Chapter 5
TILLY
The flatbed came twenty minutes later. A guy named Huck with a toothpick between his teeth and a faded trucker cap looked at Corban's Harley and said:
"Jesus, brother. What'd you do to her?"
"Long story," Corban said.
Huck winched the bike up slowly, shaking his head the whole time. Every scrape against the bed made me flinch. Corban didn't watch.
Officer Dave wrote something on his notepad, tore the page off, and handed it to Corban. "Incident report. No citation. Keep it under thirty next time."
"Appreciate it, Dave."
Dave looked at me one more time. He almost smiled but caught it.
"Drive safe," he said. To me, specifically.
Then both of them were gone, and it was just us, sitting on the side of the road.
"I can drive you," I said. "To your place… Or wherever."
"Your place is closer."
"How do you know where my place is?"
He nodded to where I'd gestured at earlier. "You pointed."
Right.
"I'm not driving," I said.
He looked at me.
"I almost killed you. I'm not getting behind the wheel again until next week. Maybe next month."
The corner of his mouth pulled up. "Give me the keys."
"You just crashed a motorcycle."
"And now I'm driving a car.” I looked and he added, “Slow and safe.”
I handed him the keys.
He took his time standing. I could see what it cost him. The way his jaw went tight and his shoulders braced, but he didn't make a sound. Just straightened to his full height, and held out his hand.
I took it. His palm was rough and warm and about three times the size of mine, and he pulled me to my feet like I weighed nothing.
He didn't let go right away, and neither did I.
Then he turned toward the car, and I saw the back of his jacket. The leather was shredded but it had done its job.
"Corban...”
"I know," he said. "Later."
He drove like a normal person with both hands on the wheel, and his eyes on the road, five under the speed limit. My little red hatchback looked absurd with him in it. His knees were up near the dash and his head almost touched the roof and the seat was pushed back as far as it would go.
"You look like a bear in a clown car," I said.
"Feel like one too."
He pulled up outside the cafe, and got out slowly.
He followed me up the stairs with the occasional grunt, and I unlocked the door and pushed it open.
"It's a mess," I said. "I just moved in today so there's boxes everywhere and I haven’t…”
I turned to face him and stopped.
He was standing just inside the doorway, and he was smiling. Not at me. Past me. Over my shoulder.
My stomach dropped.
I knew what was there. Everything was just right there in the open.
I turned around slowly.
My bright pink vibrator was standing straight up on the nightstand like a little silicone monument. I'd left it out because no one was supposed to be here, and I was going to take a bath and turn it on while I fantasized about the man who was standing right beside me.
Oh God.
"That's not…” I spun back to him. "It's not what it… I mean it is what it looks like but it’s… I just moved in and I was unpacking and it was in my bag and I put it there because I didn't have a drawer yet and…”
He kissed me.
One hand on my jaw, the other sliding around my waist, and everything else just stopped. The words. The embarrassment. All of it gone.
He kissed me slow, and deep. Like he'd been thinking about nothing else. His hand was warm against my face and his thumb stroked my cheekbone.
My knees went soft, and I melted into him, my hands finding his chest, feeling the solid heat of him through the ruined leather. A sound came out of me, something small and involuntary, and he swallowed it whole.
When he pulled back, I kept my eyes closed.
I stayed there, where it was safe, and I could still feel the ghost of his mouth.
I opened my eyes.
He was staring at me. Not smiling now. My chest ached with a feeling I had never experienced in all my years.
"I can explain," I whispered.
"What?"
I pointed at the nightstand without looking. "That."
His mouth twitched as he held my gaze. “You won't be needing it anymore. If you choose."
"I do," I said.
Way too fast. The words fell out before I could catch them, and my cheeks burned, but I didn't take them back.
His eyes darkened. His hand was still on my waist, and his fingers pressed in just slightly.
"Then you'd better get out of this dress," he said, low and quiet, "before we make a mess."
The air left my lungs.
I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't do anything but stand there with my heart slamming against my ribs and my skin buzzing everywhere he touched me.
He waited.
Then his hand dropped to the hem of my dress. His fingertips brushing the fabric at my thighs. He crouched slowly, and looked up at me from below.
I nodded.
He lifted my dress inch by inch. His knuckles grazed my thighs, my hips, my ribs, and I raised my arms and let him pull it over my head.
He dropped it on the floor, and I stood there in my bra and underwear, as his eyes moved over me like I was something special.
Then his jaw tightened and he said, "I don't have a condom."
The words landed somewhere between relief and disappointment.
"I'm not on the pill," I said.
His hand came up and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and his thumb traced along my jaw.
"Then we wait," he said.
"Okay."
But neither of us moved.
I reached behind my back and unclasped my bra and let it fall. His eyes dropped and his throat moved, and I hooked my thumbs into my underwear and slid them down before I could lose my nerve.
I stood there, naked, in front of a man for the first time in my life.
His gaze moved slowly over every part of me. Like he couldn't quite believe I was standing in front of him like this.
"Jesus Christ, Tilly," he said, in a low rumble.
Something lit up inside me. Something bold and reckless that didn't feel like me at all but also felt exactly like me. The truest version of me.
"I want to see you," I said.
He held my gaze for a beat, then reached back and pulled his ruined jacket off one shoulder, then the other.
It hit the floor with a heavy sound. His shirt came next.
His chest was broad and inked and solid, and his stomach was flat and hard, and a trail of dark hair disappeared below his waistband.
He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans, then pushed them down with his boxers and stepped out of them.
And there it was.
I stared.
I had never seen one in real life.
I'd seen pictures. Watched videos late at night with the volume down.
But none of that had prepared me for the reality of him.
He was soft... mostly... and already bigger than my vibrator. Thicker. Heavier looking.
My brain short-circuited and sent a hot, liquid rush straight down between my legs.
"Are you okay?" I asked, remembering the road rash, the crash, all of it.
He did a slow turn with his arms out slightly, like he was presenting himself for inspection. His back was red and already bruising, but the skin wasn’t broken. Nothing looked seriously damaged. He came back around to face me, and that almost-smile was there.
"I'll live," he said.
But I wasn't looking at his back anymore.
I reached out slowly, like it was something delicate. Something that required care. My fingers touched him, light and tentative, and I wrapped my hand around him as much as I could.
He was warm and getting warmer, and I felt him thicken in my hand. He shifted and he grew and hardened against my palm until he was solid and full and straining and I couldn't look away. I was mesmerized. Every pulse. Every twitch. The way his breathing changed.
He didn't move. He didn't rush me. He just stood there, hard in my hand, his chest rising and falling deeper now, watching me watch him.
"Can I kiss it?" I said.
His breath caught. "Fuck. Yeah."
I bent down and pressed my lips against him. Just a soft kiss. Then my tongue slid out and I licked, slow, from base to tip, and I licked my lips and tasted salt and skin. Him.
Don't let a chance like this go by.
I dropped to my knees and looked up at him once.
His dark eyes were looking down at me as I slid as much of him as I could take into my mouth.
My lips stretched around him and my tongue pressed flat against the underside and I sucked, slow and then faster, finding a rhythm, licking and pulling and tasting and thinking this was better than anything I'd ever had in my life.
He was hard as stone. His breathing turned ragged, one hand coming to rest on the top of my head, not pushing, just resting, his fingers threading into my hair.
"You'd better stop," he said, his voice wrecked.
I pulled back just enough to speak, my lips still touching him. "I don't want to."
"I can't hold on much longer."
"I don't want you to."
A rough exhale. "You might not…”
"I want to taste you."
His hand tightened in my hair. "You sure?"
"I have never been more sure of anything."
With a groan that sounded like it was pulled out of his chest, I felt him pulse against my tongue, hot and thick, and I swallowed all of it. Every drop. His taste was addictive, and I swallowed again and licked my lips as I stood up.
He looked at me like I'd just ruined him and he'd never be the same.
Then he bent down and kissed me.