DREAM LOVER - FALCONE

I felt the blanket move as if someone was pulling it. Before I could react I felt the warm palm on my back.

I opened my eyes and saw it was still dark outside. Anyway what else is new? He always comes every night and leaves at dawn. It doesn't come until it was dark and wouldn't leave before the break of the dawn.

Then I had this moment, like every moment that I always have whenever he showed up. A moment where my mind said to close my eyes and tell him that he needed to leave.

But I knew, that when I did that, he would go away. I know he will go without saying a word and he will never come back.

He would leave her as silently as he came.

But I also knew it was the right thing to do. No one in their right mind would tolerate something like this. Having a secual affair with someone thwy barely know for more than two years. Someone they hadn't seen before on broad daylight. I too, can barely remember what his face looks like. I have wanted to do this for a long time now. God knows how long I have been meaning to tell him to leave.

Then, I felt the bed sink, and I felt him lie down, and pulled me closer to him. I opened my mouth and was about to speak, but before I could do that, his mouth hit mine.

And in the hours that followed, I didn't think at all.

But I felt. And I felt good and that was alot.

Two hours passed by easily and it was still dark, when I felt him move.

I just lay on the bed as I watched him move. He doesn't even make a noise. Which, is weird. All you can hear is the sound of clothes being adjusted and being worn. Which is like listening to nothing.

Although I couldn't see him, I see his shadow move and from what I could see, even in his shadow, he had a masculine grace when he moved.

A masculine grace that is powerful. Again, it's weird. Just seeing my dream lover dressing up. it's like I'm watching a badass, macho dance, if there is one. But of course, we all know that there is no such thing and that only happens in my room every time he gets dressed when he visits me. No. Whenever he needed to leave.

Watching him dress is so addicting that I thought, maybe I can sell tickets at Manila bay for this show. For sure I'm going to be rich if I do that. But I know I'll also have to share him. Thinking of sharing him and letting someone watch him get dressed messed up my mind.

The fact that he came tonight, and I let him come and he made me come and him coming after I come, already messed with my head, maybe I shouldn't have thought of selling tickets.

Damn, I have been sharing too much. sorry girls if I'm going to disappoint all of you, but I ain't sharing anymore. Well maybe not consciously though.

He came to the bed and as usual, I watched him again. He bent low and I felt the heat of his hand on my knee, while his fingers curled around the back of my knee and he lightly kissed my hip. His lips skimmed across my skin that made me tingle. Then he slid the covers up my body and dropped them.

I was lying on my side and my hands were tucked under my face and he came up to me and his face bent low once more and kissed me at the back of my ear. his fingers slid under my hair and said, "see you later, babe, "

"Laters," I whispered back.

His head moved and his lips skimmed the back of my ear and his tongue touched there. That act, made my skin tingle, too. It tingled so much that my whole body ahivered.

He pulled the covers up my body to my shoulder and then he turned around and leave.

He was gone. No noise, not even the noise of the door opening and closing. He was just gone like he'd never been there.

Weird and crazy, right?

I satred at the door of my bedroom for a while. My body felt warm and sated but most of all tired. My mind didn't feel the same though.

I turned my back and tucked the covers around my naked body as I stared at my bedroom's ceiling. Thinking.

God I didn't even know his name.

"Fuck," I whispered to myself, "I am suck a freaking slut,"

The next morning, I was sitting at my home office in front of my computer.

I should have benn working today. I had three deadlines for the next two weeks and I'd barely begun my work. I am a freelance editor. I got paid by the hour and if I didn't work that hour, then I won't get paid.

I had a mouth to feed. And that is my own mouth. A body to clothe that likes all kinds of clothes therefore I had to feed it's habit. I also have an addiction with mixed drinks and cosmos didn't come cheap. I also have a house that needed fixing, therefore, I really need to get paid.

Well, that wasn't strictly true. I wasn't fixing my house. It was my dad who's fixing it. My dad did some of the work so does my friend, Enrico. So maybe I should say, I have a house and I am begging, guilting and blackmailing others emotionally into fixing it up.

But still, my house needed fixing. Since the tiles and cabinets won't move on their own and plant itselves in my house and say, "We're home Savie, we want to live with you, please fix us to your walls,"

Thise things only happens in my dreams, of which I have been having most of the time, daydreaming.

Like right now, sitting in front of my computer inside my home office, one heel to my seat and my chin on my knee while staring out my window. I was thinking about my Dream Lover. The man I have been daydreaming about. I was day dreaming of changing the scenario of how we first met. Me, of course, being smarter, funnier, more alluring and mysterious, more interesting that he will be hooked with my wit all wrapped up with my enticing looks that promised a lifetime of mind blowing orgasms that will make him declare his undying love for me.

But that won't happen since I was drunk that night and not any of the above mentioned things.

My mind stooped day dreaming when I hear the doorbell rang repeatedly annoying since one moment it will be loud and the next would be hoarse that made me think it went to a basketball game and cheered for it's favorite Philippine Basketball team. Damn it, my day dream has been starting to get good.

I got up and walked out of my home office to the living room and making a mental note to ask Nico (Enrico), if he could fix it for a half bucket of beers and a homemade pizza. Even though this would mean that he would bring his whiny, constantly bitchy and annoying girlfriend. Then I instantly changed my mind and decided to ask my dad for help.

I finally reach my living room and decided to ignore the state of it. Meaning it was messy. Dust rags are everywhere so does the laint brushes, power tools, cans and tubes of practically everything and everything is jumbled everywhere and now covered with dust.

I made it throught that area without my hand grabbing my own hair and screaming "you're just good at starting and not making any progress at all"

I got to the entryway that is between two narrow walls with gorgeous stained glass.

I remembered, two years ago, that stained glass became my undoing.

Two years ago, approximately five months and two weeks prior to meeting my Dream Lover, I'd walked to this ramboe and wrecked of a house and I saw that stained glass and turned to realtor when I announced, "I'll take it,"

The realtor's face had lit up like a light bulb being switched on a dark room.

I was with my dad when I bought it and he haven't even made it to the house yet, but he turned his eyes to the heavens. His prayers almost lasted a long time. Hiwever, his lecture is a looooot longer.

But still, I bought the house.

But maybe, I should have listened to my dad.

I looked at the window near the door and saw Arlene, my sister's friend, standing out of the door.

Shit.

Shit, shit and more shit.

I hated Arlene and she hated me more. If that's the case, then what the hell is she doing here?

Once more, I peeked at the window and tried to look at her back to see if my sister is with her. Checking the tress and shrubs that she might hide in. I wouldn't put it passed SK and Arlene to jump and grab me, tie me to the staircase and loot my house for whatever they might need.

In my darker day dreams, this was how SK and Arlene spent their days. I am convinced though, that this ain't far from the truth. No kidding.

Her eyes came to me at the window and her face scrunched up. Maybe she would look pretty scrunching her face if she did not use heavy make up like her eyeliner, blus and her lip liner that wasn't entirely different shade as her lip gloss

"I see you!" She shouted and I sighed.

Busted.

I went to the dorr because knowing Arlene, she would shout the house down and I like my neighbors. They don't need a biker bitch from hell standing on my doorstep shouting and screaming her gut out at nine thirty in the morning.

I opened it but not widely. I stand between the door and the jamb while keeping my hand on the door handle.

"Hey Arlene!" I greeted her with a fake smile and a fake cheery tone since I am not really happy about her home visit.

"Fuck, hey. Where is Sarah Katrina?" Arlene replied.

See! Total bitch.

It took me some effort to stop myself from rolling my eyes.

"No, Arlene," I answered.

"She's here. You better tell me she's here," she warned then looked behind me to peek inside the house and shouted,

"SK! You witch! If you're in there you better come out right freaking here and right freaking now!"

"Arlene!" I snapped, "Keep your freaking voice down. Dammit!"

She craned her neck like a giraffe and bounce up and down, yellong, "Sarah Katrina! You crazy and stupid bitch get your ass out here!"

I stepped out of the door and closed it behind me so she was forced to step back, hissing, "Seriously, Arlene, shut the friggin' up. SK isn't here and she was never here. Of all the people, you should know that so shut that mouth of yours and get the hell outta here,"

"You shut up!" She shot back, "You better be smart. You shouldn't help her..." She lifted her hand made a gun look a like with her fingers, created a gunshot sound and pointed it at me. The gunshot sound ahe made was loud and made her cheeks vibrate.

I might praise her for making that sound so realistic if only I am not scared by the way she looked at me and making that sound. She is so damn serious.

So instead of congratulating her with her one and only talent, I whispered, "What?"

She got on her motorcycle booted shoes and dropped her hand so we were eye to eye and she said in a whisper but scary tone, "D-E-A-D, Dead, you and and your sister SK. If you're not smart. Do you get me?

Then I asked her a stupid question. A question that always got a yes answer when it comes to my sister.

"Is SK in some kind of trouble?"

Arlene stared at me like I am crazy or missing a screw in my head. Then she lifted her hand once again trying to do the gun thing and pointed it at my head.

Then she turned around and walk swiftly out of my yard.

I, on the other hand, remained still, staring at her as she left. My mind yhough have absently noted that hshe was wearing a tight tank top, black leather motorcycle jacket, that is unzipped, a short and frayed jeans skirt that leaves nothing for your imagination, a black fishnet stockings paired with motorcycle boots.

The rest of my head though is caught up with what my sister got into this time, and the sound effect Arlene could make.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I drove my car, trying to convince myself that this was a decent plan while knowing that my first plan, in which, after Arlene had left and I returned home, I stepped straight to the phone and dialed my father's number, was correct, and this plan was rubbish.

My father and his wife, Evelyn, had previously disowned Sarah Katrina. It was about ten seconds after they returned home from a vacation to Boracay and had lost their happy, island holiday mojo when they saw their daughter on her knees in the living room, her head between the legs of a bare-chested man, his jeans open, his head lolled on the back of the couch because he was passed out, and SK was so high on whatever she was on she had passed out.

SK was so high on whatever she was on that she didn't realize her antics were getting her nowhere.

In addition, the living room, like the rest of the house, was a catastrophe.

As you can probably tell from this incident, I was apprehensive about involving my father in another SK scenario. Especially considering this wasn't the worst piece I'd ever written; it was only the end for Dad and Evelyn. They were living a carefree, Sarah Katrina-free existence at the time, and I didn't want to upset them.

As a result, I didn't dial Dad's number.

Instead, Tiger, SK's boyfriend, came to mind. Tiger was a member of a biker gang, and he was tough as nails. But I'd met Tiger before, and I liked him. Tiger was amusing, and funny and he liked my sister.

Around him, she was different. She wasn't much, but she was at least pleasant to be around.

Okay, so Tiger was probably a felon, but, ironically, he had a positive influence on Sarah Katrina, which didn't happen very often. Not in twenty-five years. So, after receiving word from Arlene, SK's one and only buddy, that SK's problems were becoming more serious than usual, I needed to take action first and then, because this was SK, call in reinforcements or, better yet, lay the matter at their door.

Here it comes.

I drove down the road to the auto supply store and parked on the sidewalk. I realized this was definitely a cover for a biker gang's narcotics operation even before I met Tiger.

Ride was the name of the store, and I'd gone there mostly because I could find an excuse to buy anywhere. However, Ride was fantastic. There was a lot of interesting material in there. That's where I got my windshield wiper fluid. Last year, I purchased new vehicle mats from them, and they were incredible, ultimate car mats, the nicest I'd ever had. And when I was in my twenties and going through one of my many phases, I went there and got a fluffy, pink steering wheel cover as well as a sparkly, pink Playboy Bunny thingie to hang from my rearview mirror in an effort to pimp my automobile.

Ride also had a triple-bay garage at the back, although it wasn't for standard automobiles or motorcycles. It was intended for custom-built automobiles and motorcycles.

Ride also had a triple-bay garage at the back, although it wasn't for standard automobiles or motorcycles. It was a world-famous show for custom-built automobiles and motorcycles. They designed and produced automobiles and motorcycles, and they were really cool. I'd seen an article about the site in a magazine. Movie stars and celebrities bought vehicles and motorcycles there, and I could understand why from the images. I wanted one, but I didn't have hundreds of million pesos, so it was a little lower on my list of things I wanted, right below a Tiffany's diamond bracelet, which was right below a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes.

I stepped out of my car and proceeded down the sidewalk to Ride, thinking that my dress would be acceptable. I wore low-rider jeans, low-heeled boots, and my motorcycle jacket with my hair in a feminine ponytail at the top rear of my head. Arlene's wasn't like mine. It was distressed tan leather, with quilting around the high waist, short, warm fur inside, and a six-inch tuft of fluffy fur at the sleeves. It was hot to begin with, and the deal I received on it was more scorching. I wasn't sure about the fluffy fur, though. I didn't think bikers cared about animal rights; I assumed they'd consider it a betrayal of their brotherhood, and that they'd beat me up.

Welp! Nothing was risked, and nothing was gained.

I straightened my shoulders, strolled into the colossal store, and marched directly to the long front counter with one cash register, despite the fact that the area may get crowded at times. I intended to ask if anyone there knew how I might contact Tiger because I didn't have his phone number. I wasn't expecting to find a tall, broad, inked-to-the-max Tiger standing on the other side of the bar, one huge, rough biker guy on his side of the counter, three on the outside, and all of them turning to me the moment I stepped in.

"Hey Tiger," I said with a smile as I walked up to him and came to a complete halt when his eyes sliced to me.

Uh-oh.

His eyes narrowed, and his countenance didn't even come close to concealing the fact that one look at me made him furious.

"Do not shite me," he hissed, and I paused for a nanosecond before peeing my pants, trying to recall the maneuvers I'd learned in the one-and-a-half-hour self-defense class I'd taken.

"Do not come in here and fuckin' shit me," Tiger said again when I didn't respond or move.

I told him, "I'm not shitting you," because I wasn't.

His brows furrowed. "Did you get a message from that cunt? Did she ask you to come here?"

Oh my, here we go again. The c-word was used by Tiger. I had a feeling the c-word wasn't as taboo in Biker Club Land as it was elsewhere in the English-speaking world, but it still said a lot.

Tiger spoke before I could. "You were sent by her." Savie, Jesus Christ, You only got one warning, lady. Get your head outta here, turn that sweet tail of yours, and get... outta... here."

Wow. Oh my, Tiger believed I had a beautiful and sweet tail. He was frightening, yet he wasn't completely repulsive, which I thought was good.

I concentrated on the task at hand, took a deep breath, and took a step forward. All of the riders went on high alert, or, to be more precise, frightening biker dude alert, so I came to a complete stop.

"SK didn't send me," I told Tiger.

"I'm cool with you, sweetheart," he said.

"No, she didn't do it. Arlene showed up this morning, and she completely freaked me out. She did this thing too." I raised my hand and did the gun thing with it.

I forged on despite the fact that my gun blast was nothing near as good as hers. "She seemed serious, so I wanted to check in with you to make sure Sarah Katrina was okay."

"SK isn't doing well," Tiger responded quickly. "SK far from being alright and doing well."

I shut my eyes. Then I let out a sigh. I sighed loudly, and I was good at it because my sister had me sigh a lot, so I was used to it. Then I blinked open my eyes.

I deduced, "I take it you two aren't together anymore."

Tiger affirmed, "No, darling, we're not."

Damn.

"What was she going to do now?" I inquired.

Tiger replied, "You don't want to know."

"Are the cops on her tail?"

"Probably."

I kept looking at him. "But that's not why she's in trouble?" I countered.

"Sk is in a lot of trouble, sweetie." But that's the least of her concerns if the cops are pursuing her."

"Oh boy," I said quietly.

Dog said, "That's about right," before shifting his gaze over my shoulder.

"Who's this?" a deep, gravelly voice asked as I turned to see what he was looking at.

Then I noticed him. I'm not a big fan of bikers, but this guy has me leaning towards the Harley side. He was of average height. He was broad and ripped, and neither of those things were "ish." He had several tattoos across his arms and neck that I had to get up close and personal with, cataloguing them and potentially writing books about them. He had salt and pepper hair, which was basically pepper, dark pepper, and it was long and wavy, but not too long or wavy.

Likewise, the pepper in his salt and pepper goatee, which hung a little too long at his chin in a gigantic awesome biker style. His cheeks were in desperate need of a shave, which he really looked excellent in. Around his blue eyes, he had pale spikes emanating from his tan skin. All that was him could be described in simply two words: Biker Hottie.

"Hey," I said quietly, and his gaze shifted from over my shoulder, where he was looking at Tiger, to me, causing my entire body to tingle.

Then his blue eyes completed a full body scan, causing it to shudder once more.

"Hey," he snarled, his gravelly voice fixed on mine.

Yet another shiver.

Yowza!

"She's cool, Blade. She's right here with me "Tiger stated, "My body lurched, and I turned to see he was around the counter, heading my way."

"Am I?" I inquired, and Tiger's gaze pinned me to the spot and said, "Shut the fuck up!"

I closed my mouth, shut the fuck up, and returned my attention to Biker Hottie.

"Does Sam know anything about her?" Biker Hottie inquired.

I turned to face Tiger, who was standing beside me. "Sam?"

"How many bimbos do you require?" Biker Hottie continued.

"Brother, she's not my woman; she's a friend. She's cool "Tiger responded.

"Okay, fine. So, who exactly is she?" Blade, also known as Biker Hottie, pushed.

"Her name is Savannah," Tiger replied, as Blade looked at me and I froze.

Then I watched his lips move softly to form my name.

"Savannah."

Yet another shiver.

I'd always liked the sound of my name. I've always thought it was lovely.

Blade saying it made me absolutely adore my name more.

"So, Savannah, who are you?" he asked directly.

"I'm a friend of Tiger's," I explained.

"We figured that out, darlin'," he said. "How do you know my boy here?"

"She's Sarah Katrina's sister," Tiger said quickly, and Blade's entire, powerfully built frame instantly went wired, and it was so terrifying that I forgot how to breathe.

"Tell me she's here to drop the money, brother," Blade said in a voice as terrifying as the way he held his body, if not more so.

"She and SK aren't particularly close," Tiger explained. "She's cool, as I previously stated. She's a nice person."

"She's enemy blood, Tig," Blade said quietly.

Uh-oh. Oh, no! Oh my gosh.

I didn't want to be the enemy's blood, not anyone's enemy, but especially not this guy's. He was hot, but he was also terrifying. And he's starting to frighten me.

It's time to get things straightened out as soon as possible.

I snatched my purse from my shoulder and yanked it open, muttering, "Sarah Katrina, is a pain in my a$$. She's been a pain in my a$$ since she cut off all the hair on my Barbies. She was three years old. Barbies were too old for me, but they were mine. She couldn't leave them alone, could she? What's the point of cutting their hair?" I turned to Tiger and said, "That's what I think psychos do. We should have known better back then. She's three years old, wielding scissors and causing havoc and heartbreak." I continued to blab as I dug through my purse, found my checkbook, and then scrounged for a pen, declaring, "She was always, always a bad seed."

I yanked out my checkbook, flipped it open, smartly clicked my pen, pointed to the check, and looked at Blade.

"OK, how much does she owe you?" I inquired angrily, not happy to be bailing Sarah Katrina out yet again, especially when money and angry bikers were involved.