Changing Tides Page 2

  I squeezed a hand around her waist, “Hey. Of course, always. The best, Sophie.”

  Meaning the words, I hoped she knew it. Jake aside, somehow Sophie felt like fate, like we were meant to be this to each other, to be the very best of friends. She’d become important to me in such a short space of time and I didn’t get why she needed to ask. Where her insecurities came from. I heard her breath release against my neck and felt her body sag against mine before quickly moving away. Reaching for her hand in her lap, entwining our fingers, I made sure she understood me. “Always, Sophie.”

  Clenching our hand together, she beamed up at me. “Thank you, Ayden. Thank you.”

  A few hours ticked by, we sat gossiping and laughing at Jake getting plastered with Suzie not too far behind, she wasn’t helping the cause. Jake was a funny fucker when he was pissed, not particularly caring what anyone else thought of him, he was just Jake. I stole another few glances over at Gripp’s table through the course of the night, when the crowd was thin enough to see. Each time unnerved me yet excited me more. I found myself frowning more than once at the way his steely inspection held me captive each time we connected. His look sparked hot and on the tip of exciting within my lower belly. I chased it away, not sure what frightened me; the spark or the stare. Ignoring it, I made a conscious effort to keep my eyes away from that side of the room, there was plenty eye candy to occupy me elsewhere.

  The club started winding down early. With a full late licence, Friday was the only night that under 21’s were allowed in, so my dad and uncle didn’t keep it open full hours. 1 a.m. was cut off time. We were aged to come all hours, just happened to be Friday, the earlier closing suiting me fine.

  I tapped Sophie on the shoulder to grab her attention from a giggling Suzie who was yelling into her ear. “I’m heading to the john, be back in a few. Don’t move.”

  She waved a hand in dismissal as I got up and mooched my way down the hallway, a decent buzz going on as I passed people collecting coats and beginning to leave. It was quieter through the back and I was thankful for it, I could at least hear myself think after being assaulted with banging music for hours. Before I made a move into the men’s room my uncle called out to me as he grabbed my arm.

  “Half an hour and I’m good to go,” he smiled at me, “just need to cash out, all right?”

  “We’re grabbing a taxi, ready to leave now.”

  “You sure? It’s no problem.”

  “Honestly, it’s cool. We’re out in five. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I pushed the door inward, disappearing into the bathroom.

  Finishing up a few minutes later, I washed my hands at the sink, about jumping a mile in the air, splashing water right down the front of my t-shirt, when the door swung wide. “Fuck!”

  Shaking out my hands, I reached for the paper towels to the side of me, pissed off I was half soaked.

  “Yo, sorry dude, my bad!” came a voice that snaked its way down my back making me all kinds of nervous and excited in equal parts. Turning, I stared into the face of the notorious Gripp.

  I’m not a coward by any means but considering his face, seeing that mark on his cheek, it reminded me of exactly who he was and how dangerous he could potentially be. That in itself was a thing to maybe worry about, especially being alone in the men’s room.

  Yeah, consider me intimidated.

  “Hey, man. How you doing?”

  Doing a double take, I was surprised at the lazy lilt to his voice when he spoke, he sounded high, or maybe drunk. Gripp chuckled, his hazel eyes shone as the lines at the side became more pronounced, the blue tinged tattoo on his cheek menacing, sending another shiver down my spine. Not nerves tingling this time as I stood there like a dumb prick, hoping and praying my cock was gonna fucking behave itself. This guy lit up my bells with a single look, alarming or not, one that could easily bring me to my knees if I saw it enough.

  Twisting away, I stretched for the towels again to dry my still wet hands, trying to get my shit together so I didn’t embarrass myself when I turned back around. When I did move, he was right in front of me, surprising me for a second. Off balance and nervy, I tried to skirt around him. His success at grabbing for my hand and shaking it in greeting had me confused. Again, caught off guard, I tried to snatch my hand away.

  “Uh, yeah...” I stumbled the words out, “great. You?” I asked, looking down in bewilderment at our clasped hands.

  Gripp glanced down at the same time, a sheepish expression on his face and quickly let go, bringing his hand up to wipe at the back of his neck, those tattooed fingers digging into his flesh.

  Was he fucking nervous?

  No, he couldn’t be, why would he? I was a big guy, sometimes intimidating, but so was he, and considering his bad boy reputation, nerves should have been the last thing he had around me. The dude wasn’t rumoured to get ruffled by anything. Or anyone.

  “I saw you come in.” His deep voice resounded through the small space, like a tenor bass, music to my ears. I waited for him to continue his line, aware I was standing gawping, more out of disbelief than a drooling state, unsure of his intentions. “I wanted a word...” he trailed off.

  My guard went up, and I took a step back, putting distance between us as I tried to figure him out. My hands dropped the paper towels at my feet and I rammed my fists into the front pockets of my jeans. He must have seen the alarm on my face as he scrutinised me.

  “Fuck...” he shook his head, “...no, no, no. Not like that!” Laughing, he held his hands in the air, as if in surrender. “I saw you.”

  Annoyed that he found the moment amusing, I tamped down my irritation, shaking my nerves loose. “Ah, okay,” I said, not sure what he was saying.

  Never the less, I relaxed, and my hands slackened in my pockets a fraction. Gripp leaned back against the sink with his arms folded across his chest, not exactly stand-offish but not accommodating either. Only then did I notice how intricate his tattooed sleeves were under the harsh light of the men’s room. Mostly swirls of greys and blacks that looked haphazard at first glance, but complex on a closer look. Some were hard to see clearly, I thought wryly that was the whole point, there wasn’t one particular feature I could make out, I didn’t even try, eventually fixing my gaze to the wall behind him. Eye contact seemed dangerous considering what I was thinking about.

  “Listen, that cute blonde? She doesn’t need anyone messing around with her, she’s been through enough as it is.” He coughed into his hand before continuing. “If you’re looking for anything beyond friends, I suggest you run along and look elsewhere. She doesn’t need her head filled full of shit.”

  Who the fuck was this guy?

  I was surprised at the politeness of the thinly veiled threat he’d just thrown my way but took it on board. He was a man you listened to. I’d be an idiot to ignore. I understood him all right and his little speech set me further at ease with him. He was just being an over protective friend and not the big scary dude he looked like. I couldn’t decide which the worst end to be on was. For some reason I found myself opening my mouth and telling him the very thing that could possibly get me a busted nose, at the least.

  “I’m gay,” I blurted out, a shade embarrassed at my confession hoping he saw it for the peace offering it was in terms of Sophie. I loved the girl, and yeah, we had a great friendship. Still, I didn’t know if I should tell him how close we were in case he took it the wrong way.

  “Really?” He angled his head sideways and looked at me with narrowed eyes, a slight smirk tugging at his mouth.

  Nodding, I wondered if I’d just made a monumental mistake by revealing I preferred relationships with men. Groaning to myself, I thumped my head back against the wall. It was clear the circles he ran in, how far in I really had no idea, but it kind of scared the shit out of me. I knew these types of guys didn’t mess around, piss them off and they came at you hard.

  He scrubbed his hand down his face and breathed ‘okay’ on a long sigh, a sigh that cried relief, yet hel
d a flash of disappointment too. For whatever reason, I didn’t care enough to find out. He was Gripp I was me. Our circles didn’t entwine or mesh.

  “Anyway, I was watching you.” He squinted at the mirror to the side of us. “If you can find it in yourself to see past all this shit.”

  I scanned his body as he waved his hand in front of himself and I took the ‘shit’ to mean the myriad of tattoos I’d ogled earlier and seemed to cover him. Studs adorned his hard-edged face, the little scruff of stubble across his upper lip and the triangle in the cleft of his chin told me he cared about his appearance. I very much liked what I saw, he didn’t look like shit to me. And he smelled so fucking good, too. I knew the rumours, they mattered more than the swirls of ink he chose to tell his stories with or hide behind. I kept those thoughts to myself, no matter how he stood in front of me, he was still a stranger, an unknown. One I couldn’t afford to get on the wrong side of.

  “Good folks are hard to come by and I get the impression you’re good folks.” When he threw a mischievous smile my way, his whole face lit up, and I threatened to dissolve into a puddle of mush at his feet.

  He was gorgeous. Gripp, the infamous gang banger, was mouth-watering. Shuffling his feet in front of him, he looked to the tiled floor while I kept my eyes peeled to his face, bemused at the turn in conversation.

  “It doesn’t bother you?” I finally asked.

  His eyes snapped to mine, and I was caught again by their colour, hazel with the tint of green, flecks of subtle gold around the edges of his irises. I internally reeled back, winded from the breath he’d stolen from me.

  “You being gay? No. Should it?” Another full-on smile, cheekier this time.

  I hesitated at his comment, shaking my head. Gang boys were notorious homophobes around here, yet he seemed...different. “No, I guess not.”

  Moving towards me, I found my back pressed further into the wall as he stood inches from my face, engulfing me in his smell; a hint of sandal wood and warm beer wafting up my nose. I was still edgy, my fingers curled in my pocket, but the closeness of him was easy - right.

  Gripp bent forward and tucked an arm around my waist, alarming me. My body drew rigid until I realised he was fishing my phone out of my back pocket, the threat from a second before, subsiding quickly. Squeezing my eyes shut, I inhaled slowly as his soft hair brushed along the side of my face. My dick decided that was the moment to say hello and stirred impatiently in my jeans, unaware this man was very off limits. I panicked at the thought of him leaning further into me and feeling the erection I was sporting for his pleasure only. Boy, he’d get something he hadn’t quite bargained for when he’d walked in, and I figured it would not be a good scenario to find myself in. Yet, I foolishly snuck in closer, sniffed again and drank in his scent with delight.

  I swear, I felt his long fingers grace the top of my jeans along the underside of my t-shirt, my skin sizzling from his brief touch. The moan that climbed up my throat tumbled out on a sigh.

  Shit, I was in so much fucking trouble.

  I didn’t do this; I never acted this way around guys. Ever. Society had made it so I tempered my reactions in the locker rooms and on sports fields. I took it home and wanked off to good old-fashioned porn behind closed doors, not get erections in the men’s room of my dad’s club over a little skin contact.

  Fuck my life, I was so fucking mortified!

  Standing stock still, not quite touching yet not quite moving away either, my heart double thudded in my chest with anticipation of his next course of action. His head dipped further, a sign he was looking down at my phone to the side of us. I daren’t have moved a muscle, almost holding my breath, whilst willing my rock-hard dick to just go the fuck away. I really wanted to leave in one piece and go hide in a corner in disgrace, he was the last person on this earth I wanted to be having a goddamned hard on for.

  Gripp slid my phone back into my pocket but didn’t move away immediately. No, those long, warm fingers fastened at my waist as he raised his head and faced me.

  I was a goner; a quivering mess of need and confusion, there was no hope left for me or my deceitful cock.

  “My number....” he smirked at me as his hold tightened.

  My heart was ready to burst at any moment, he had me wound so tight. A spark of something tingled in my balls, and I just wanted the ground to open and swallow me whole. This man was making me crazy, my body firing in every direction.

  Jesus Christ, what the fuck?

  The next thing I knew, he had me plastered firmly to the wall, no space between us, his inked hand tugged my neck forward as he pushed his body into mine. I didn’t believe what he was doing until incredibly soft lips ghosted over my own, the cold of his flesh in contrast to the heat of his breath. I toyed with the idea of peeking my tongue out for one little taste. I was so greedy in that moment; wanting to devour his mouth, feast on it, even if it was just this once. I didn’t move, hardly breathed, fearing he’d step away from me. Fearing he was making a joke at my expense. That this was all a lie. A made-up dream I was having.

  “Gay, huh?” Gripp grinned at me and I audibly whimpered before smacking my head back again, my eyes fluttering shut.

  “Yeah.”

  Stroking down my jaw, his finger nail scratched at the scruff on my chin, then along my bottom lip. I savoured it. Revelled in the type of attention I’d always craved, man on man. When he crushed his erection against mine, my eyes snapped open, locking onto his hooded gaze. He wasn’t playing around, undeniable desire pooled under his heavy lids. My insides did a jig at the images I’d conjured of having those intense hazel hued eyes peering up at me while he wrapped his lips around my cock. Man, what would that ball of metal feel like rubbing up and down me? Saliva pooled in my mouth so bad I was afraid I’d drool down my chin.

  “Nice.”

  Moving his other hand from my hip to the front of my jeans, he rasped his nail up and down the zipper slowly, the vibration pleasurable against my hard on. I was stunned, couldn’t find any words, too lost in the marvel of Gripp touching me as brazenly as he was. The sensation felt so fucking good and he didn’t even have his hand wrapped around me. I let out a long, ragged sigh, thinking I’d died and gone to heaven. His hand was now cupping me, fingers squeezing around the bulge in my jeans, rooting me to the spot, having no desire to move. A soft nip at the tip of my nose brought me back to the moment, the tenderness of his one action belied the man standing in front of me with his hand curled around my dick, albeit with a layer of denim between us. He stared at me with such an intensity, like he was looking into the very depths of my soul.

  Sophie was right; he was a pussy cat.

  Then he laughed, he fucking laughed, and my heart plummeted to my stomach at the sound. I strained to get hold of myself long enough to regain my composure, I moved away. Lightning fast.

  Had I read him wrong? Was he playing me?

  Holding me tighter, as if he sensed my need to flee, Gripp moved his mouth to my ear, a stiff tongue playfully darting at my lobe as he rotated his hips in a circular motion, grinding against me.

  Nope, not reading him wrong then.

  “Feel that?” he whispered as he shoved against me, over and over, twisting his waist so he dragged his length over mine.

  Oh yeah, I could feel that all right.

  “Yes.” The singular word caught in my throat, barely perceptible.

  “That’s all for you.”

  Sucking the fat flesh of my ear into his mouth, delft fingers moved to fiddle with my zip. Only when I felt his knuckles brushing against me did I remember I was going commando and thanked the Lord for such small mercies. The skin to skin contact almost made my knees give out, so much so that I grabbed at his waist and tethered myself to him, keeping upright. His growl was low and long, rumbling from his chest, vibrating against mine.

  “Ayden,” he whispered, wrapping his fingers around my steely erection, giving it two sharp tugs. “Ayden,” he moaned again in my ear before removing
his hand and stepping away.

  What in the actual fuck....no!!

  Bereft, I almost begged him to come right back and continue. He unashamedly adjusted his own hard on as I watched mesmerised, smiling when I realised the effect I had on him too. He wasn’t lacking in the dick department judging by the protrusion at the front of his jeans and my mouth flooded with moisture at the thought of sucking him off. Hurriedly, I pulled my zipper up, never wavering with the eye contact, not daring to call his bluff.

  “You call me,” he commanded while reaching for the bathroom door, never looking back at me, “or text, whatever. I’ll be waiting.” I didn’t doubt it for a second.

  Then he was gone, leaving me with a serious case of blue balls and grinning like a fucking fool in the men’s room of my dad’s club. The imprint of his fingers wrapped around my cock, a memory etched in my head.

  Well hell....

  Still standing in a bit of a stupor, I jumped in fright when the door crashed open again, bringing me back down to earth with a bang. Gripp rushed me into the wall a second time, chest to chest, his hands either side of my head and then crashed his lips over mine before I could even blink. Harsh, demanding...needy. His tongue flicked with pulsing action in my mouth as I tangled for control, greedy for more.

  Pulling away, he pointed to the front of my jeans. “Don’t you fucking touch that!” His growling demand was full of fire and threat.

  The door swung back open and Gripp was gone again, leaving me panting and the room spinning, wondering what the fuck just happened. Had the notorious bad boy, Gripp, just come on to me?

  Yeah. Yeah, I think he did.

  Ryder

  I could have cracked this fucking guy’s head open. The little punks had been warned, told they weren’t welcome at my club. The message obviously wasn’t clear enough or Charlie didn’t give a shit about his runners. Not giving a shit seemed to be most likely where he was concerned. Nothing surprised me with him, especially his lack of care. It was only a matter of time before he became a real problem for the club. A problem for me. He wasn’t likely to let the past stay where it belonged, especially when he knew I had no intention of crawling under a rock and disappearing this time. I was home for good.