Chapter 10
Zara
There's just something about fresh mountain air that makes me feel wild and free. Riding on the back of Owen's bike is much different from any ride I ever shared with Billy. Owen is easily twice Billy's size, and not once, even on some of the sharpest curves when we had to really lean into them, did I feel unsafe.
Owen commanded this piece of machinery like it was an extension of his own body, as if he's done nothing but drive this thing his entire life. There was a sense of safety in that for me, but the security I felt begins to fade the second he turns the bike off at the overlook.
Despite the cold air that's gently blowing against us, all I feel is the warmth of his body against mine.
Along with the wildness scratching at my skin, I also feel a sense of bravery, as if I can be anyone on the top of this mountain. My history doesn't matter. The fact that I haven't been attracted to any man in a very long time is a distant memory. None of it matters in this moment.
Surprisingly, he doesn't jerk my hands away from his body, but he doesn't press his hands to mine, forcing me to touch him hard either. It seems he's leaving it to me, but I also know just how easily his mood can shift. He wanted me the other night. I felt the proof of it against my back, but it still didn't stop him from walking away. The man has more control and restraint than I've ever seen, and there's something alluring about that.
Billy gave everyone a ride that even glanced in his direction. He told me once he couldn't control it. He explained that to me the one time I visited him in jail, requesting his signature on the divorce papers. In the end, he told me that in prison he could stay faithful. The ignorant man didn't see the problem with steel bars being a requirement for him to stay true to his wedding vows.
I pull in a deep breath and release it, sending with it any and all thoughts of my ex.
Instead of listening to the whisper in my head that is telling me I could very easily end up alone, walking back to my car on this isolated road if Owen once again changes his mind, I work to unzip his jeans, taking it as a good sign when he leans back, giving me a little better access to it.
His groan rumbles through his chest, and I can feel it through our connection at his back when he falls into my hand. He doesn't hiss and pull away despite the temperature differences in our skin.
I feel more than a small hint of disappointment when he climbs off the bike, breaking our connection, but in the next breath, he's pulling me from it as well, his eyes locked on mine as his forefinger and thumb clamp onto my chin. The pressure is rougher than a lover's touch, but the aggression behind the slight tremble in his fingers turns me on, probably more than it should.
I don't know this man. He could be just as dangerous as I've imagined he could be, but would a man who wishes me ill will sit and stare at me in front of witnesses several times? Would he let people see his face to the point he could easily be identified by people in the bar and still have intentions of hurting me?
"Are you going to hurt me?" I whisper, knowing he could easily lie to me in order to make me feel more at ease.
"Probably," he whispers, his voice still as gruff as it was the first time he came into the bar and ordered a beer.
I dip my head in understanding, but I think there's a very good chance he's reading more into this than he needs to be. I didn't plan to make that filthy confession the other day, but nothing has changed for me. I don't need my life to revolve around another man. I spent over ten years in an unhealthy marriage because I thought love and affection were all I needed in life.
Good sex with no expectations seems like a better bet.
With his fingers still clamping my face, he leans in closer, but the kiss I expect never comes. Instead, warmth from his breath curls around my neck.
"You want me to fuck you."
It isn't a question, but I can feel his need for confirmation in the way his body trembles, as if he's fighting taking me exactly the way he wants without caring what my thoughts are on this entire situation. I know if he lets that part take over, he'll use me up, leaving me nothing but a whimpering mess. But I also know, by the way my body is begging me for exactly what he has to offer, that I'll be left more satisfied than I ever have been before.
"Yes," I whisper, pulling my head back so I can look right into those complicated eyes of his.
I reach down, wrapping my hands around his thick cock as it juts outward, as if begging for some relief.
He doesn't let me dip my head to watch as I touch him, his hold insisting that our eyes meet.
It feels too personal, too intimate, the way we stare at each other. The only control I have is to close my eyes, but his stare is too intense to break the hold he has on me.
A warning echoes in my head, but taking a step back is the very last thing I can manage right now. I'm completely at his mercy, and when that dimple in his cheek deepens, I know he knows it too.
"How wet is your cunt?" he growls, his lip twitching as if he can sense the answer.
I shake my head. "I don't know."
"Liar," he spits. "I'd bet my bike you're soaked. You like danger, don't you, Zara?"
My name sounds more like a curse on his tongue than an acknowledgment of who he's actually speaking to, and for some reason, that does it for me as well .
"What would you do if I told you to suck my cock?"
I swallow before speaking, the thrill from him speaking more to me now than he ever has before.
"I'd ask for your jacket so the gravel hurts less on my knees."
His teeth scrape across his lower lip as if he loves the response I give, but when he releases his lock on my chin, he doesn't urge me to the ground. Instead, he pulls his wallet from his pocket, the foil packet he pulls from inside of it glistening in the moonlight.
I stand stock-still as he takes a step back, opening the packet with his teeth, before rolling the condom down his cock. The thin latex does nothing to hide the thick roping of veins along his shaft, and I feel a modicum of regret for not having the opportunity to see if I could fit the massive thing in my mouth. I shift my weight on my feet, knowing just how sore I'm going to be in the morning, but it's anticipation rather than fear that's making me a little lightheaded.
"Unzip your pants. Shove them down past your knees," he growls. "Tits out."
I blink up at him, my brain glitching on which task to satisfy first, but I figure doing it in the order that he demands would be best.
Frigid air licks at my overheated skin the second I unzip my jeans, but I shove them past my knees as he commanded before lifting my shirt and bra up to free my breasts.
My hands tremble as I lower them back to my sides, but it has nothing to do with the cold air. If anything, my body is trying not to overheat from the arousal I feel, despite the puffs of visible air leaving my lungs between the two of us.
"Watch out for the exhaust," he says as he turns me away from him to face his motorcycle.
The safety warning seems a little out of place, but it's forgotten the second his hand on my back urges me to lean forward. I bend and hold myself that way rather than resting my weight on his bike, fearful I'll tip the entire thing over.
A hiss of pleasure gets lost on the breeze when he digs a finger inside of me without warning.
"Fucking knew it," he snaps, his finger dipping in twice before he urges a second one into me.
I'm drenched, something I knew long before he even asked. I think the rumble of the bike between my legs started it, and I was more than ready by the time my hands roamed down the front of his body on the drive up the mountain.
I attempt to spread my legs wider, hoping he'll also ease the ache in my clit, but my jeans are too tight around my legs, preventing me from doing anything other than just standing here and taking whatever he feels the urge to give me.
He groans when I flex my internal muscles, clamping down on his fingers.
With a bruising grip on my hip, he pulls his fingers free. A second later, heat from the tip of his cock meets my most sensitive spot. He presses forward, his length sliding easily through my slickened desire along my clit.
I moan as if we're the only two people in existence, taking no care that we passed a discreet driveway less than a quarter mile before we reached the summit.
By the noise that escapes his lips, it's clear the man could probably come by just sliding through the clamp of my legs. I have no doubt if he does it long enough, he could easily carry me over that edge with him, but I ache to feel him inside of me.
"Please," I beg, needing more in order to satisfy that bone-deep throb inside of me.
I wince when his fingers tug my head back, the grip of his hand on my hip forcing a deep arch into my spine.
"You'll get what I feel like giving you," he growls in my ear, but we must have the same train of thought because it only takes two more ragged breaths before he's notched himself right at my entrance.
I know how hard he's planning on taking me when the grip of both his hands tightens .
Pain has never been something I ever thought to consider where sex was concerned, but there's just something inherently natural about the way the aches in both my scalp and on my hip turn me on.
Instead of slamming into me as I expect him to, he presses forward, his thickness forcing my body to accommodate him.
We moan in unison, my legs growing weaker the further he pushes into me.
The second he finds the end of me, he pulls back and pushes forward again. I swear the man is splitting me in two, but my body hums with the need for more.
Surprisingly, warm fingers press against my clit, the grip of his hand on my hip gone but leaving behind the burn of the pressure he applied.
He seems content with the slow glide in and out of me, his breath ragged in my ear until his cock nudges that perfect spot deep inside of me and I cry out his name, the two syllables of it disappearing on the wind quicker than it took to speak them.
Instead of swirling his fingers on my clit like I'm so desperate for, he reaches further, curling a finger alongside his cock into my impossibly tight heat.
I scream once again, but the pain is merely a shadow left behind as pleasure takes over. I feel split in two just as I predicted I would, only the level of pleasure it brings is something I know I'll crave long after we're done.
"Shouldn't feel this fucking good," he snarls in my ear, his hips now pistoning, cock slamming into me so that the sound of skin hitting skin reverberates through the dark night.
The orgasm takes me by surprise, my inner walls clamping down on his cock and begging for more. He fucks me through it, all sane thoughts escaping on my cries of sheer pleasure. It feels endless, eternal, as if it could last forever, and when his cock thickens inside of me, asking my body for just a little more than it should be able to take, it's once again prolonged .
His grip on me tightens with every pulse of cock deep inside of me, and I have no doubt that when he pulls his fingers free of my hair, clumps of it will remain in his grip.
All I've done is stand here and take what he has to offer, but you wouldn't be able to convince my body of that. I feel drained, like I've run a marathon on nothing but a glass of water and a prayer.
I feel overwhelmed, the trembling in every muscle in my body showing no signs of slowing anytime soon.
I feel the warmth of his hands as he turns me to face him, smell the bodywash on his skin when he pulls me to him, his hands working to pull up my jeans.
The tips of my breasts scrape over his clothing as I'm jostled in his bid to get me dressed. I feel weightless, my head incapable of forming real thoughts.
I feel the helmet settle on my head, and I manage to climb on the back of the bike when he urges me to do so. I sense the rumble of the machine, the vibration sending me to a whole other plane.
Then I'm on my front stoop, his hands in my jeans pocket, the jingle of my keys as the door is unlocked.
Then the warmth of the room, the closing of the front door, and then silence.
It takes much longer than it should for me to come to my senses enough to realize that the man brought me home without even having to ask where I lived.
Just who the fuck is Owen Clark?