From Bully To Beloved

CAL

“Are you listening?” I brush a strand of blonde hair from her face.

“I am,” she says stiffly, probably expecting the worst.

“I’m not a preacher, and I hate preaching, and I feel it’s a fucking joke when I, of all people, give fucking advice, because I barely know what I’m doing myself half the time.”

I notice the corners of her lips curve upward a little. “Okay, I’m listening.”

“Good. Because you need to get something into your head.” I softly tap her forehead twice. “There’s no shame in hitting the ground. There’s no disgrace in being wounded, lying there at rock bottom. There’s no humiliation in fucking up. Everybodyfails. Everybodyfucks up. Look at me. I hired the wrong contractor. I gave him a second chance, never should have. I involved the wrong investor. There are a million things I regret, things I wish I could take back, but the only thing I can do is to move on, make fucking better decisio-”Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

“Yeah, but nobody’s laughing at you,” she interrupts, her voice loud.

I stay collected. “What do you mean? Everybody’s laughing at me. The construction world’s laughing at me, so is the investment world, and let’s not forget about all the damn motorcycle dealerships. People talk. They’re having the time of their lives over this. The only difference is, I don’t give two shits. Fuck them. This is my dream. Yep, you heard that right, I’m chasing a crazy stupid dream too. Just like you. What I’m saying is, everybody falls. Everybody has nasty voices in their heads. Everybody deals with fucking demons trying to fuck up their lives. It’s how you rise from the ashes when everything around you burns.”

A shiver.

Her eyes lock with mine.

I see a radiant shimmer.

Then a soft breath, and she whisper-says, “That’s the best thing you’ve ever said to me.”

She goes on her tippy toes and kisses my lips, more tenderly than ever before, holds her lips on mine for several seconds, releases and gazes back up into my eyes, beautiful and full of warmth. I see the angel smiling back at me.

My heart thunders at the sight.

“Are you sure that’s the best?” I growl. “I mean, I’ve said some pretty good shit since we’ve-”

I lose my train of thought when she reaches down, stroking my cock over my jeans, then starts unbuckling my belt. Hey there. Uhhh. “Fuck, baby.”

She strokes me eagerly, over and over-damn, and I’m so fucking hard-then places her hands over mine and leans back into the touch, grinding herself against my lap.

“Can you tell what I’m thinking right now?” she whispers.

Running my lips down her neck, I growl, “I havenofucking idea. Show me.”

CAL

TEN DAYS LEFT

Ten days left? Since when did I fucking start counting? We’re two thirds of the way in. The last twenty days have rushed by like booze hogs on steroids. On a good note, the preps for the grand opening of Ashton Motors next month are coming along nicely, and I can’t wait.

Justin’s office has been done for some time, and he’s been working out of it for the last week or so. While he handles the day-to-day, I organize and reorganize the rare bikes in the showcase room. The rest-four Gixxers (Suzuki GSX-R sport bikes) a GS (BMW GS dual-sport model) and several Classics from one of the collectors I met the other day-will arrive within the week.

We’re ready for a soft opening in a few days. Nothing major. Mostly fellow bikers and close friends with connections who we know will get the word out. Our official grand opening will be complete with food, music and gifts.

I’m absolutely in my element. Between my contacts in the city and the great construction crew, we have plenty of new clients waiting for us to open. Not only that, but my dealerships on the West Coast have also brought in record sales for the month. Osborn didn’t lawyer up, after all. His wife urged him to, according to word on the street. Vance informed me that a certain clause in the contract he set up after consulting Sanford himself (his infamous boss and strategist at the law firm), prohibited Osborn from pressing charges if a party involved decided to retract within a given time frame due to an insurmountable viewpoint, and if the full amount was refunded by that date. In a nutshell: We were in the clear.