Motorcycle Man

He walked right to my desk, eyes on me, hand to his back pocket and he said, “Do me a favor, babe. I’m starved. Go out and get me a sandwich.”

I stared up at him as he pulled out his wallet, opened it, yanked out some bills and tossed them on the desk in front of me. He was shoving the wallet in his back pocket when my throat unclogged but that itch in my palm intensified.

He hadn’t said word one to me after barging into my place and pretending to be a decent guy. Four and a half days later, he strolls in and tells me to get him a sandwich?

“Pardon?” I whispered.

“A sandwich. Roast beef and swiss. Get me a bag a chips and a pop while you’re at it. Don’t care where you go.”

“Pardon?” I repeated and his eyes narrowed.

“A sandwich, Red. Roast beef and swiss, chips and a pop.” When I simply continued to stare at him and said not a word, he added, “Jesus, you want me to write it down?”

My stare turned into a glare and I snapped, “No, handsome, you wrote it down, I wouldn’t be able to read it and I’m not getting you a sandwich. I have things to do. If you’re hungry, jump on your bike and go get your own damned sandwich.”

Then I turned to the computer and opened up my e-mail in order to find Lanie’s resignation letter because I was done with Ride Custom Cars and Bikes but mostly because I was done with Tack, the big, fat jerk.

“Say again?” I heard Tack growl.

“You heard me,” I bit out and clicked on Lanie’s e-mail.

“Babe, look at me.”

“Kiss my ass,” I replied, double clicking on Lanie’s attachment and ignoring the sparking, scary biker dude vibe that was suddenly saturating the room.

“Red, look… at… me.”

I looked at him, or, more accurately, glared at him.

“You got a problem?” he growled.

Did I have a problem? What a jerk!

“Yes,” I told him. “I have a problem.”

“What’s your problem?”

What was my problem? Ohmigod!

I didn’t know what to do. I was so angry, I couldn’t think. Anything I could say would expose too much. For some bizarre reason, I fell in love with him over tequila and really great sex. Then I fell out of love with him because he used me and he was a jerk about it. Then I started to fall back in love with him while he was using me again, being the jerk he was. In the meantime, I knew he slept with at least one other woman. And all I got out of all that was a lot of hassle, two beers, two slices of pizza and a number of really great orgasms.

Without any way to explain it and not put myself out there, I stated, “My problem is none of your business.”

“You made it my business by telling me to kiss your ass.”

“If you have an issue with the way I communicate, Tack, fire me,” I retorted.

“Jesus,” he crossed his arms on his chest then asked rudely, “You on the rag?”

I felt pressure build in my head and fired back on a near shout, “No! And if I was, that wouldn’t be your business either.” The pressure kept building and it forced me out of my chair, it forced my torso to lean across the desk toward him and it forced out of my mouth, “In fact, nothing about me is any of your business. I’m in a shitty mood and it’s none of your business why. So, if you’re hungry, go get your own stupid sandwich. I’m busy.”

Then I sat back down, turned to the computer and without reading the letter, I moved the mouse so the cursor on the screen was at the print button and I clicked. As I did this, through the pressure in my head and the thundering of my pulse beating in my wrists and neck, I heard Tack moving through the room. It wasn’t until the room darkened that what he was doing penetrated. But I had no opportunity to react before my chair was swiveled around forcefully making my body sway with the movement. Before I knew it, my head was tipped way back because Tack, hands on the arms of my chair, was leaned deep into my space.

“Explain the attitude, Red,” he ordered, his voice a low, angry rumble that I felt pulsating against my flesh.

“Are you insane?” I cried.

“Explain the f**kin’ attitude, Tyra.”

“Move away!” I demanded then I gasped because he didn’t move away.

No, he pulled me out of the chair to my feet. Then, I kid you not, his fingers curled into my skirt at the sides, he yanked it up so roughly my body jolted and my breath caught, then I felt his hands at my ass where he lifted me up, twisted and planted me on the desk. Reflexively, to stop from toppling back, my fingers curled into his tee as his hands left my ass. They went to the insides of my knees and forced them open. I gasped and then my back was flat on the desk. His h*ps were between my legs. His torso was pressed deep into mine. One of his hands was forcing my leg to curve around his hip and the fingers of his other hand slid into my hair, fisted at the back and his face was so close, it was all I could see.

“Ohmigod,” I whispered. “What are you doing?”

“I’m teachin’ you a lesson,” he growled. “You do not test a man like me, Tyra. You’ve never had a man like me so you gotta learn. You do not test a man like me.”

My arms were crushed between our bodies and I uncurled my fingers from his tee and pressed them flat against his chest as I whispered, “Please, get off me.”

“You want this,” he informed me.

I pushed harder against his chest. “Please, Tack, get off me.”

It was like I didn’t even speak when he went on, “I want this.”

“Please,” it was barely audible, “you’re scaring me.”

That penetrated and it did it in a way that made him even angrier. I knew it because I saw it on his face, in his eyes and I felt it in the air around us.

“Do not be scared of me, Tyra. Don’t you ever f**kin’ be scared of me.”

“Tack, you just manhandled me onto my desk,” I pointed out carefully.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No,” I answered and it wasn’t a lie but that also wasn’t the point.

“Right,” he growled. “Now tell me what your f**kin’ problem is.”

“Um…”

His chest pressed deeper into mine. “Tyra,” he rumbled his warning.

“Can we continue this conversation maybe, erm… standing up?”

“I tried that, didn’t work. Now I’m tryin’ something else so talk to me.”