4 - Kilian
Kilian
KADE’S HAND CLAPS my shoulder once. I don’t need to look at him to catch what he’s throwing. The man hasn’t pushed me toward a woman in the years that I’ve known him. Now, I can tell exactly what’s on his mind: Don’t screw this up.
But I want to screw it up.
I need to screw it up.
I need to make her back away. I thought it worked in the classroom; she looked horrified then. But how is it that she’s climbing onto my bike? How is she this close again?
She settles in behind me, and every nerve in my body vibrates. Her hands hover at my sides for a second, then grab my cut tentatively. She’s trying to keep her distance, but there’s no distance on a bike. The second I accelerate, she’ll be flushed on my back.
I would very much like it the other way. Me behind her, my legs around her hips, her back pressed to my chest where I could slide a hand down her stomach, past the waistband of whatever she’s wearing under that dress, and put my mouth to her ear while my fingers find out exactly how wet she is—
I cut it off there.
My balls are heavy even before she swung her leg over the seat, and letting that image run its full course will only make the next ten minutes torture. I only have two options from here: get her home quickly, then get myself home even quicker. My balls are going to burst if I don’t drain them.
The alternative is taking her, and that’s not going to happen.
I put both hands on the bars and start the engine. The rumble takes maybe five percent of the thought I’m trying to kill. I’ll take it. The rumble does relax me.
The bike moves, she jerks forward with the momentum, and her breasts press into my back.
Her arms slide around my waist to anchor herself, and that five percent I just won gets swallowed.
I’m back to a hundred percent, then past it, and all I’ve got in my head now is the two points where her breasts push against my back, flattening with every breath she takes.
My cock, already hard, gives a painful twitch. I want those breasts in my mouth. I want to peel that dress off her and put my mouth on every inch of skin I find underneath it.
I grit my teeth. Fuck this.
I haven’t had thoughts this specific about a woman before. Her hair smells like apples, and the wind is doing me no favors, whipping strands against my neck and my jaw. That’s probably what’s doing it, her scent, messing with my head.
I accelerate, taking the turn out of Kade’s lot. The sooner I reach her place, the sooner I’ll be out of this misery.
“Kade’s married,” I say over my shoulder, and I have no idea why that’s the first thing out of my mouth.
There’s a pause. Her hands go rigid on my stomach before she answers. “Okay?”
“Thought you’d want to know.”
A few seconds pass. The wind eats them. Then her voice, a little sharp. “Why would I need to know that again?”
I roll my jaw. The answer is there, in my chest, smoldering, but the words don’t form, and even if they form, I can’t let them out.
I keep my eyes on the road and put more pressure on the throttle instead, and the bike responds, pushing us forward.
She tightens her hold with the acceleration, her fingers dig into the muscle below my ribs.
It’s worse. My pulse spikes. A bead of precum leaks from the tip of my cock. Damn it. I press my back teeth together.
“He’s in love with his wife. If you’re getting any ideas, forget it.“ I don’t know why I’m still talking. The words sound exactly as ridiculous out loud as they did in my head.
“What?” Her voice pitches higher, indignant. “I was being nice to a nice man who’s helping me fix my car. What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me.”
“You sound jealous.”
I am absolutely jealous.
The realization doesn’t shock me. It’s already there, fully formed, sitting in my gut, just waiting for her to name it.
“Why would I be jealous?” I say instead, my hands tightening on the handlebars. I’m mentally working to hold myself because if I don’t redirect this, I’ll humiliate myself even more. So I adjust the spotlight.
“Why’d your car break down in front of Kade’s shop of all places?” I already know the answer. “You stalking someone, Miss Walsh?”
Her hands go rigid for a beat. “I’m not stalking anyone.”
“Hard not to notice when it’s a bright red Honda tailing me.”
She doesn’t say a word. I take the next turn and let the quiet do the work for me because the truth is, I don’t need her to talk. I need her to stop showing up. Stop making me want things I have no right wanting. I need her as far away from me as possible, and I need to put that distance myself.
Every second she’s near is another crack in a wall I’ve been shoring up since the moment I met her. The cracks are gaining on me.
She tests what’s left of that wall when the bike hits a seam in the asphalt. Her whole body jolts forward, her breasts flatten on my back, and the pressure travels through my spine and lands square in my balls.
My vision narrows to the road. My grip tightens. This woman is going to be the end of me.
When we reach her rental finally, she slides off the bike and fumbles with the helmet. I watch her struggle for a second before she finally gets it loose and holds the helmet out to me.
“Thanks for the ride,” she says.
I need to leave. Now. Before I do something stupid, before my control breaks completely, and I do something I can’t walk away from.
I rev the engine once, twice.
“Stay away,” I say.
I don’t wait for her to respond. I kick off and tear down the road, and I ride until her cottage disappears from my mirrors.
I need to go home.
To drown this with whiskey and a cold shower and whatever else it takes to scrub the last ten minutes from my memory.
I accelerate harder.
Damn it, I can’t get rid of her. The wind should be stripping it away at this speed, but the apple scent is stuck in my jacket. I turn my head and it follows. I breathe through my mouth and it’s there too.
My body aches with every mile the tires eat up, and the pressure keeps building.
I accelerate more, trying to outrun it, but my mind throws a slow-motion replay. Her breasts flattening against my back when the bike hit that bump, her full weight squishing her tits before she pulled away and they bounced back into the heavy and round and perfect shape.
I’m not going to make it home.
A curse leaves my mouth. I swerve the bike onto the gravel shoulder, the rear tire skidding before I kick the stand down and kill the engine.
I’m off the bike and into the tree line before I’ve even removed my helmet, and I don’t remove it.
I leave it on, visor up, because the act of unbuckling it would require patience I don’t have now.
My hands are shaking.
I’m a mess. It’s not even dark yet. Anyone could drive past and see my bike parked on the shoulder. I can’t even be bothered to protect my own fucking dignity.
My head drops forward behind the tree while my hands go for my belt buckle.
When I close my eyes, she’s there.
Her weight against my back. Her breasts pressed flat. The sound of her breathing, her mouth close to my neck. Her trembling fingers on my stomach traveling down, unbuckling, unzipping, pulling me free.
I hear the first stroke. It’s already wet from the precum that’s been leaking out of me.
“Fuck,” I grunt, my voice rough in the quiet woods. My hips start to move, pushing into her fist. “That’s it… feel what you do to me?”
Her hand tightens, thumb circling, feeling the ridges. Learning my shape. Then moving. Up and down. Up and down.
The pressure at the base of my spine is a fist, squeezing, and my balls are tight and heavy and I’m done. I’m losing it. I’m not going to last. A few more strokes, that’s all I’ve got before I blow.
As if she could read my mind, she goes faster.
A few more-strokes. It-will only take a few more-strokes now—
“Ahh—fuck—”
My back bows. My teeth lock together, and the sound that tears out of me is barely human. I come so hard my vision turns blurry, the spend hits the dead leaves below in thick, heavy ropes.
I buck hard. Then again and again until my fingers claw into the tree bark just to stay standing. My release thin to drips, but her hand is still working, still wringing out every last tremor, every last drop, milking until I’m empty.
I stand there. Catching my breath until the birds start to chirp.
I just came in the dirt, damn it. Braced against a tree a few feet from the side of a public road. This has never happened to me. Not in the military. Not before. Not in the years since. No woman has ever driven me to this desperation.
I wipe my hand on my jeans. Tuck myself back in. Fix the buckle. Every action is a nail in the coffin of my self-respect.
I’m fucked.
There is no other word for it.