Chapter 18
Pistol ordered crème br?lée for dessert.
I chose the triple chocolate mousse cake.
We polished off our bottle of wine, he paid the check, and then it was time to ride.
The sun had disappeared behind the mountains, leaving a dusty blue haze painted over the horizon, the dark of night chasing away the last of the day’s light.
Exactly as Pistol warned, the temperature had dropped, and the night wind against my back was cold—but I didn’t care.
My belly full, my heart brimming with hope, and the alcohol from the wine coursing through my veins, there was no place else I wanted to be more than riding at Pistol’s back.
He sped up, running through a yellow light, then aimed his Harley toward the on ramp headed north on I90. As he accelerated, I tightened my arms around him and pressed my cheek against the back of his left shoulder.
His Road King rumbled underneath us, growling as he got up to speed, and it felt like we were flying. I wondered how I endured so long without this thrill.
I closed my eyes and got lost in every sensation.
My hair whipping wildly in the wind.
Pistol solid and warm in front of me.
The sound of traffic drowned out as we sped through it.
I tried to remember the last time I felt this free—and then, he was there, against my permission, at the forefront of my mind.
I opened my eyes, but I still pictured him.
Twister.
It annoyed me to think of him on a night like tonight.
What made it worse was remembering how we never went on a ride like this.
In the span of three years, I’d been on the back of more than one Stallion’s hog.
I belonged to no one; and as much as I wanted to belong to Gillette’s Vice President, I was too stupid to realize all the ways he showed me I never would.
Sure, in the beginning, when I was new, he would take me for a ride—but only around town to grab a bite to eat. In the end, he wouldn’t even do that. Still, I loved him anyway.
Stupid. God, I was so totally stupid.
Lifting my cheek off Pistol’s back, I shook my head clear then propped my chin on his shoulder, staring at the road ahead of us.
I didn’t want to be in the past. The present was much better.
My situation might not be perfect, and I understood trouble was brewing, but tonight wasn’t about any of that. Tonight was about us.
My husband was becoming less of a stranger by the minute, and I didn’t want to miss a second of it looking in the rearview.
Pistol let go of one of his handlebars and reached for my leg. His hand made contact with my thigh, and he grazed his palm across my bare skin toward my knee. He held on for a beat then gave me a squeeze before he returned his hand to his bike.
Just like that, I was burning from the inside out.
In all honesty, it scared me as much as it exhilarated me.
Eight days ago, I didn’t know a man named Riley.
Now, he was almost all I could think about.
But it wasn’t him I was afraid of so much as the fall.
With Twister, I fell in love with the hope of him. The idea of him. The version of him that was more of an illusion than real. I may have taken his cock again and again, but I never got his passion. I never got his fight. Not like her.
Not like Phoenix.
If the pain of loving and losing Twister was enough to drive me away, to send me crawling back to Missoula—how much worse might it feel to love and lose a man who made reservations and took me on late night leisure rides?
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
If this was desperation, I was to be her victim.
If it was stupidity, then I was an idiot.
If this wasn’t real, if moments like the one I was in and the few we shared throughout the day were nothing more than a smoke screen of secrets and lies, I was fucked.
This was what I wanted.
I was risking it all for the mere possibility of it.
But if it was real…
‘I’m not playin’ games with you, angel.’
Riley Wells was solid and stable.
He was broad and inked.
He was dangerous and hot.
He was also right in front of me.
My hands clutched at his abdomen, I splayed my fingers across the fabric of his button-up and started to explore.
Slowly, I felt my way up his chest with one hand, wishing to feel the curve of his left pec.
With my other hand, I dragged my fingers down, narrowly avoiding his crotch as I reached for the top of his jean-clad thigh.
His reaction was subtle, but I didn’t miss it.
He tilted his head back a fraction of an inch, and a playful grin curled my lips.
I splayed my knees wider and tightened my top arm around him, plastering myself against his back.
I could feel the fabric of his jeans at his backside pressed against the thin material of my thong, and it made me long for him.
I expressed this desire as I dragged my fingertips across the inside of his thigh.
Then suddenly, we were riding faster.
My playful grin became a wicked one, and I didn’t bother stifling my giggle—sure it would get lost in the wind.
It was when I felt for his dick that we really started to soar.
He glanced over his shoulder, and the next thing I knew we were getting off at the nearest exit.
We slowed down only as we approached a four-way stop sign.
But rather than continue on when we were met with no traffic, Pistol planted his feet, reached over his shoulder, caught a fist-full of my hair and yanked me forward as he twisted and closed his lips around mine.
The instant he had what he wanted, he swept his tongue through my mouth and drank from me. It was the greediest kiss I’d ever had in my life.
I loved every second of it.
My hand still at his crotch, I felt it as he began to harden, my other hand clutched tightly around the front of his shirt. For a moment, I forgot where we were, and all I wanted was to climb into his lap and go for a different sort of ride.
A car honked from behind us, reminding me we were literally in the middle of the road.
I jumped, startled by the sound, and started to pull away from Riley—but his grip in my hair tightened, he kissed me deeper, completely ignoring the driver we were blocking.
Surrendering to his inner alpha, I moaned, and made a pathetic attempt of rocking my hips, longing for friction.
It wasn’t until after the car behind us honked a second time before maneuvering around us and speeding off that Riley broke our kiss.
He kept our faces close, so close I could feel his heavy breaths against my tender lips as he muttered, “Turnin’ us around.
Takin’ you home. Fuckin’ you like I said I would.
You stay handsy, I don’t mind. But, babe, that’s all the foreplay you’ll get. ”
Without thinking, I flicked out my tongue, licking his top lip.
“Baby, if you don’t hurry up, I’ll come on this hog without you.”
His fist tightened in my hair, and it made my sex clench and my belly tingle.
“Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” he growled.
This time, it wasn’t the wind that swallowed my giggle, it was Pistol.
He kissed me one last time then let me go, revved his engine, and sped off, pointed in the opposite direction.
It took us nearly twenty minutes to get home, and I swear I almost came twice—the vibration of his beast of a bike underneath me in tandem with the promise of his bare cock inside of me teasing my swollen clit to the brink.
He didn’t even bother with the garage. After coming to a stop just beside my Mustang, he cut the engine, lowered his kickstand and signaled for me to dismount.
My purse was stowed away in his saddle bag, but neither of us moved to grab it after we both found our way to the ground.
He took me by the hand and made a B-line for the back door.
Reaper greeted us with a bark, but Pistol didn’t slow down.
“See to you in a minute, Reap.”
Anxious for what I knew was coming, I prayed it would last a lot longer than a minute, but I kept that to myself. We hit the bedroom, he flicked on the light, and the instant we were face to face, no words were necessary.
I freed the tie of my shirt at my back.
He shed his kutte, tossing it onto the bed.
I wiggled out of my skirt, taking my thong with it.
He got rid of his shirt.
By the time my feet were out of my boots and my ankles were free of my clothing, his pants were pooled around his boots.
I barely had the chance to straighten before he was reaching for me—one hand hooked under my right armpit, his other reaching behind my left knee.
I followed his lead, grabbing hold of his shoulders and spreading my legs as he lifted me with his brute strength.
I then found myself pressed up against the wall as he drove his cock inside of me.
I cried out in sheer relief.
He cursed under his breath.
And then we fucked.
We being the operative word.
While he used the wall to help fight gravity, allowing him to grab hold of me on the outside of each of my thighs, I was able to use my leverage on the wall as I gripped around his shoulders to meet him thrust for thrust.
I was so primed, the sound of my wetness coating him as we came together hard and fast turned me on even more.
Already incredibly aroused from our joy ride, it didn’t take much for me to unravel with my first orgasm.
It was right there waiting, and it was bliss.
As I started to climax, I threw my head back, causing a thud as I let go of his shoulder in order to reach for one of my nipples.
“That’a girl,” he grumbled, ramming into me harder. “Touch yourself while I make you come.”
I moaned, still trembling as I abandoned his opposite shoulder to reach for my other nipple. I pinched and tugged, loving the feeling as my pleasure began to taper and transition into something new.
“Damn, this pussy’s soaked.”
“Yeah,” I panted, arching my back away from the wall.
He hit me at a new angle, and my breath caught in excitement.
“What’s got you so hot, huh?”
He smacked the side of my ass, holding on as he looked me right in the eye.
“Never fucked a woman so wet, could feel her drippin’ on my balls.”
I could barely think, let alone speak, the sting of his slap sending a ripple of desire straight through me. There was something about him and the way he handled me—the way he took what he wanted and yet somehow managed to give it right back—that made me putty in his hands.
He slapped my opposite cheek, and my jaw went slack.
Holy hell, I’m gonna come again.
“Answer me, angel,” he demanded.
“You,” I breathed, smoothing a hand down my belly, my fingers reaching for my clit. “It’s just you.”
It was the truth.
Sure, there was the thrill of our ride.
Dinner was a good time, too.
But it was all of it.
It was the way he held my hand through the clubhouse.
It was how he demanded I stop doubting his motives.
It was the way he was looking at me right now.
It was me—naked, back against the bedroom wall, our bedroom wall, getting taken by a Wild Stallion.
Fuck, but it was him.
He was the embodiment of the life I’d been chasing all wrapped up in a ridiculously sexy body with a face I was sure I would never get sick of.
“Harder,” I begged as I swirled my fingers around my clit. “Fuck me harder, baby. Fuck me wild.”
He thrust into me deep and stilled, causing me to pause in anticipation.
“Hold on,” he demanded.
I did as I was told, grabbing the back of his neck, and then we were on the move. He shuffled to the bed, lowered me onto it, spread my knees wide, then took me so hard I thought he might split me in two.
But he did me one better.
He got me there.
And as I began to tremble with my release, he flicked my clit.
Flicked it.
“Oh, shit,” I mewled, genuinely afraid he was going to break me.
I came so hard for so long, I didn’t have the wherewithal to tamper my scream.
Lost as I was in the oblivion of my orgasm, I managed to pull Riley along with me. He buried his face in my neck, palmed one of my breasts, and made a noise so low and satisfying as he buried himself deep inside of me, I was glad I didn’t miss it.
Safe to say, I got way more than a minute.
And it was magnificent.
“Ground rules,” Riley began, his breathing still heavy as he lifted his head so I could see into his eyes. “I’m not poor, but I’m not an ATM. You need somethin’, say somethin’.”
I don’t know what I was expecting him to say, but it wasn’t that.
Nevertheless, I understood what he was communicating—regardless of the timing—was important, so I tried my damnedest to pay attention.
“Okay,” I managed.
“I’ll get used to Martha Stewart’s kitchen. That couch cost a whack—but I like it. It stays.”
I was coming down from the delirium of an epic orgasm, but his admission made the descent a pleasant one.
“Really?” I asked through a smile.
He ignored my question and asked one of his own. “How much more shit did you buy?”
He was still inside of me.
I really liked that he was still inside of me, bare and coated in our shared climax.
It seemed inevitable that if I answered him truthfully, I wouldn’t simply lose his cock, he wouldn’t be on top of me, either. I wasn’t ready to lose the weight of him, so I shrugged and replied, “Nothing too major.”
He studied me for a long time, his skepticism hard to miss, then he grunted his acceptance of my response. It was obvious he didn’t believe me, but there was some post coital haze keeping him mellow, too, and he didn’t press. Instead, he asked, “It’s my house. I get any say in what it looks like?”
I don’t know why I was surprised by the question. He made it clear he cared about the place he called home, even if all that looked like was a tidy, bland space.
“Do you want a say?”
“Nothin’ bright. Not big on knickknacks. You want anything on the walls, mounting it is my domain. I see somethin’ I don’t like, it’s goin’ back where it came from.”
Home décor.
We were naked and in bed discussing home décor.
If this was a dream, I never wanted to wake up.
“Deal,” I murmured, my smile on the verge of a full-on goofy grin.
He slid out of me then, and I was a little sad to lose him.
That was, until he took a step back, pulled his jeans up over his hips and said, “Takin’ Reaper out. Stowin’ the hog. When I get back, I better find you just how I left you. We’re not done fuckin’.”
My belly clenched in excitement even as my pussy throbbed, already sore in the best possible way.
“Is that a promise?”
“No,” he stated as he turned for the door. “It’s a fact.”