Chapter 32: STEEL

Chapter Thirty-Two

STEEL

T he young uninitiated Shaw behind the counter of the Flying J stares slack-jawed at Joslin when we walk in. I know she’s a fucking beauty, but I don’t appreciate his eyes lingering on her too long. One glare and he looks away from both of us until I approach the counter with Joslin standing by my side.

I gesture back to the gas station merchandise lining the wall.

“Get some clothes, baby,” I tell Joslin, smacking her ass possessively, incapable of helping myself in the presence of this nineteen or twenty year old twerp who makes a foolish effort to steal another glance at Joslin. I snap my fingers in front of him.

“Hey, asshole. Pay attention.”

“My name is Thorne Shaw,” he says proudly. He looks like a member of the Shaw family with all their typical traits. Dark hair. An Ace of Spades tattooed on his forearm. I don’t remember seeing him at the last club meeting and his cut doesn’t have a patch on it with a club name. At best, he’s a recruit.

“Do I look like I give a fuck?”

“I’ve known you since I was seven.”

“You must be mistaking me for my brother,” I say, but I don’t really want to talk about my brother, so I don’t indulge what will surely be a long drawn out conversation as this man-child slowly pieces together the fact that we’re twins. “My wife is about to get some clothes. Key to the bathroom. Now.”

“We don’t let people use the bathroom together,” he says, glaring at me. “My sister worked at the Flying J on the old Route 66 highway near Joplin. She said bikers were always coming in and?—

“Hey. Enough with the long story. Give me the keys if you want to keep your job here. I’m on Southpaw’s business.”

“I don’t answer to Wyatt.”

“Who the fuck do you answer to then?” I say, fighting the urge to punch this little twerp in the goddamn face.

“Ethan.”

Ethan is Wyatt Shaw’s older brother – not the club president for several reasons, but he’s also the wrong answer to my fucking question.

“And what exactly is the fucking difference between Wyatt and Ethan?”

The kid stares back at me with the dumbest fucking expression on his face. Before I can escalate the situation, Joslin appears at my side with a pair of sweatpants and a black t-shirt.

“Got what you need?”

“Yes,” she says, casting a nervous glance at the expression on Thorne’s face. His ass had better not get me in trouble with the old lady. Half a glare in Thorne’s direction causes him to set his face straight.

“I can give you an employee discount,” he offers Joslin, who smiles with appreciation at the broken tension.

“Get me the bathroom key,” I demand after Joslin thanks Thorne for checking her out. He hands me the bathroom key with his other hand, not bothering to look at me.

“Go have yourself a smoke,” I grunt after I slam a hundred dollar bill on the counter. “Joslin needs her space to change.”

Joslin glares at me when the kid wanders off, muttering to himself as he pulls a pack of American Spirits out of his back pocket and exits out the gas station’s back entrance.

“What did you say to him?” She says. “He looks very irritated.”

“I asked him for some privacy. You don’t want assholes like him anywhere near you while you’re vulnerable.”

“It’s not like I’m going to strip down in the middle of the gas station.”

I scan the walls of the gas station for the restroom sign and gesture in the direction with my chin, hoping to distract Joslin from her moral line of investigation. She walks toward the bathroom, but she’s far from distracted.

“He seemed like a nice kid,” she says. “So don’t be an asshole to him when he comes back and don’t scare him.”

“Who said I was an asshole?”

“I know you were an asshole.”

Joslin stops in front of the bathroom door and turns around to give me a very disapproving look.

“You’re not following me into the bathroom,” she says. “We got married but… that doesn’t mean you have to stay glued to me.”

I understand this woman’s need for independence, but my need to watch her strip out of that wedding dress far surpasses that need for independence. I might actually die if I don’t see her fine ass naked the first chance I get. I have waited long enough to get my dick inside her… I just need to see her naked.

Just once.

I don’t have to say a word. Apparently, the pleading look on my face is desperate enough.

“You don’t have to look like somebody died because I won’t let you watch me change into a pair of ugly pajamas.”

“You could never look ugly.”

Joslin rolls her eyes but I can tell from the way she looks at me after, that I nearly have her convinced. I keep my gaze on hers, hoping I can penetrate her mind with some of my dirty thoughts and convince her to let me near her soft, naked body in a tightly cramped gas station bathroom.

“Fine,” she says, her voice lowering in a suspiciously seductive manner. “You can watch me change. Just watch.”

“I…”

I nearly confess that I don’t know if I can handle just watching her. But it will be better if she doesn’t see my lust for her coming. Although, if Joslin paid attention, she would notice that I have been rock hard for her the second I turned to look at her after Thorne walked out of the room.

My dick is in control here. And she’s mine. My wife…

“I’ll be good,” I mutter demurely. Joslin gives me a sharp look like she doesn’t believe me, but she allows me to follow her into the bathroom. My chest rises with excitement as heat seemingly spreads through me.

She allows me to step behind her and when the door closes, the bathroom walls create a tightened space around us and the dim, fluorescent light creates a seedy, unbelievably raw ambiance. This isn’t how I thought I would first see her… but I want to see this woman’s body so badly that I don’t care where we are or how it happens.

“Hurry.”

Joslin can’t help but smile as she looks at me. “You don’t have to stand there panting like a coyote.”

“Would you rather I help get your dress off?” I respond, closing what little distance existed between us. To my relief, Joslin doesn’t take a step back. I don’t know why I still have those nervous fears of her rejecting me. It’s the time in prison. The belief that builds up when you’re caged that you’re worthless. That no one will ever love you. It’s a belief Joslin understands. Her abusive marriage was just as bad as prison — possibly worse. I don’t know what this woman has been through.

But I love her for that deeply shared yearning for love and freedom wrapped into one blissful experience. My hands touch the silk and I fight the temptation to rip the fabric away from her body so I can get to her faster.

“You can help,” Joslin says. “But not if you’re going to rip it.”

My cheeks darken as she easily exposes my plan. This woman can see into my fucking soul. Guilt warms my cheeks as I mumble, “Who said I was going to rip it?”

I don’t help my case by keeping my fingers tugging on the silk. My dick is just about ready to rip through my pants. I barely give a shit about the dress.

“The look on your face,” Joslin says. “And the very threatening way you’re grabbing it.”

“Then,” I whisper, leaning in so close that I nearly drown in Joslin’s scent. “You had better take it off so I don’t ruin your beautiful white dress.”

I release her hips, giving her an opportunity to save the wedding dress before my lust destroys the beautiful piece of clothing Joslin clearly adores. She turns around to allow me to access the zipper. It’s a far more responsible choice than ripping the dress. When she turns around and moves aside her mass of thick, black curls, I nearly cum at the sight of the back of Joslin’s neck.

How badly do I want this woman that the sight of short black curls against the back of her neck nearly makes me cum in my pants?

I haven’t been this horny since I was a teenager. I don’t have any control over this feeling. All I can control is the smooth ivory zipper traveling down the length of Joslin’s spine, exposing her white lace thong — another treasure from the emporium — and a white lace bra that cups her small, pretty tits against her body.

With the zipper at the base of Joslin’s spine, I assist her in sliding the straps off her shoulders. It hurts to go so painfully slowly, but I worry that adding more intensity to how I touch her will only provoke me to an embarrassing premature climax.

I need to save every drop of my cum for my new wife’s pussy…

Fuck. I told myself I would wait for us to get in a bed together. But the burning lust I feel now can’t possibly wait that long.

I’m fucked.

Completely fucked.

The dress falls off her shoulders and I catch the fabric, holding as much of it as I can in one hand so the pretty white dress doesn’t touch the ground. Joslin stabilizes her weight on my shoulders, sending a jolt of lust for her surging through me. Then, she steps out of the dress, giving me a view of her perfect ass in a white lace thong.

And that perfect view of her sexy dark brown ass nearly ends me right there.