when I freeze.
Roxy.
I see her standing in the doorway, scanning the room with her eyes like a hawk, as if she’s searching for something. Someone. As she steps inside, I notice her usual confident stride is a bit off. A bit different. She’s calmer. More deliberate as she walks through the bar.