Chapter 17
Ipushed outside after my last class of the day, the warm breeze an instant balm across my skin.
The sun was just starting to set, casting a deep orange glow through the trees on the CCU campus.
All the trees, green lawns, and manicured paths and gardens looked particularly beautiful at this time of day.
I skipped down the steps of the building, stopping short at the sight of Boston, yet again perched against an impressive looking shiny black motorcycle, waiting for me.
Boston might be a terrifying human being to most of Seattle, but he looked damn good in black-fitted biker leathers.
The material was taut across his firm quads.
It was warm out today, so his top half was covered in a snug fitting black t-shirt that clung to his arms. Those same arms were folded across his chest, his boot-clad feet crossed at his ankles as he leaned against the black machine at his back.
“Just hear me out before you stonewall me,” he rumbled in that deep tone of his.
I hesitated, waiting for the sense of uneasiness that usually filled me at the sight of Boston. I shouldn’t be indulging anything when it came to him. Despite Dacre and Sinclair giving me the green light to get to know Boston, I was still flooded with guilt over even talking to him.
Yet for some inexplicable reason, I stopped on the path in front of him, crossing my arms over my chest and allowing him the grace of hearing him out.
Silence hung between us as we stared at each other.
“Is this what you were hoping for? A few moments to gawk at me?”
He wanted me to listen. That didn’t mean I had to make it easy for him.
He uncrossed his arms, gripping the bike at either side of his hips. His eyes never strayed from me. “Take a ride with me.”
A disbelieving sound came out of me.
“I promise I won’t take you away from here.”
My eyes dropped to my feet, and I suddenly felt exposed under his scrutiny. Was I that easy to read that he had me figured out already? I remember feeling the same way with Sinclair those first few weeks, and something about it made me soften the smallest amount towards Boston.
Sinclair had been nothing like what he seemed on the outside. Maybe there was a chance Boston was the same. Or maybe there was a chance I was a naive fool, and this was all a ploy orchestrated by Boston and our fathers.
“Is going for a ride really that crazy?” he pressed. “You don’t even have to talk to me with a helmet on.” I swear there was a hint of amusement in his gaze. Like my discomfort was entertaining to him.
Asshole.
I quirked a brow at him in challenge. “I have to touch you though.”
“Most women would see that as a selling point.”
He managed to surprise me again with that response.
“Wow, bragging about your wonder dick? Classy.”
The intensity of his gaze against my skin was unsettling. “Your words, not mine.”
When I looked away from him again, content to stand there in silence, he pushed to his feet. He was a mountain of a man up close, wider than Dacre and the same height as Presley.
He moved close, invading my space, but I was rooted to the spot. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he could force me to step back, and I didn’t want to cower to him.
He dipped his head to speak, his voice a low rumble against my cheek. “I’m not the devil you think I am.”
I took in a slow breath, fighting to stop my eyes fluttering shut at his words, his breath across my skin, and his body so close to mine.
“And don’t pretend like you haven’t thought about what it would be like to run your hands all over me.” He paused. “Because I’ve thought about it with you.”
What the actual fuck…?
He’d been strangely relaxed with me outside the gallery, but this was like a personality-one-eighty. Gone was the brutal enforcer, replaced with a version of Boston who was… charming. That notion was almost scarier than his prior reputation.
My eyes snapped to his as he pulled back to stare down at me.
When I’d confronted him at the club that night with Arena, I’d thought he was going to throttle me. Now he was flirting with me?
His gaze was filled with challenge. “So how about that ride?”
When I didn’t protest again, he slipped my books from my arms and placed them in a compartment under the seat of the bike. Then he bent to pick up a light grey helmet from the ground at his feet.
“You going to knee me in the junk if I put this on you?” He gestured to me with the helmet.
“Maybe,” I deadpanned. “How badly do you want me to go for a ride with you?”
He slipped the helmet over my head without hesitating, my head instantly cushioned on all sides.
Even under threat of a junk punch, he wanted me to go with him.
I couldn’t tell whether this was part of a bigger game to him.
Had trying to intimidate me into submission failed so he was pivoting to attempting to charm me into letting my guard down to get what he wanted?
I still had no idea what that even was.
His fingers brushed over my skin, tightening the chin strap.
He paused for a second, taking in the sight of me in my jeans, shirt, and his helmet.
His gaze flared with something I couldn’t read, and he turned away, swinging a leg over the bike and seating himself.
The leather of his pants creaked as it stretched across his thighs.
He offered a hand to me and I took it.
“Step on that small silver pedal.” He motioned to it and I did as he said, gripping his hand and swinging my leg over the bike so I was seated behind him.
The bike was wider than I expected, my thighs forced wide open around his body.
He glanced back at me over his shoulder, then both of his hands landed on my thighs, and he yanked me forward so I was flush against him.
My pulse pounded through my veins, and I swallowed hard.
This was how we were going to ride?
When he started the engine, the roar of it startled me, anticipation rippling through me and leaving me tingling from head to toe. He picked up his own helmet from the handlebar, pulling it down over his head.
Boston reached around and took my wrists, bringing my arms around his body, my palms flattening on his abs. “Hold on tight, Firecracker.”
Before I had a chance to take a breath, he twisted the throttle and the bike shot forward making me scream.
He tore around the winding roads of the CCU campus, the bike tilting from side to side and making me squeal each time.
We came to a stop when we reached the road, waiting for a clear break in traffic.
As Boston kept an eye on the cars, his hand landed on mine, giving it a reassuring pat.
It was such a small, almost insignificant gesture. But taking the time to comfort me in that way was meaningful. How was I supposed to reconcile that the man who’d just offered me a sweet, simple kind of reassurance was also the violent monster of Seattle I’d heard so much about?
It didn’t make sense to me.
Boston pulled out on the road, gunning the bike the moment the traffic thinned. He headed for the coast, the ocean breeze whipping over the helmet. He sped up once more and my fingers tightened into fists in his t-shirt, my knuckles brushing against his hard abs.
I pressed my back to his front, the fear vibrating through me forcing me as close as I could get to his solid warmth.
When he gunned it even faster, another scream tore from my mouth, lost in the helmet and on the wind. He heard it though, if the chuckle shaking his body was any indication. I let go long enough to smack at his shoulder. He gunned the bike again and I jolted back, scrambling to grip onto him.
We pulled up to a red light, and I sucked in several deep breaths. The adrenaline pulsing in my veins had me trembling in the best way, and I had to work to stop myself from jittering as I waited for the light to change.
Boston glanced at me over his shoulder, his hand landing on my jiggling thigh. I instantly stilled, his fingers gliding over me in soothing circles. My helmeted head dropped to his back as I focused on the touch, calming my frazzled senses and grounding me.
I shouldn’t be enjoying any of this. Not the bike ride. Not his proximity. And definitely not the feel of his hand on my thigh.
My body and mind were both in turmoil right now.
Boston Ivers was making me feel things I swore I never would. Things I didn’t think I had any room left for with Dacre, Pres, and Sin taking up so much space inside me.
The light changed and Boston’s hand moved from my leg back to the bike.
We rode for another fifteen minutes until he pulled off the road to a small outcropping overlooking the beach.
He offered me a hand, helping me off the bike, before swinging a leg over himself and standing in front of me.
He reached for the chin strap on my helmet.
My hands were shaking violently with the thrill of adrenaline.
He pulled the helmet from my head and placed it on the bike, removing his own and doing the same.
I shook out my hair, the movement taking over my whole body, until I was practically jumping on the spot, shimmying around high on adrenaline.
Boston let out a sound that could almost be considered a laugh, and I stilled.
“I’m sorry, does my fearful energy amuse you?” I demanded, shaking out my hands that were still trembling slightly.
Boston fought a smile. “I’ve seen a lot of reactions to being on the bike. Flapping around like a dying fish is a new one.”
I pulled back, affronted. “Flapping around like a fish?”
“Yeah, it was something like this.”