Triad: A Three Way Love Story Page 12

  I groaned and pressed into him harder. My free hand was on the back of his neck, cradling his head and holding him close to my breast. He pressed back and I could feel my walls contracting and my orgasm building inside of me. I thrust at him harder and faster and rubbed me back. All at once he bit down sharply on my painfully erect nipple and pinched my clit through the wet fabric. I came with a moan, my legs shaking and barely able to keep me upright. I rode out the wave of pleasure, being held up by his leg between my thigh and the grip I had in his hair.

  He gave me that naughty little boy grin and released my other arm. He reached down and unzipped and unbuttoned my shorts. They were tight when they were dry, and soaked, they were even more difficult to wiggle out of. It took both of us to get the job done. They finally landed around my ankles and I kicked them off.

  “Turn around. Hands on the wall”, he ordered. I happily complied. He pushed my stance wider with his foot and I bent over a bit, presenting my ass to my love. He pulled the hand held shower head off the wall, and twisted it around until it was on a pulse setting. With one push his beautiful cock was buried deep inside my starving cunt. I arched my back and pushed myself back, impaling him deeper into me.

  Mick leaned over my back, his teeth on my shoulder blade and aimed the shower head and my engorged clit. I screamed. The heat and pulse were almost more that I could handle. It felt wonderful but was almost to the point of pain. The combined feeling of the head of his cock hitting my g-spot and the pulsing water pushed me instantly over the edge. Still screaming, I came in long and hard spasms. He fucked me hard and deep and fast and in quickly joined me.

  He dropped the shower head and wrapped one arm around my waist and the other around my chest, pulling me upright into his arms. I panted and quaked in his arms. “That was the best shower of my entire life”, I informed him. He laughed and soaped up the loofah.

  We took turns gently bathing each other and basking in the afterglow. Afterwards we dried each other off with big fluffy towels and tried snapping each others asses with them, while giggling like children. Of course that is when Grey caught us.

  He stood in the doorway with a stearn “dad look” on his face. “Am I the only one working today?” Mick and I broke down with a bad case of inappropriate laughter, that became out of control when we both attacked Grey with wet towel flicks. Ogre got in the fun barking and grabbing a the towels.

  Grey countered by catching my towel in his hand, mid flick, and I ran back to the bathroom shrieking, and locked the door. I dried my hair and rubbed on some body lotion before I finally opened the door, only to be ambushed by my guys. Mick held me down and Grey gave me a sound spanking on my naked ass. “Now, I’m going back to work. That’ll give you something to think about until later.” He winked and left me incredible aroused and with slightly welted pink ass.

  Chapter 23--Joss

  I had everything completed for Sammy. I was confident that they’d avoid and audit. Even Buck the fuck was impressed. It took a few weeks, but it was a worthwhile deal. The best part was that I had Ogre back and he paid me the grand he had promised.

  I’d spent the last week researching start up and operating costs for repairs shops. I have two real estate agents scouting possible locations. In front of me, I have all of the paperwork completed for licenses, taxes and permits, with the exception of the all important company name and an actual location address.

  In front of me, on a yellow legal pad, I scribbled a list of possibilities. Mick and Grey? Grey and Mick? Ogre’s? Corp Repair? Nothing made sense to me yet. I wanted it to be catchy and easy to remember, but still describe what we did. Something that represented “us”. The three of us. Partners? Three partners? Three Associates? Los Three Amigos? No, that was an old stupid movie. Tres? Trio? Triad? Yes! Triad! Triad Motorcycle Repairs and Customization.

  I started scribbling on my notebook. It looked good and it made sense. I pulled out my trusty notebook and opened up a word document, testing it with various fonts until I found one I liked. I found one that would be easily readable blown up to billboard size, then switched it to italic, because the slant gives it a feeling of movement that I wanted to convey.

  I saved it and emailed it to a freelance graphic designer that I’d worked with in the past. We had a name. We needed a logo.

  My real estate agent texted me with a possible location that was for sale. I was weary of buying over leasing, but so far, they hadn’t found me the appropriate property at the the right price. We set a time to meet. I added the email to the file labeled “My personal menstrual cycle schedule and symptoms”. It was code for “surprise garage project”. I knew full well neither one of them would ever open that particular file. The permits and other documents had been saved under “personal handbag and shoe inventory”.

  I grabbed two bottles of water and headed out to the garage. Both guys were engrossed in the rebuilding of a particularly tricky transmission and were thankful for the break. I handed off the water, “Do you mind if I borrow the truck for a few errands?” Grey cracked his bottle and took a long deep gulp, “it’s fine with me, babe.” He reached into his pocket and handed me the keys. “Will you stop and grab something for me at the Harley dealer on Glenwood Ave?”

  I kissed him, “anything for you handsome. Is it under your name at the parts counter?” He kissed me back, “yep”. I turned and tasted Grey’s lips. “I’ll be back in a few. Text me if you need anything else.”

  Grabbing my favorite pink Kate Spade handbag, I jogged out the truck and pulled down the driveway. I gave a honk and a wave to the rearview mirror and headed into the city. The GPS in my phone sent me towards a the highway, and gave me an ETA of only twenty minutes.

  I pulled off at the exit, recognizing the neighborhood immediately. We had been riding down here a few weeks back. There were two or three bars close by that hosted charity rides with frequency and were quite popular with the MCs. Rita, my agent was waiting inside her Lexxus with the windows rolled up and, I’m positive, the doors locked.

  I parked next to her and hopped out of the truck, intrigued by the grown over former service station hiding behind chain link fence. The gate had been previously broken into and was off the hinges. No need to worry about the lock.

  Rita wasted no time jumping into her sale spiel, “This vintage commercial structure was built in the thirties as a gas and service station. It has a two bay garage, and upstairs office area and a large retail space. The restrooms are original. It’s been out of use for some time now, due to some storm damage. It is family owned property. The owner recently passed away and the family is motivated to sell. The deceased held on the building for purely sentimental reasons. The lot and square footage meet your criteria. Based on comps in this area, it’s a wonderful deal. You could always bulldoze it, i suppose.” She paused to catch her breath and fumbled with the rusted lock on the door. “Let me try”, I took it from her and jiggled it a few times, turning it back and forth until it finally creaked and the lock slipped open. When I pushed the door open I startled a pigeon that had made a nest in the tree branch growing through the retail space ceiling. “Oh look, it has a skylight”, I joked. Rita looked horrified.

  The tile in the store was warped and broken or had totally come up from the ground. I pushed opened the men’s room door fully expecting to find a body and was pleasantly surprised to find it quite untouched by nature. The sink, commode and urinal were all there and, while filthy, had a neat vintage look. Same for the ladies room. I noticed that the tile was original as well. Rita kept talking. “The bathrooms could easily be done over, it appears that everything in here is simply in need of a modern look. The store, of course, will need a new floor and roof.” Clearly. “I really like the tree. It makes me feel closer to nature.” I joked again. Rita obviously did not get my sense of humor.

  The garage area was in great condition. It needed cleaning and paint. There were no birds or trees, thankfully, but it was clear that assorted rodents had made a home her
e one time or another. In the storage room a few boxes remained and some items covered with a tarp in the corner. I pulled and the rotten fabric fell apart in my hands, revealing two ancient Texaco gas pumps. They were rusty but awesome. The price was permanently suck on 14.9 cents a gallon. Rita wouldn’t quit, “I'm sure we could add a provision that the sellers would need to clear the building and lot of trash and debris before you took ownership. There’s office space upstairs.”, she pointed, although the look on her face said, “I wouldn’t go up there for all the tea in China.”

  “Why don’t you wait here, Rita.” She looked relieved and handed me a flashlight she pulled from her Louis Vuitton handbag. I made my way up the stairs, which were surprisingly sturdy. The upstairs office was good sized and empty, except for a few rusted file cabinets and some old broken oak desk chairs. On the wall there was a 1977 Harley Davidson calendar and a framed print of a Marine Corp cartoon bulldog smoking a cigar. It’s a sign, I think.

  I head downstairs and find a very nervous Rita waiting for me. She doesn’t quit, “I know this property requires more work than you originally indicated you wanted to do, but the owner is motivated to sell. I have a few more places we can look at, one is quite close to here and also just off the interstate.”

  I cut her off. “Let’s talk about this one.” I locked the door behind me and we walked over to Ritas car. I am positive that she thinks I have lost my mind. Unlocking the Lexxus with a beep, she popped open the trunk and pulled out a brown Louis Vuitton briefcase that matched her bag. She handed me the spec sheet and I read through the details. “I’m going to want and inspection to the electrical water and sewer systems including the cost to bring them up to code at the owner's expense. I want a new survey done on the property lines and pre approved zoning for a commercial repair business.” I wrote down a number. “This place has been on the market for four years without a nibble. The owner passed away in 2012. It’s been in probate while the family bickered. They’ve lost a ton of money in legal fees and taxes. This is my best and final.”

  She cleared her throat, “This number is significantly lower than the asking price.” “Yes, it is. I know what the taxes are on this property. Even as it is, it will cost them more to hold onto it for another three or four years until another sucker shows interest. It’s still a good deal. The added bonus is that I’m not going to tear it down. I’m going to restore it. Sell them on nostalgia.” I patted her on the shoulder. “You’ve got this Rita. I have faith in you. Call me when you get an answer.”

  I walked back to the truck and left her standing there behind her charcoal gray Lexxus, looking slightly befuddled.

  I snapped a few pictures on my cell phone before I left and headed to the Harley dealership for Mick’s parts. I barely made it into the parking lot when my phone buzzed. Rita. I said a silent prayer for good news and answered. “Well they are interested. However, they want to sell it as is without the inspections and permits.” “No deal, Rita. My way or I step away from the table. If I were to take it “as is”, I would need to see a significant drop in price. Please go back to them with that information and call me back.” I hung up on her. It was days like this I miss old school phones. I miss the satisfying click of hanging up a heavy plastic rotary dial.

  I grabbed the part and picked up a pink HD tank top for myself. I stopped for a fresh squeezed lemonade at the food truck in the parking lot, and checked my email from my phone. The graphic artist had come up with a few preliminary concepts. I picked one and replied. I also agreed to his price to continue the design.

  Rita called back. I held my breath and answered. “Hello Rita. Give me some good news.” She was bursting with enthusiasm, “they agreed to your terms!” “Excellent. Have the contracts drawn up and I’ll stop in and sign. I want the inspections immediately.” She gushed about her killer negotiation skills and I cut her off, “I’m going through a tunnel”. Click.

  I bought a fucking garage! The dream was about to become a reality. I wanted to celebrate, but that would spoil the surprise so I settled on Thai food.

  Chapter 24--Mick

  I rode past Chico’s bar twice today. The second time I cruised by Ambush was walking out the front door with one of his guys. He saw me. Looked straight at me. We made eye contact. Even behind his gold aviators and my helmet visor, I knew we made eye contact. He didn’t smile, but I didn’t really expect one from him. I definitely didn’t smile back. He gave me that casual biker wave that acknowledged I was there and watched me disappear down the street. I should have stopped.

  Instead I went home to Joss and Grey. She was in the kitchen pulling a tray of hot peanut butter cookies out of the oven. She makes them with dark chocolate chips and bacon. They are the best cookies I have ever eaten in my life and no other cookie will ever measure up.

  I love how the house smells when she bakes. I love coming home to laughter instead of silence. Ogre jumped up and gave me a big sloppy doggie kiss, leaving slobber all over my face.

  “Hey baby!”, she greets me with a kiss on the non-dog spit side of my face, and a hot cookie, “want milk?” It’s hot but I pop it in my mouth whole anyway. My mouth is full and happy so I just nod.

  She hands me her cup, and I swallow my cookie down and take a sip of icy cold milk to clear my throat, “I drove by again. He saw me this time.”

  Joss wraps her arms around me and hugs me, “You’ll talk to him when you’re ready and not a day before.” Grey slapped me on the arm, which is the bro equivalent of the same thing.

  Ogre’s tail is thumping against the table, he’s wagging it so hard, begging for a cookie. I broke off a piece and Joss grabbed it before he could, “Nope. Chocolate. I made him his own so he won’t be jealous.” She handed me a few similar cookies, minus the chips. Only our crazy wonderful woman would bake cookies for her dog.

  I tossed one and he easily caught it and chomped it down. He sat up, not an easy feat for over a hundred pounds of hair and drool, and whined a little, begging for another. I can’t say no to that face.

  “Let’s ride for awhile. Maybe get a pizza. On me.” Grey jumped up, “I never say no to a ride or pizza.” “Me either. Lemme grab my boots.” She put the plate on top of the refrigerator, which was the only safe place in the house. Ogre, we had found, could reach the farthest corner of the counters if property motivated. A few nights ago he ate and entire Roast Beef fresh from the oven. It had been set out on the platter to rest before slicing. The bastard grabbed it and ran like hell, chomping it down before we could get it away from him.

  The sun was low in the sky but there were still a few hours of daylight left. When we pulled out of the driveway, I lead and Grey followed. Joss rode behind me, her arms wrapped firmly around my middle and her tits pressed into my back. I could feel them, even through the leather of my jacket. Her presence is soothing and my nerves started to calm down. I know I need to see Damien Chacon. We need to talk. My dad and I. I’m just not ready yet and I feel like a pussy for it. For now I find some peace riding with my best girl.

  A few hours after we left home, we pull into Santino’s parking lot and back into the only spot left in the lot. When we walk through the door they wave at us and point at our favorite table. They already know what our order is because bachelors order pizza frequently. I added an an antipasto for Joss and filled our own pitcher of beer behind the bar and grabbed three frosted mugs from the freezer. Bobby the bartender just gives me a head not, acknowledging my presence. We’ve been eating and drinking her for years.

  Joss and Grey had slid into the back of a circular booth in the corner. I poured, “I don’t want to talk about it.” I handed Joss a perfectly draft with just the right amount of head on it, and started another for Grey. Neither one of them said a word, although I saw them exchanged one of those looks. I know that Joss, in particular, wants to instigate a conversation, but is respecting my wishes.

  “I mean, he’s just a guy that fucked my mom. Right? No big deal? I’m pretty sure Belle has had her sh
are of them.” I handed Grey his beer and started another one for myself. “I’ve wanted a dad my whole fucking life. A real dad. One that went to my games, and clapped for me when I had a good hit or a great play. One that was proud of me. What if he’s not? What if he… I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “What the hell, man, why wouldn’t he be proud of you? You’re a good man. You’re honest and loyal. You don’t lie, cheat or steal. You were a great ball player, and more importantly, you were a hella great Marine.” Grey sipped his brew.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”, I reiterated, taking a long draw off my ice cold brew, “What if he’s not? Proud of me. I mean what have I done with my life? We fix bikes out of a garage. I never joined an MC and ranked or anything.”

  Joss took my glass out of my hand before I could lift it to my mouth again, and set it gently on the table. She took both of my hands in hers and pulled me to face her. “He was there cheering you on when you played ball. He watched most of your games, just not in the stands. He is proud of you. I guarantee it. I believe him, babe. Listen to what he has to say. You know when I go into an important meeting, I spend a few minutes thinking about the absolute worst case scenarios. That way if something goes wrong, I’m mentally prepared for it. I know how to handle it.”

  Grey chimed in, “It’s like mission planning. Covering all your bases. Preparing for contingencies.” Joss nodded in agreement, “So, think about it. You’re in his office, face to face. What’s the worse thing that could happen?”

  What was the worst that could happen? What was I afraid of? I knew the answer. “I guess the worst thing would be him telling me I was a disappointment. That I hadn’t done anything with my life. That I was a loser or unsuccessful.” There. I said it. It was out.