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Axel
I haven’t seen or talked to Millie in twenty-eight days. Four weeks. I feel like a junkie who’s gone cold turkey. I fucking hate it.
After our three-time fuckfest, I came back to a club in chaos and immediately kicked myself for being away for more than a few hours.
Word had gotten out about stripping and gutting Jackson. The guys got it; they agreed that he deserved it for what he did. But they were also pissed that no one caught him before that. They felt that Hard Rod was to blame, that he’d been careless with the club, that he should have caught it much earlier since he was the one running border routes and shifts.
They weren’t wrong. I felt that way, too, but I don’t shit on my boss, so I had to take it like a punch to the nuts. And all the while, fucking Rod was nowhere to be found, off enjoying pregnancy sex with Lipstick, I presume.
I ran every border route at every site. I ran them morning, mid-day, and evening. I ran alternate routes and adjusted schedules. I got that shit in tip-top shape. All the while, the radio silence out of Rod spooked our new client. I explained that he had personal business to attend to, that I’d spoken to the farmer and that the shipment should be up within the week. He bailed. Which meant I had a shipment coming with no buyer. So, I had to go glad-hand some folks we hadn’t worked with in a while, bring them back to the fold. It took weeks, but I got something lined up, only to find out that the fuckers were also setting up deals with the Hounds, trying to pit us against each other to get the best price.
Four weeks away from Millie. Four weeks of beating my meat to the thought of her lips as they wrapped around my cock. Four. Fucking. Weeks. I feel like a crazy person. I’m not in love. How could I love a woman I barely know? Still, what started as a quick fuck to meet a need and pay back a debt turned into something more satisfying than I’ve felt in a long while. It’s not like I can’t get laid; there are club girls galore up in this house all the damn time. I could get fucked six ways from Sunday if I just wanted a nut, but that’s not what I want. No, I want one woman, and that’s Millie.
Pissed, I track down Rod to an apartment he’s gotten for Lipstick and the baby. It’s a nice place in a nice part of Shaker Heights.
Lipstick is tall and slender and platinum blonde. Her lips are cherry red, hence the reason she’s called Lipstick. She’s got big fake tits. I don’t find fake tits at all attractive but Rod’s always been a fan. Likes to bury his face in them, the weirdo. That’s where we’re real different. I like my women curvy and natural. Real tits, big bush, wide ass. Rod likes ’em pencil-thin, full of silicone, and waxed hairless. Whatever. Different strokes for different folks.
She comes to the door in a tiny black dress, her belly protruding just slightly.
“Rod’s got you barefoot and pregnant, huh?” I ask.
She pulls me in for a hug. “Hey, stranger, long time no see.”
“How’s it going?” I ask.
“Pretty good. I’m five months today. And guess what?”
“What?”
“It’s a girl!” She does a little dance.
I give a genuine smile. “That’s great. I guess you must’ve been rooting for a girl, then?”
“Well, Roddie wanted a boy, of course, but I assured him that, as it’s 2017, girls too can play football. That appeased him somewhat.” She winks at me.
“Yeah, that’s right,” I say. “I heard there’s some middle school girl in Bay Village who gets like three sacks per game.”
“I heard about her, too!” she exclaims, clapping her hands.
“Rod around by any chance?” I ask.
She nods and takes me hand, leading me down a hallway. She points and I find Rod fiddling with the pieces of a baby crib. He’s spouting swear words like there’s no tomorrow, and his instructions are upside down.
“Roddie,” she says, “Look who’s here. Maybe take a break? Clear that head of yours?”
Rod turns and smiles when he sees me. “Oh, thank fuck,” he says. “Axel knows way more about this shit than I do.”
“About puttin’ together baby cribs?” I ask. “The fuck I do.”
“Well, let’s grab a beer and you can help me anyway,” he says.
We wander out to the kitchen and Lipstick slips on a jacket and shoes and says she’s running out for pizza.
“I never thought I’d see the day you’re puttin’ together a baby bed,” I say.
“I dunno,” he says, popping open his beer. “It’s kinda nice, bein’ away from all the drama.”
“All the fuckin’ drama is right,” I say. “You left me with it, you asshole.”
“Can’t be that bad,” he says.
I rattle off everything that’s gone down in the past month.
“Jackson?” he asks. “Really? You sure?”
“He admitted it,” I say. “I didn’t take no pleasure in gutting him, that’s for damn sure.”
“Yeah,” he says, his tone sullen. “And Belikov bolted on the shipment.”
“He did,” I say. “He wanted to see you. I told him you were busy. He didn’t want to hang around and wait.”
Rod shrugs. “Meh. Fuck him, then. I’ll find another buyer. Ain’t no thing.”
“Rod,” I say, “The guys need you. I ain’t no good at runnin’ a club on my own. There’s a reason you’re the president, and I’m the VP.”
“You’re doin’ fine,” he says. “I needed a break. That job’s a headfuck on a good day and I been in it since when? Like ten years? Fuck.”
“You were one of the younger presidents when you got voted in,” I say. “Always a natural leader.”
“But goofy as hell,” he says, laughing. “Remember you called me that once? Or was it goofy as fuck. You said I was an airhead.”
“You are,” I say. “I stand by that statement. “I mean, shit, you’ve been gone a goddamn month just to put together a motherfucking baby crib.”
He laughs out loud. “I wanted to show her ... that I could be good. That I would be a good dad.”
“I don’t think she chose you for your fathering skills,” I say. “She was a club girl, been around the block a few times. She wants to be your old lady, get the perks that comes with it.”
“You make her sound like a gold digger,” he says. “She ain’t like that.”
“I mean, I think she cares about you, but I doubt she expected you to drop everything to do all this. She doesn’t expect you to let the club rot while you run off to be a doting dad. She knew what she was getting into when she decided to have your baby.”
“You gonna feel the same way when you have an old lady to knock up? You gonna tell her she’s on her own?” he asks.
“Nah,” I say. “I’m not. But I’m not you, either. You’ve never been a one-woman, settling-down type of dude. No offense, just sayin’ it like it is.”
“Yeah, I guess not,” he says. “Still, I do ... care about her. I want to try. So I’m tryin’.”
“Well, can you try and also come back to work? I need you.”
He gives me a thin, tired smile. “Come help me put that fucking bed together and I’ll think about it.”
***
Millie
I REALIZE THAT I CAN put my life into several categories. At fifteen, the Phillip Phase began. The Phillip Phase started as the usual fumbling high-school relationship. We had no idea what we were doing, but it was cool to be wrapped up in another human who liked me back. We figured it out together. And when college came, he stayed close, told me he wanted to get married and have a family. It seemed like the right thing to do, to stay with him.
Moving to Cleveland was hard. My family is close. They’re normal people. My dad is a firefighter and my mom is a teacher. They were always supportive, always there for me. They liked Phillip okay but didn’t love him. My dad is six-five and dark-skinned and way intimidating to skinny white boys. My mom is willowy and olive-skinned and green-eyed. Phillip always felt more comfortable around her, even though she and my dad were on the same page about him. They called him “white toast.”
Boring. Phillip was a boring guy. He was stable and hard-working and intelligent, but damn, he had no hobbies. So we moved to Cleveland and I tried everything to get him out and about. Let’s go to a Cavs game. No. Let’s go to the Rock Hall of Fame. No. Let’s go to a concert, out to dinner, to the movies. No.
Boring. And our life together was boring. And it could have been boring in Sandusky and I’d have been happier because my friends were all there. But in Cleveland, I had to find a new job and make new friends and, as it turned out, when I was with those friends, he did develop a hobby: screwing other people.
So then there was Post-Phillip Phase. That was marked by me constantly worrying about money. How do I pay for gas to get downtown this week? Should I stop driving and get a bus pass? Why doesn’t this damn town have a subway like other metropolitan areas? What is wrong with Ohio? No major city in the state has a goddamn subway.
Stress. All the time. And worry over money. And even though I now have a few friends, I also have a mortgage that I have to pay on my own, so I can’t go out very often, which means I spend a lot of time on my couch watching Netflix and petting my cats. Which is lame, and not fun at all.
I like music. Did I mention that I like music a lot? I played the bass when I was in high school. I was a little bit punk rock and I put a purple streak in my hair and wore Doc Martens before they had this resurgence they’re having now. I still blast pop-punk music all the way in to work, and I scream the lyrics at the top of my lungs.
Being without Phillip has put me in a place where I just go through the motions. I live this half-life in this kind-of-okay job and I pay for this tiny house and I eat Ramen noodles.
And then, Axel Phase. Short lived but full of color.
And even though he’s not really a part of my life—I mean, really, I’ve met him literally three times—I felt really connected to him. I felt more beautiful than I’ve ever felt in my life. I am a biracial woman. I love my parents, but I hate that they raised me in Sandusky, Ohio, where there were like four-point-one non-white people in my high school. I did not feel beautiful in high school, but with Axel? I felt like a goddess.
“You don’t fall in love with the rebound guy,” Elizabeth says as I mope around the office.
“I didn’t, “I say defensively.
“Don’t lie,” she says. “I mean, you’re breaking all the rules. Don’t let the random biker dude do you without protection. Don’t get pregnant by the random biker dude. Don’t fall in love with the random biker dude.”
“I didn’t say I was pregnant,” I say.
“You don’t have to,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Your tits are huge and you’ve puked every morning for the last week.”
“I haven’t even taken a test,” I say.
“Well, take one, but I think you already know what the result will be,” she says. After a pause, she asks, “Will you tell him?”
“Axel?” I ask.
“No, Phillip,” she says, rolling her eyes again. “Yes, Axel.”
“I’d have to actually see him to tell him,” I say. “And I haven’t seen him in four weeks.”
I miss him. I shouldn’t, but I do. And I feel more than a little used. Maybe the sex really was just payment on a debt owed. Maybe it meant nothing.
It should’ve meant nothing.
***
Axel
I KNOW I’M TAKING A risk, showing up to Millie’s place of business. I’m not the kind of man who can walk into a fancy office building without being stopped by security. I certainly don’t want to embarrass her or jeopardize her job. But I need to see her. Now.
When she walks out of the building, I’m instantly hard. She’s dressed a little differently, her dress a little more low-cut, her cleavage a little more prominent. And she’s got this bright peachy-colored lipstick on. She’s a bombshell, and I want to beat up every guy to stares at her as she walks out in her knee-high stiletto boots. And there are a lot of guys who stare, because she is a fucking angel.
Her eyes nearly pop out of her head when she sees me. She stops short, about ten feet away. I close the gap.
“Hey, Millie,” I say, because I am a fucking poet.
“Axel,” she says.
“I’m ... uh ... sorry I haven’t been around lately.” I say.
“Four weeks,” she says. “It’s been four weeks. You can’t pick up a fucking phone?”
“Whoa, the f-bomb outta you?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.
She raises an eyebrow, an adorable, kissable pout on her face.
“My boss ghosted the club, left me in charge. Everything was fucked up. I had to fix some shit. I’m sorry. I’m a bastard. It don’t mean I didn’t think about you every second of every day.”
“I thought we had a connection,” she says. “More than sex, maybe. I guess I was naïve.”
“No,” I say. “No.”
“No what?” she asks.
“No, you’re not naïve,” I say. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”
“No, she’s not going anywhere with you,” says a male voice from behind me.
I turn. “Oh great, it’s Wonderdick,” I say. “Fuck off, asshole.”
Phillip, in a full dress suit, says, “Can I give you a lift to your car, Millie? Make sure you get home safe, maybe?”
“She’s fine with me,” I say, getting in his face. “How many times does Millie have to remind you that your relationship is kaput?”
“At least once more,” he says. “After she tells you to get your greasy ass out of here. She’s too good for a piece of illiterate shit like you.”
“I’m going to beat your face in,” I snarl.
“Yes, because brute violence is the only language you speak,” he says, sneering at me. “What a piece of garbage you are. Millie, what dumpster did you pull this guy out of? Let me help you put him back.”
My fist is raised—cocked and loaded and ready to slam into that idiot’s face. Millie reaches up and grabs my arm. My attention temporarily diverted, I back off, just a little. I don’t even care that he thinks I’m trash. I’ve been called worse. I just don’t want him anywhere near Millie. And she’s been too damn nice to him. She needs to tell him, in no uncertain terms, to leave her alone.
“Phillip,” Millie says, annoyed, “I told you eighteen times that Axel hasn’t hurt me. I told you we fucked and it was good and you need to stop acting like it was anything else other than me having hella good rebound sex.”
I grimace at this, even though I’m proud of her for telling him off. It feels like a slap in the face, being called rebound sex. I guess ... maybe it was. For her. Maybe a good bonin’ was all she needed. Maybe she doesn’t feel the way I feel.
Still, I snarl at Phillip. “Fuck off, asshole. You heard her; take a hike.” I’m not ready to walk away just yet. Not until she tells me to.
“Come with me,” he says, holding out a hand. Millie stares at it like it’s a dead fish.
“I’m not going anywhere with you, Phillip. Stop coming around. Please.” She looks at me, her shoulders sagging slightly. “Fine, let’s go talk.”
She takes my hand and marches me off toward Public Square, a green space that’s buzzing with people as they end their days. She turns to look at Phillip as we walk away and says, “Don’t even think of following us, Phillip. You think you’re sneaky but you’re not, and I’ll call the cops!”
It’s not until we get well into the park that she slows down. She looks all around, presumably looking for Phillip. I look too, and there’s no sign of him. Satisfied, she turns, and her face is contorted with rage.
“How dare you show up like this, out of the blue?” she asks. “How dare you come in me three times and then just walk away like I don’t matter?”
“I wanted to see you.” I say. “I had a shit-ton of club business to manage. I couldn’t get away.”
“And every minute of every one of the twenty-four hours of every day for twenty-eight days was so full that you couldn’t send a text? Dial my phone number?” she demands.
This feisty Millie is really sexy. I really like it and so does my cock, which is rock hard and twitching in my jeans. I should not be thinking of sex right now. I should be on my knees, groveling.
“I’m an ass,” I say. “But that doesn’t mean you need to run back to that douchecanoe.”
“Nobody says douchecanoe anymore,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Though he is one, and he’d probably piss his pants if you so much as blew on him sideways.”
“I’m jealous of that fuck,” I admit. “I’m jealous he had you for so long. That he got to go to bed with you and wake up with you. I’m jealous he got to put a ring on your finger.”
“It was a shitty ring,” she says. “He barely put any thought into it, like he barely put any thought into our relationship. He wants what he can’t have. I’m over him. At the very least, you helped me realize that for sure.”
“What do you mean, at the very least?” I ask.
“I mean that a good rebound fuck was all I needed to stop even considering taking him back,” she says, arms folded over her chest.
“I was not a rebound fuck,” I say.
“Oh, right,” she says. “I forgot, I was a whore for you. There to give you pleasure and pay back the great debt I owed you. What was three fucks worth, Axel? A thousand each? Seven more to go? Well let’s go, then. Let’s fuck.”
I’ve got her pinned against a tree before she can figure out which way is up. I don’t grovel, not exactly. But I do fall to my knees, shoving my head up her skirt, my breath hot against the lace of her panties.
I bite and lick at the fabric, finding her clit, agitating it through the thin fabric. She pushes it away, freeing a newly bare cunt. She’s fully waxed, all that hair gone. Her skin is gorgeous and brown, her lips perfect, her clit exposed and ready. I eat her out like a dying man with his last meal. I ravage that pussy, my tongue everywhere, on her clit, in her lips, down her taint. I don’t care where we are. I want her to come on my face, I want her to swallow my name when she’s ready to scream.
She lets out little mewling sounds, trying desperately not to be too loud. The moment she sounds like she’s choking, I push harder, working her through her orgasm before rising, putting my wet lips on hers, making her taste her own juices, smell her own scent.
Then my hand is under her skirt, under her panties. My fingers find her sopping wet cunt and I finger her violently as my lips crash against hers, my tongue forcing its way inside her mouth.
“You taste that?” I ask against her lips. “That’s you. That’s your cunt you’re tasting. That’s desire. You want to be fucked? I’ll fuck you. And you’ll like it.”
She doesn’t fight me. Doesn’t say no. I expect her to slap me. This is a public place and while we are slightly hidden here, between two large trees, anyone could walk by. She should slap me. Push me. Fight me off.
But the slap doesn’t come, and instead, she’s unzipping my pants, her hands cool on my overheated cock. She lifts one leg and I push her underwear to the side, shoving my cock into her with such force that her head smacks back against the tree. One hand holds her up, on her ass. The other holds the back of her head. God, I’ve missed that hair.
“Don’t make offers like that,” I say. “Unless you want to be taken up on them.”
When I move inside of her, it’s with anger and frustration and want and lust. I want her, all of her. I want to fill every inch of her, and I tell her so.
“Take it all in,” I snarl. “You like that? You like it rough?”
“Harder,” she says. “Faster.”
She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I pick up the pace. She has to bite her lip to keep from screaming as I pound into her without mercy. One of her tits pops out of her bra, the brown nipple peeking out of her cleavage-bearing blouse. I lean down and take it in my mouth, biting at it.
“Hurt me,” she commands.
I bite harder, enough that she yelps. I lick that nipple in apology just as she says, “More. I’m almost there.”
I bite her again, pumping as fast as I can, well aware that we could have an audience, that someone’s likely calling the cops as I fuck this woman here in broad daylight. There’s something sickening about it, really. It’s not a nice thing, not a loving thing. It’s just base and dirty and sexual and chemical. I needed her. I was angry. She was angry. We’re fucking because we’re angry and frustrated. And as much as I hate myself for it, it feels so good, and I want nothing more than to make her come, right her in a public place, because I want her to know I can do that to her.
Just as I explode, her orgasm clenches my cock like it’s in a goddamn vise. It’s so intense that I think I forget where I am in the moment. She can do that to me, as well.
Spent, I put my forehead to hers. My eyes are closed. I feel her breath, hot on my lips. “You’re mine, Millie.” I breathe. “Mine and mine alone. Not Phillip’s. Not some other asshole’s. Mine.”
“I’m not something to be owned,” she says softly. I’m not a piece of property.”
“No,” I say. “You’re not.”
“You make me feel like I am. Like I’m some toy you can come play with when you’re bored.”
“I’m not bored,” I say. “But I missed you. I wanted to see you.”
“So what is it you want, then?” she asks.
***
Millie
“I WANT ... SOMETHING,” he says.
I feel my eyebrow arch into my hairline. “Something?” I ask sarcastically. “That’s not very specific.”
“Millie, I am not good at this,” he says.
“At what? Acting like a human instead of some big brute who pins women against trees in public parks? Do you realize how insane it is that you just did that?”
He exhales through his nose, his lips in a flat line.
“You have no right to claim ownership over me, Axel,” I say. “We had sex. That’s all. I’ve got a little money. I’ll write you a check for part of what I owe you. Just tell me where to send a check each month and we’ll call it a day.”
“I don’t want your fuckin’ money,” he says.
“That what do you want?” I ask.
“I want you, Millie. I want you. I want to fuck you on the bed and against trees and on the back of my Harley,” he says. “And ... more. More than sex.”
I believe him. I believe he wants all these things, but he can’t even articulate what more means, and I know what it has to mean. The two things don’t match right now.
I fight back tears when I tell him to go home. I tell him to go back to the club and his business and to leave me alone. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
He says, “Millie, this is a mistake. Letting this go, whatever this is, it’s a mistake.”
“Yeah, Phillip says that all the time,” I say, just to be vindictive.
He sees right through it, his eyes narrowing. “I’m not Phillip.”
“No, you’re not,” I say. “Phillip would never disrespect me like you just did. He would never take me in a public place like a goddamn animal.”
“You told me to fuck you, so I did.”
“You don’t have to be so literal, you big ape,” I say.
“Well, how’s this for literal: I want you. In every possible way. I’ll do anything to have you.”
“Anything? Like walk away from the club?”
He doesn’t say anything. Likely he can’t—because he won’t want to lie.
“I thought so,” I say. “Goodbye, Axel.”
As I walk away, it takes everything I have in me not to cry. I cannot cry in front of him. And why would I? Why would I cry over a guy I hardly know? It’s not like I’m in love with him. He’s no one to me. He’s no one, period, just some thug who likes to fuck his way through life’s problems. Well, he got what he wanted, then. He got sex.
Against a tree. He got sex against a tree in a public place. Holy ever-loving hell, what was I thinking? What does that man do to me? Make me forget my brain?
I’m an idiot.