Coming April 1st Tales of a Tomboy: Stormy. Read Chapter One Here!

Chapter One

Stormy

My alarm clock starts going off and I reach out blindly, grabbing it off my nightstand and throwing it on the floor. I groan as I sit up, gripping my head to keep my brain from rattling around in my skull.

Movement behind me has me turning. The big phoenix tattoo on his back begs for my tongue to trace it. Luckily, the man it’s attached to is still sleeping, my fuck buddy, Drake. I grab the sheet that’s balled up at the foot of the bed, wrapping it around my naked body.

On silent feet, I pad into the bathroom. I stop in front of my mirror and my eyes widen when I get a look at myself. My sable-colored hair looks like I’ve stuck my finger in a light socket, but in reality, it’s one of the signs that I’ve been well and truly fucked.

I lean in close and notice my upper lip is swollen, on closer inspection I see my lip is bruised. “Are those teeth marks?” I whisper.

Jesus, I like it rough, but how in the hell am I going to hide this? I drop the sheet and shake my head—bite marks and bruises cover my neck, breasts, and stomach. I’m going to have to tell Drake to watch the teeth.

I step into the shower and turn it on, letting the hot water slide down my body. A chill hits me as I hear the shower curtain open and then arms wrap around my middle. I don’t miss the impressive erection against my ass.

Drake kisses my shoulder. “I love seeing my mark on you.”

I turn until we’re chest to chest, looking up into his green eyes, brushing his dark-blond hair back from his face. “I don’t like being covered in bruises that I’m gonna have a hard time covering.”

He gives me that smile that has melted plenty of panties off, including mine. “Let me make it up to you.”

My heart rate speeds up as I watch him get down on his knees, lift my leg over his shoulder, and go to town on my pussy, wringing two amazing orgasms out of me.

After our shower, I throw on a pair of black boy short panties and a T-shirt I had cut off into a half shirt that hangs off one shoulder.  I blow-dry my hair and then throw it into a topknot. In the kitchen I start a pot of coffee. My sliding door opens and Drake steps back in, followed by the distinct smell of marijuana.

I could really smoke a J right now, but I don’t want to fail my drug test—one of the only downsides of being a professional racer. At least I can partake in adult beverages. Drake grabs me around the waist and kisses my neck. “When can I see you again?” he mutters against my skin.

“Next weekend, if you promise not to bruise me up,” I say with a laugh.

He sticks his lower lip out. “I have to wait a whole week to see you?”

“We’ll see. I’ll text you if I’m free during the week. Is this little guy going to miss me?” I reach behind me, cupping his hard dick through his jeans.

“Little? Oh, baby, you like my big dick.” He thrusts against my hand. “Quickie before I go?”

I turn in his arms and wrap my arms around his shoulders. “You better make it good.”

Drake lifts me and I wrap my legs around his hips as he carries me back to my bedroom and he does, in fact, make it good, oh so good.

***

“Stormy, we need to see you after this lap.” I roll my eyes as I make my way around the track. My dad is on the side with my manager, Nick. I know why he’s here and I want to keep going, but it’s time to face the music.

Last week, my nemesis and I got into a heated altercation after interviews, and I may or may not have shoved her bike over. It was a bitchy move, but she’s had it coming. The past three years she’s fucked with me repeatedly. First it was comments about my riding, comments about my dad coaching me. Then shit got personal.

She set her sights on my older brother, Rocco, and waved her magic pussy at him until he was salivating and under her thumb. Six months later, she started dating someone else and destroyed my brother.

Now, I know I should’ve let that go, but my brother is bipolar, and he ended up going off his meds. We had to have him committed, and it damn near killed me. He’s so much better now, and thankfully he’s got the best girlfriend, but I’ll never forgive Allie for what she did.

After that all went down I may or may not have keyed her car and slashed her tires. Don’t fuck with me and don’t fuck with my family. Of course, it’s caused some problems for me publicity wise. I’m known for my temper and my foul mouth, but that was the icing on the cake.

As I come around the bend, I spot them both standing there with their arms crossed—great. Why couldn’t they just let me be? I stop my bike and hop off, holding on to the handlebars until Sarge, my personal mechanic, grabs it.

“How’d she ride?”

I walk on the other side of my KTM 450 SX-F as I pull my helmet off and hook it around the handlebar. He’s been working on my bikes since I first started riding, and I’ve known him and his wife Rita, since I was a little girl. “It was good. I think we might want to adjust the shocks just a little bit. I think it’ll be great.” Sarge nods and takes off toward the garage

I unzip my suit until I can pull it off and it hangs off my hips, leaving me up top in just a tank top. I take a deep breath before turning toward the men who run my racing career and walk slowly to them. “What’s up?” I drag out slowly.

“Stormy, we need to talk.” My dad moves toward me, and I don’t like the look on his face. When he reaches me, he examines my face closely and his brow furrows, his lips get tight, and he shakes his head because I know he can see the bite mark on my lip—they’re not easy to hide—unfortunately. I ignore the pain in my gut as he begins to speak, “A couple of your sponsors have voiced their displeasure with your attitude lately and said if it doesn’t change, John will pull you from the team.”

“Dad, Allie brought it—” I whisper harshly.

Nick steps in and interrupts me, “You’re going to quit this bullshit. You lose one sponsor you could potentially lose more. Is that what you want? You’re so close to being ranked number one.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course that’s not what I want. What am I supposed to do? Apologize? I’d rather eat shit.”

“It’s not just Allie. You don’t get along with any of the other racers—even members of your own fucking team. No one ever wants to interview you because you say whatever comes out of your mouth without thinking.” Nick looks to Dad and then back at me. “We’ve hired you an image consultant. He’s going to help rebuild your image. You race like a fucking dream, but your attitude is shit. We need to fix it, fix how the press, sponsors, and other racers see you.”

“This is bullshit,” I hiss. I turn to look at my dad. “This isn’t fair.”

“Stormy, get over it. I’ve had enough of your goddamn antics.” I open my mouth to speak, but my dad grabs me by my bicep hard enough to leave a bruise—over the years I’ve become very good at hiding that it hurts…a lot. “Quiet.”

“He’s going to work with you on improving your image. You’re going to learn how to talk to the press and do a little anger management.” Nick sets his hand on my shoulder. “This is for the best, Stormy. You’ve just worked too damn hard to flush it all down the toilet.”

They walk away and once they disappear into the little office where they do their bidding, I stomp over to where my bag sits. I rip off my boots and then my suit, leaving me in just my tank top and little knit booty shorts.

I sit down on the bench and throw on my old, black Adidas. After I stand up, I shove my suit and boots into my bag, I hoist it over my shoulder and grab my helmet. I carry it toward my red-and-black MINI Cooper Countryman.

I throw the bag into the back seat, climb in, and head toward the gym. At the red light a block away, I look down at the beginnings of purple fingerprints on my arm. “Fucking asshole,” I say to myself.

Once inside, I find my trainer, Greg, at the free weights. He helps me get out a lot of my aggression, but apparently not enough. I stop in front of him and salute. “Stormy Allen reporting for duty.” 

He rolls his eyes and grabs his clipboard. Before I can walk away, he surprises me when he grabs me by my wrist and holds my arm out. He looks at the bruises and then up at me. “He do this?” Greg is the only one who knows the “lessons” my dad likes to teach me when he feels it’s necessary.

“What do you think?” I give him a pointed look.

I swear he growls and shakes his head. He’s told me over and over to turn him in, but I don’t want everything that’ll come with me telling someone.

“I’m fine, okay?” I snatch his clipboard. “Now work me hard and make it hurt.”

“That’s what she said,” Greg said in his best Michael Scott voice.

 I roll my eyes at him. He’s such a fucking dork, but he’s a good guy. The look in his eyes every time he sees bruises is painful to see. Honestly, he’s the only one who has seen them. I’ve gotten good at hiding all of this from my brothers.

I shake off the pity party and follow Greg over to the rack so I can do back and front squats. I’ll channel my pain into my workout. You don’t get a killer ass like mine without squatting all the time.

By the time we’re done, I’m so physically exhausted I feel like it takes all my strength just to make it out to my car. Once inside, I crank the air before making my way toward my apartment.

I let myself inside and drop my bag by the door. After locking the deadbolt, I strip off my clothes as I make my way into the bathroom. I shower and shave and when I’m done, I get out. With quick movements I comb out my hair and then rub some goop through it. I love it because as soon as my hair is dry it feels so soft and smells so good.

I slather myself in CBD lotion—I love it because it’ll help with my sore muscles. Not bothering to get dressed, I walk through my apartment to the kitchen and make myself a quick protein shake. After I chug it down, I head into my bedroom, collapse on my bed, and immediately fall asleep.

***

I people watch from my spot at the bar, sipping on my whiskey sour. My brothers, Rocco and Royal, are meeting me here for drinks. I wish Rocco’s girlfriend was coming, but Mandy is a nurse and works second shift in the ER. She’s a good buffer when my brothers try to get in my business.

Monday, which is two days from now, I’m meeting the guy who is supposed to “help” my image. If I don’t show up, they’re threatening to suspend me and with the circuit starting in a month that’s the last thing I want.

I figure this is my last night drinking for a while so I’m going to live it up. I pull the straw out and pick up the glass, draining it in two gulps. I signal to the bartender for another and thank him when he places my drink in front of me.

Someone sits down next to me and out of the corner of my eye, I can see it’s a man, a good-looking man.

“How are you?” His voice is deep and rich and makes my nipples harden.

I turn toward him and take in the hulking, brown-haired man with the darkest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Fuck, he’s sexy. Would it be in poor taste to have some fun with him when it was only a week ago I was with Drake? Probably, but I’ve given up on caring. “I’m good. Can I buy you a drink?”  I’m not scared to be the assertive one.

“Sure. I’m Jai, by the way.” He holds out his hand.

I take it and I like how small mine feels in his. “Stormy.” He orders a beer and I don’t miss the fact he moves in closer to me.

My brothers show up a little while later and the four of us hang out for a while. Jai has been touchy-feely all night, and all it’s done is make me horny. Fuck, something is wrong with me. When I’m ready to go, I say bye to my brothers and grab Jai’s hand, pulling him outside.

The moment we step out the door, his lips are on mine and his hands are on my ass. “Your place or mine?” he murmurs against my lips.

“Yours.” Jai grabs my hand and leads me to a gorgeous Harley. I knew I liked this guy. He grabs a helmet for me to wear. I climb on the back, and smile as we take off.

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