SWNOVELS Pump Two: Chapter 4
been five days—five painfully long days since I last saw him. The low rumbling of his bike shoots straight through me as soon as he enters the lot. I’m tempted to go to the window so I can get a closer look at him.
He swings his leg off his bike and pushes the kickstand down with his boot, retreating into the darkness of the parking lot. Like last time, he reappears a few minutes later. Upon entering the gas station, the smell of cigarettes follows him, and I try not to scrunch my nose in displeasure.
“You really can’t stay away from me,” I say over the sound of the bell.
“Someone’s confident today.” He flips up his visor so I can see his playful, green eyes.
“I think you’re the one that’s confident here.” I twist up my hair and clip it back with a large claw clip to keep my hands busy.
“I’m always confident,” he says as he removes his leather gloves and shrugs off his jacket to reveal a black tee that hugs muscular arms. I almost collapse right where I stand behind the cash register, again.
Where am I meant to look? Do I just stare into his eyes as he showcases himself to me? This is probably the most vanilla strip tease known to man, but I’m reacting like I’m in heat.
He flexes his hands, which are now free from the restraints of his gloves. The tendons in his thick forearms dance under his skin. I’m instantly reminded of when they were wrapped around my waist. I divert my gaze before my mind summons thoughts that would send me straight to the pits of hell.
He lays his gloves and jacket on the chair that has remained in the same position since the other night. He doesn’t remove his helmet and walks to the coffee station, leading me to believe that he really meant it when he said he wasn’t going to take it off.
“Why don’t you take your helmet off too?” I suggest in a joking manner, seeing if he’ll actually do it. “It looks heavier today, it’s even got a camera on it.” I wave at the tiny square device on his helmet when he turns to face me.
“It’s not recording, you gotta click this button here.” Leaving the coffee to fill, he points to a button on top of the camera.
“Very cool, you should still take off the helmet.”
“Now where’s the fun in that, Violet?”
“Lots of fun. I would be able to see what you look like, and I can also stop talking to my reflection.” I’m surprised by how at ease I am with him. The last time we spoke, he managed to soften me up a lot. However, I’m still a little confused about my feelings toward him.
I could leave this job and never see him again; he’d be no more than some customer I joked around with. Because of this, the intensity of my crush has me questioning why I feel so strongly about him. It would’ve been much easier to forget about him if he didn’t keep popping up every few days to flirt with me.
“No. Can I get ten on—”
“Pump two, sure. You get down gas fast,” I interrupt.
“I like biking all night, you should join me.” I look outside at his bike that sits menacingly on its own in the parking lot.
“I’m good, thanks.”
He fetches his coffee and places it down to pay a little too aggressively. The bottom of the cup bends, and it tips unsteadily. The weight of the liquid causes it to topple over. I jump back to avoid the scalding drink and frantically look around the counter for napkins.
“Fuck,” he mumbles, picking up the now-empty cup. The way he says the word has me faltering, effectively distracting me in my search for napkins. I only find a small handful of them behind the counter, which is not enough to clean up the spill.
“I’ll get some stuff to clean up with, hold on.” I walk to the utility closet and prop the door open so I can see. I reach up to get some more napkins. I’m too short, so I stand on my tiptoes to nudge them to the edge of the shelf with my fingertips.
So close!
I let out a strained grunt as I stretch a little further. A loud thud sounds from behind me, and I’m enveloped in complete darkness.
I used an unopened paint can to hold the door, only a person moving it would’ve caused it to move. Unless there’s a very strong ghost haunting the old gas station, it’s just Biker Guy and me here.
“Not funny!” I shout. Thankfully, this closet doesn’t have an automatic lock, but I can’t see what I’m looking for now.
“What’s not funny?” A breath tickles my ear. I scream, throwing a weak, reactionary punch straight into a hard body.
Yep, definitely not a ghost.
“Fuck! What is your issue?!” My heart pounds from fright, and arousal starts to seep in from Biker Guy’s close proximity. I place both hands on him in a poor attempt at forming some distance between us, my palms flush against his chest. I can’t see anything aside from a broad, dark frame that moves closer and pushes me gently against the shelves. I graze my hands over his chest and up to his face to feel him out in the dark. No helmet?
“You took off your helmet?” I ask, a little astonished.
“I did.” I feel around some more and find that he’s got some sort of material covering everything but his eyes.
“I feel fabric. Do you have a mask on?”
“Yeah, a ski mask. Keeps my face warm when I’m riding.” I rub my finger over the ski mask, taking in the hardness of his nose and the length of his jaw. Then, I lean into his neck and smell him. “Did you just smell me?” He lets out a low, husky chuckle.
He smells divine, apart from the off-putting scent of cigarette smoke on his clothes.
“I’m feeling confident in the dark. There’s less pressure when I don’t have to look at your face and you can’t see mine either,” I admit.
“I’m feeling confident too.”
“As you said when you walked in today, you always feel confiden—”
“Violet,” he whispers, his voice gravelly.
“What?”
Something presses against my lips. I’m being kissed.
This unknown customer is kissing me in the utility closet at my job and I don’t care.
I open my lips a little, and he uses his tongue to gently caress the inside of them. He must’ve moved the bottom half of the ski mask to kiss me. I use my hands to feel across the skin of his jaw. It’s rough like he hasn’t shaved for a few days.
I crave more than just a gentle kiss from this man. It’s unclear whether he’s being cautious, but I want him to know that I hunger for his lips. I decide to take control and push my tongue into the guy’s mouth, attempting to set the pace until he bites my lip in warning.
When I moan, he uses it as an opportunity to match my hunger.
I try to move forward and he holds his ground. It causes us to press against each other instead. I feel something hard against my front, a low noise reverberating in his throat as we devour each other. With one of his large hands, he gathers my much smaller ones behind my back. The other grips the nape of my neck and caresses upward, unclipping my hair and fisting it tightly.
Our kiss is rough, sweet, and everything in between. A result of our unceasing flirting and obvious attraction to each other.
I release my hands from his grip and trail them all over his body, mapping every curve and contour with a fierce desire to memorize every inch.
“You’re so eager, Violet,” he says against my lips. I respond with an agreeing ‘hm’. He cups my face and pushes me harder against the shelf, causing it to wobble. That’s when I feel something light flutter around me.
The napkins.
His lips leave mine, and his tongue and teeth ignite a trail of sensations along my skin when he traces a path down my neck. His affectionate, yet rough, nips at my throat are followed promptly by his return to my mouth. Every touch of his lips feels like a scorching mark on my body; it emits the same heat that courses through my veins and threatens to consume me entirely.
A sudden ring from the bell has me pulling away from him, but his hands stay firmly on the sides of my face. It takes a moment for him to pry himself away.
Our breathing is rapid, like we’ve done way more than kissing. I quickly smooth down my hair, gulping a few times to rehydrate my dry throat. I try to compose myself as I gaze at his dark silhouette, and I feel a finger stroke my face—a gentle gesture that brings me back to reality.
With a sharp exhale, I sink down to feel for the napkins until I have a handful of them. I leave Biker Guy behind in the closet, and I don’t look back. The cold air from the refrigerators hit my now-damp panties as I walk past them. It causes the memory of the kiss to repeat in my head…I’m still turned on. Why am I still turned on?
I take a large gulp of air before addressing the customer and apologize for the spill. I also notice that Biker Guy has placed his helmet out of the way and under the counter.
I serve the customer in a daze, his eyes regarding me in a way that makes me feel dirty. I feel paranoid interacting with him after what I’ve just done, it’s like he knows exactly what I’ve been up to in the closet. If I thought I felt unsettled before, he gives me a strange, almost creepy look as he leaves. Ew.
Biker Guy approaches me with cleaning cloths. His black ski mask maintains his anonymity, and I still can’t make out his face.
Green eyes glaze over when he lowers his gaze to stare at my neck. I touch where he’s looking and can’t feel anything. I observe him with suspicion, but he looks away to focus a little too intently on wiping the counter. Is there something on my neck?
I pull out my phone and open the camera application, tilting my head up to notice a huge red splotch forming. No. Multiple red splotches appear on my neck—no wonder the customer looked at me weirdly.
“Are you insane? I work in a customer-facing job!” Biker Guy rubs a hand over his head.
“My bad,” he mutters, adjusting himself in his pants. He’s so not sorry.
I let out an agitated huff and hunt for some concealer. I pray that Freya’s left some behind, or it’s one of the random things that the gas station sells. I spot a scarf in lost property and whip it around my neck in a panic.
I take the cloth that Biker Guy placed on the counter and use it to finish wiping up the spill. We clean up without exchanging any words until the silence is swiftly interrupted by a voice that resonates with a deep timbre.
“You ever been on a bike before?” Biker Guy asks, cutting through the awkwardness. I snatch the napkins from his hands and throw them in the trash.
“Never.”
I rest my hand on my hip, still irritated by the marks he’s left on my neck. I’m ready to shut down any idea he has about me riding a bike. Though I am a bit curious about what it’d be like to sit behind him on a motorbike, our bodies pressed together as the wind—
“Do you have work tomorrow?” he asks, disrupting my thoughts. I pinch the bridge of my nose in a measly attempt at controlling myself, noticing that his tone doesn’t seem to allow for any argument.
“I don’t have work tomorrow, it’s my day off.” He nods.
“Perfect, I’ll pick you up from your place at midnight. I’m taking you to a race.” I forgot that he knows where I live because he followed me home. I’m not sure if I’m naive or just have a huge crush, but I feel strangely safe around him. I’m totally looking past the red flag being waved directly in front of me. This guy has followed me home, and now he’s mentioning a midnight bike race. Alarms should be blaring at this point. Aren’t humans meant to have survival instincts?
“Midnight? That sounds sketchy, plus, I might be busy hanging out with friends.” I’m lying. At most, I’ll be watching some lame show with my little brother and eating takeout.
Though the idea of riding a bike is an instant no, part of me feels like it would be good for me to do something outside of my comfort zone. Kissing a customer at work was already too much. Riding his bike is just another thing that’s out of my range of field, yet somehow feels even more exciting.
“Cancel it,” he snaps.
“I’m sure you have other people who are more willing to go to a midnight race with you,” I say, trying to sound unbothered.
“I don’t want to take anyone else, Violet. You’re the only person I want on the back of my bike.” His words make my heart stutter. I remind myself that I need to stay focused and not get caught up in this crush. This is a customer, after all. The kiss was a small mistake, he totally caught me off guard. Even though I reciprocated…and would do it again, maybe.
“I’ll think about it,” I reply, trying to maintain some semblance of rationality.
“I need a straight answer, yes or no,” he says, his impatience starting to show.
“It’s not just about the bike, it’s the race itself that worries me. It sounds dangerous, and I don’t want to get into any trouble,” I explain. He’s asking me out and he’s getting annoyed that I’m still deciding if I want to go? Rude.
“You’re too old to get into trouble,” he replies dismissively.
“I’m only twenty-one. I think most people would still be scared of consequences,” I retort, watching as he puts on his jacket.
“Not me.” He pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.
“Yuck, clearly.” My words are laced with obvious disgust as I eye up the packet in his hand. He tilts his head and squints at me before walking outside. His back is turned toward me to avoid showing the bottom half of his face when he lifts his mask to smoke.
After finishing, he walks to his bike. Okay, bye then. I look at the counter to make sure the coffee is cleaned up and notice that he’s left his helmet. I grab it and run outside, moving faster when I hear him turn on his bike.
“Hey! Your helmet!” I shout over the sound of the engine, jogging up to his bike. He revs it and looks down toward his back wheel where I see his packet of cigarettes sandwiched between the tire and the ground. He revs again. This time, his back wheel spins on the spot and shreds the packet of cigarettes.
A cloud of smoke fills the parking space, and the scent of burning rubber attacks my nose. It makes me cough until the bike shuts off a few seconds later.
Biker Guy gets off and takes three big steps toward me, his tall frame causing me to look up at him.
“Why did you—”
“I decided to quit,” he says matter-of-factly. I shove his helmet into his chest.
“All it took was littering and a destroyed tire, you’re so dramatic,” I snark. He grabs his helmet and tilts his head back in response to my snappiness. His throat bobs and I stare at it, swiftly averting my gaze when he lowers his face to mine so that our noses are almost touching.
“Worth it. See you at midnight, Sweetness,” he hums.
Before I can argue, he puts the helmet on and rides off, leaving me to stare at the destroyed packet of cigarettes on the ground.