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June 2020:Decatur, IL

The heat was on one today. My entire body was covered in perspiration as my legs guided my bike in the direction of Doc Brown's convenience store. His place was stocked with all the quick essentials until I made it to the superstore. At the moment, though, all I could do was focus on the cold drink my parched throat desired and the double-layered sandwich that would satisfy the grumbling noises my stomach made. My tires wiggled a bit on the dirt road, but I quickly redirected my bike using the handlebars. As I rode to the store, my thoughts were instantly filled with russet brown eyes, a root beer complexion, and a tapered fade that temporarily replaced the woes of my sweaty skin and whiny stomach. I'd sacrifice sustenance to feelhis hands roam my body like no other man had. Those strong hands knew how to manipulate my body like a diffuser for a black woman's curls. It was a magical act that neither Ripley nor I could believe.

However, such actions were not permitted to take place any more. Our families made sure of that. The long-age feud between the Views and Clips dated back several generations. I was twenty-five and still not well informed on why we were enemies in the first place. What my family did tell me was that it was all the Clips' fault. My family was wealthy, and it's due to the weapons we made of all kinds. We supplied weapons to different companies, the government, and international businesses. The Clips were just as wealthy as us. They created weapons and ammunition for just about every weapon created by the government, small companies, and international as well. Our great-grandfathers hit a lick that created generational wealth for our families, but that's probably the reason we hate each other so much. Well, our families because I actually liked the Clips. I love my Bulley, but unfortunately, we could never be together. It was a terrible way to live.

I reached outside of Doc Brown's and leaned my bike against his store wall when my eyes briefly traveled over the big shiny motorcycle that rested on its kickstand. The motorcycle's front displayed a shiny, engraved emblem for the Decatur Rebels, which I found interesting. Motorcycle clubs were popular in this town. Even the men in my family had a crew. They were the Decatur Devils and a pain in my ass. The Views' reputation preceded itself. No one wanted beef with a family filled with men who made their own weapons except the Clips. They were bosses as well, so naturally, they didn't fear us or anybody else.

The moment I entered the store, the bell dinged above, and I was immediately met with a blast of air conditioning and the fragrant sandwiches I loved so much. Doc Brown'swas your typical convenience store. There were aisles of your favorite essentials with numbers above in blue and yellow font on a square-shaped banner. This store had been around for generations and stood the test of time during every weather crisis our town had experienced.

His grandson, Steffan, was the third generation to run and operate the local favorite. It was also neutral territory, so no bullshit of any kind was permitted. Violating the laws in place, depending on how severe, could lead to permanent banishment or, worse, death. We and the Clips both had several relatives banished because they violated the laws. It was a treaty that the townspeople of Decatur, IL, took very seriously. When people fucked around, they certainly found out. Steffan didn't favor Doc Brown as much as his dad, Daniel, did, but he surely inherited Doc Brown's booming voice.

"Ms. Views! The youngest of the Views bunch. How are you, sweetheart? Are you here to pick up your granddaddy's lunch?" Steffan questioned from his seat behind the counter.

The old man slowly sipped his glass of sweet tea while one of his favorite Western films played in the background.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Steffan. I'm feeling pretty good. How are you? It's scorching out there, so I'm here to pick up my usual and Pop Pop's special as well," I replied.

I walked over to the glass case that housed my favorite deli delight. Doc Brown's store made the best grilled chicken breast sandwiches with parmesan cheese, sundried tomatoes, basil, and pickled jalapeños. While Old Man Steffan talked about the arthritis in his joints and how he used to beat my father in high school football, I grabbed a sheet of wax paper and fished my sandwich from the display case. Once it was secure in the foiled baggie, I took my time and collected my favorite brand of lemon cookies and salt and vinegar chips. I left Steffan to talk to himself since he pretty much did that, anyway.

I exited the cookie aisle and stopped right outside the cooler, where a fine-ass man drank his bottled water with the glass door propped against his broad shoulder. When he felt my presence, he lowered his drink and then ogled me. The tall, dark, and muscular stranger walked away from the cooler, and the door slammed multiple times until it finally closed.

"You're beautiful. What are you up to?" he probed in a voice that appeared much older than his youthful face.

"My mama told me not to talk to strangers."

He chuckled. "Okay. Well, can I at least have a bite of your sandwich?"

"My mama told me that if you feed a stray, it'll follow you home." I smirked, trying not to give in.

A smile as beautiful as the sunrise over the Grand Canyon, or from the first sip of coffee, or the birth of a child adorned his handsome face. He was too fine for his own good.

"Do you always listen to your mama?" he asked with a charming smile.

"Most of the time. She's hardly ever wrong."

He eased closer to me until he invaded my personal space, and the coolness from his breath tickled my skin. "Well, yo' mama ain't here right now. How about you let me buy you lunch? We can take my motorcycle down to the river, and once there, you can tell me all about the things your mama said not to do. How does that sound?" he queried, licking his full bottom lip.

I chewed on my lower lip and stared into his russet-colored eyes. For some reason, it seemed as if he could be trusted, so I allowed him to pay for my items, including Pop Pop's lunch. In no time, we flew down the dirt road on his motorcycle. The summer heat blew through my curls as I gripped his waist tightly with a smile on my face. I was taking a big risk right now, but oh well, you only live once. Minutes later, we arrived at the river and sat on the warm grass. He fed me, and I fed him. Once wewere done eating and drinking, I sat between his toned thighs and watched the river flow downstream.

"Why can't it be like this forever?" he quizzed, kissing up and down my neck.

I closed my eyes and basked in the feel of his thick, full lips and beard that tickled the side of my cheek. "Bulley, baby, it will never be that way for us. Our families won't allow it. I would love to wake up to you every day, but we both have a duty to our families."

He exhaled and turned me to face him. I straddled his lap and gazed into his eyes. "Crystal, you sound just like our families. We can run away and start over. I love you more than my family. Just tell me you want to be with me, and you love me, and I'll handle the rest," he voiced. From his tone, it sounded as if he was pleading with me.

My hand gently caressed his cheek as I threw caution to the wind. I'd never find a love like him ever again. I couldn't let Bulley go. He'd owned my heart since we were seventeen years old. He was the first and only man to ever touch my body. If another nigga tried, he'd kill him. I loved that man, and I'd risk it all for him every day that ended in y.

"I love you, Bulley, and I want to be with you. Yes, I'll follow you."

He grinned, pecking my lips. "Good girl."

Our mouths merged as we swiftly undressed as he guided me onto my back. Bulley gripped my throat and slowly fed my pussy, his long and thick dick.

"Oh shit, baby. Right there," I panted in a desperate tone. I fucked him back, just as he taught me. His dick moved in and out of me as he stared into my eyes.

"What's my name?" he asked, tapping my spot.

"Bulley, baby," I answered with a heavy breath.

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