Wild Riders

Breakfast is served

I had given Axel some sugar water, since his fridge was empty, to which he responded with a non-energized “What is this s**t?” I still made him drink the glass empty before I let him sleep.

While he was sleeping, I sprayed a bit of antiseptic on the wound, and put some gauze and tape over it. This, playing nurse for some hot stranger, definitely wasn’t how I imagined my night to go. I thought I’d get a good night’s sleep, get up early in the morning and start working on the scratched-up bike that was waiting for my attention in the garage. But no, this dumb ass had to do some stupid s**t, and now, somehow, I had to babysit him. He's gonna owe me, for looking after him — making sure he doesn't fall unconscious and die in his sleep. I really am too good of a person.

The shirt I had on was stained by the blood I whipped away from his lips and couch, so I decided it would only be fair if I stole one of his shirts for compensation. As he stirred in his sleep, I had enough proof of his aliveness and decided this would be the best time to get changed. I softly stood up from the couch and tiptoed up the stairs and to his room. Opening the door, praying it would screech, I was met with a pitch black inside, so I reached my hand out towards the wall trying to find the switch, pushing over what felt like a picture frame in the process. I cursed under my breath as I heard it fall down, and prayed to god, the glass didn’t shatter. The room finally lit up, and I was surprised by not only how clean it looked, his bed the only messy thing in sight, but also by the fact it didn’t look anything like I imagined. There was a black couch situated in the middle of the room, about 10ft from the foot of his bed. And on the wall behind it, there were two tall bookshelves filled to the brim with books. I was stunned, to say the least. As I wanted to take another step into the room, my foot grazed the fallen picture I had almost forgotten about. I bent down and picked up the picture, turning it around while standing back up. Framed was a photo that looked worn and wrinkled, but nonetheless, the two people in it were clear to see. It was a woman, probably in her mid to late twenties. She had brown hair, which resembled the color of honey. Wherever light hit it most intensely, it looked blond, making it seem like she had a halo. Her eyes were squeezed together, making room for the big smile she had on her lips. She was crouching down, with one hand hugging the little boy beside her, while her other hand was messing with his dark, almost chocolate-like hair. He was, like his mom, smiling at the camera, but his eyes were open, showing his icy blues. I looked at the picture for a while longer, before I gently put it down on the shelf from which it fell. I went further into the room, opening up different drawers until I finally found one with shirts. They were all black, but it wasn’t like I was picky, so I just took the first one I saw. I quickly changed, the new shirt hanging off of me, obviously bigger than the one I had on before. I held my bunched-up shirt in one of my hands, and made my way to the window in his bedroom, looking out. Oh great, the little pisser can see right into my bedroom. Well, soon-to-be bedroom at least.

***

Nothing special happened as the night went on. Axel woke up once with a jerk, groaning as his head fell back on the couch. I gave him some painkillers, and then he was out like a light again. The sunrise came quicker than I thought it would, so I went back to my house, grabbing some eggs, bacon, and other food, thinking I could make some breakfast, which would do him good after last night. He was still sleeping as I got back, so I silently went to his kitchen and started working.

An hour had gone by, it was already 10 in the morning, breakfast was set, and I decided it was time to wake Axel. I slowly went over to the couch, lightly touching his arm, not wanting to startle him. The touch turned to a squeeze and then me calling his name. Seems like he’s a heavy sleeper. “Axel, there’s breakfast waiting,” and just like he was waiting for the word “breakfast” to come from my lips, his eyes opened, a soft smile on his lips. “Breakfast?” rolling my eyes, I walked away from him towards the table. I sat down on one of the chairs, watching him slowly get up to a sitting position on the couch. He grabbed his side as he stood up and slowly walked over to me. “I thought you’d be hungry after yesterday,” he let out a soft hum while pulling out his chair. I waited for maybe a “thank you” but it never came. He dug into the food and I followed his lead.

As we finished, I started gathering the plates, pissed at Axel’s behavior, deciding I needed him to give me some answers. “So, would you like to tell me what happened?” I stood up, plates in hand, and headed to the kitchen. “Got into a fight. I told you that already,” his voice was low and annoyed. “Yeah, I meant could you tell me a few more details?” I was trying to sound unphased, but honestly, I was fed up. I was kind enough to patch him, even though he’s a total stranger who has nothing but annoyed me since we met. “I don’t think it’s any of your business,” I heard the chair move as he said that, and seconds later could feel a presence behind me. “Actually, I think it fuckin' is. I helped you into your house, wiped blood from your fuckin’ face, and stopped you from bleeding out.”

“And I never asked you to do that,” I was ready to throw a plate at his face as I heard those words leave his mouth. I whipped around, facing him. He was only a few inches away, looming over my small frame. “Next time, I’ll be sure to let you bleed out, you ungrateful piece of s**t,” his eyes were murderous, but I couldn’t care less. “f**k you,” I bumped into his shoulder on my way out, needing to put space between us before I’d break his nose. He caught me by my arm before I could get anywhere far, pushing me against the fridge. “I don’t trust you,” he said slowly, in a low voice into my ear. “Yeah, why would you trust someone who saved your life, right?” My voice was venom dripping from my lips. “Let me go now,” I felt as if I was cornered by a bull. Dark eyes, full of anger, and hot loud breathing; everything was telling me to run. “You’re hiding something. You’re bringing trouble with you, I know it,” his hand was snaking around my throat as if trying to feel for my heartbeat. “Whatever, you’re delusional. And to be fair, after last night, it seems like you bring with you more trouble than I do,” as I said that, he squeezed my neck, my breath escaping me. I could feel my heartbeat in my head, but he wasn’t going to scare me. My voice was soft, breathless. “You aren’t scaring me,” he smirked at me, squeezing tighter. “Being choked is a kink of mine,” a muffled chuckle came from me as I said that. “You’re turning me on more-“, I had to take another shallow breath: “Then scaring me.” I was looking at him from under my eyelashes, a smirk on my lips. His face was void of emotions until I said that. In a split second, all of that changed. His eyes darkened, his pupils dilated, and his hand felt like scorching fire on my neck. His nose flared as his breathing and heartbeat quickened. Before I knew it, his hand went to the back of my head, pulling me to him in a smooth, fast, and demanding motion. Our lips thrusting together, moving in sync as if we’d done this a hundred times before. His other hand went to my ass, slapping it before he slipped his hand under my thigh, picking me up, a groan escaping his mouth, but he didn’t seem to care for his pain. My legs were around his torso and my hands tangled in his hair, tugging on it. I was lost in the sensation of his tongue nipping at my lips begging for entrance, which I didn’t grant. He groaned, biting my lip, and making me gasp. He took use of the moment, slipping his tongue into my mouth. He tasted of mango, the juice of which was still present on his lips from breakfast, mixed with whiskey and cigarettes. It was sweet and so bad, but I was sure I got addicted just from that one taste. I was lost, moaning as he moved his lips away from mine, running his nose down my neck, breathing me in. “You smell so fuckin’ sweet,” each word he said was emphasized, making me feel hot and bothered. Feeling like I had to move, like I had to get away, I squirmed in his arms, grinding on his stomach, feeling his hardness press against my core, making him hiss. “God, f**k, don’t move like that, don’t you dare move like that,” his voice was heavy in my ear, making a lump build in my throat. I felt like a teenage girl who was experiencing a man for the first time. This was never me, I never got shy and flustered at a man’s words or actions, especially not a man who I was ready to kill every other minute that I was around him. Like something came over me, let’s call it clarity, I put my hands on his chest, pushing him away. His grip on my thighs loosened, and my legs hit the floor. Before he had time to grab me again, I was dashing for the door, asking myself how I could lose all of my senses, how I could let him get to me like that. Asking myself why the f**k it felt so good, asking myself why the fuckin’ hell I wanted it to happen again.