CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Harper
“WHAT ABOUT THIS GUY?” I point to a dark-haired man on my phone while we wait for the light to change. Phone Guy is wearing a well-cut suit, a blue dress shirt open at the throat and no tie. The photo’s classy but relaxed, so I think he should go in my keeper pile.
Vik turns his head so he can peer at Bachelor Number Twenty-Two. Since I’m wrapped around his back and straddling his bike, he’s got limited viewing options. I wriggle, trying to get comfortable. While he makes a very sexy pillow, the man is hard and not just in the dick department. We’ve been hooking up for the last month, and the sex has been amazing. Vik may not be my forever man, but he’s definitely turning out to be perfect for right now.
Taking the phone from my hands, he makes a noncommittal noise. “You like the looks of him?”
It’s surprisingly difficult to explain why some men look okay when others look all wrong. So far, no one has ticked all the boxes on the Fuck Him and Marry Him list, but I have time. And while I look, I get hot sex on the side. As long as Vik wants to be friends with benefits, I’m up for it. So far, the orgasms have been as mind-blowing as I expected and the awkwardness has been far less.
“He chose a suit,” I point out. “But no tie. He’s got a great job and he’s open to settling down with the girl of his dreams.”
“He likes outdoor sports.” Vik lazily hands the phone back to me. “And his idea of the best-ever date is canyoneering in Red Rock Canyon. Are you up for a two-hundred-foot rappel? Maybe you should practice, babe.”
I’m sure Vik means that I should practice my outdoor skills, but right now I have other things on my mind. Big, sexy, bad-boy biker kinds of things. I blame Vik. He’s the one who came by my place and suggested we go for a ride. He followed up his suggestion by prowling straight into my closet to rifle through my things in search of “riding gear.” I got a little of my own back by “helping out” with his plan to dress me like his own personal Barbie doll by stripping down to my panties. That led to a very nice detour on the bed, but now we’re riding. Or stopping for every red light in Vegas, which is also okay because I’m not in a hurry to get anywhere. I shove my phone back into my pocket as the light finally changes and we take off.
Vik on his bike gets my panties wet and the bike is just an added bonus. I love riding. It makes me feel like I’m hurtling down the world’s shortest, fastest runway and that any second now I’ll achieve liftoff and fly. My feet have yet to leave the ground when I’m with Vik, but I have high hopes. He takes me up the Strip today, and even in the sunlight, it’s a fun riot of color. It’s also extremely congested, which gives me plenty of time to check out the various attractions. The fountains explode as we ride past the Bellagio and I laugh. Seems like the kind of thing Vik would have planned. The man loves over-the-top gestures. Maybe he plans on ending our night by riding off into the sunset.
“Four o’clock,” he says when we idle yet again at the next red light. I look and spot a group of men in business attire. “Red tie, navy blue suit, closest to the curb.”
I let my gaze roam over Blue Suit as my arms tighten around Vik’s waist, my chin resting on his shoulder. Vik’s wearing his leather jacket, and beneath that, his club vest and a black T-shirt. His hair’s pulled back into a ponytail, exposing the ink that edges his throat. More ink peeks out from beneath his jacket and on his knuckles. This is one of those perfect moments that I’d like to bottle up or freeze so that I can take it out and remember it over and over again in a month, a year, a lifetime. Eventually, Vik and I will part ways, and then these memories will be all I have left of him.
He’s so beautiful.
I concentrate on breathing in and out as I tighten my hands over his stomach. He’s so solid, so very, very present. Maybe it’s because he’s built like his medieval namesake, but every inch of me is aware of where I’m pressed up against him.
“Why him?”
“That suit didn’t come cheap.” Vik shrugs. “And you see the way he pays attention to what his boys are saying? He’ll pay attention to you like that.”
Blue Suit crosses in front of us, ushering the older man in the group first. He’s good-looking but not self-absorbed. Vik’s not wrong about his attractiveness, but it’s not like I could act on the recommendation. What am I going to do, pass out a business card like those guys who line the Vegas sidewalks handing out cards for lap dances and private parties?
“Two o’clock,” Vik says.
“I only need one man,” I protest, even as I look.
“You didn’t want the first guy,” he growls.
No. No, I didn’t.
Fortunately, once we leave the Strip behind us, we pick up speed and Vik stops offering to hook me up. He’s decided to take me to Red Rock. And since he promises I’ll like it, I’m all in. After all, what’s not to like about the desert, some cliffs and tons of wildlife?
We abandon the bike in the parking lot, although Vik grabs his saddlebags, slinging them over his shoulder. Then he threads his fingers through mine and heads past the obvious campsites. It’s hot, the few tents and RVs almost visibly steaming in the afternoon sunlight. A few steps into our walk, he passes me a bottle of water. I’m not entirely certain if the benefits of hydrating outweigh the dubious charms of the campsite toilets. I much prefer doing my business in the Bellagio’s marble stalls to squatting behind a manzanita bush.
Trust and promises of pleasure only go so far with this girl, however. The longer we walk, the more I want specifics. “Tell me exactly where we’re going?”
The corners of his mouth quirk up. “You don’t like surprises?”
He knows I don’t. He teased me mercilessly when he spotted my paper planner. It’s the deluxe Happy Planner model, and even though we’re months from the end of the year, it weighs about ten pounds thanks to my liberal use of washi tape because I believe you can be both organized and pretty. Thank God he didn’t spot my dream board when he rifled through my closet earlier today. I’d never hear the end of that.
“One mile.” His fingers squeeze mine. That’s the thing about Vik—he teases, but he also makes sure I always get what I need. He seems okay with my quirks. I take a moment to pause and set my Fitbit. This is going to be the mother lode of steps.
Vik’s mile turns out to be more of an amble than a hike, if I’m honest. He takes me down a dirt trail, our hands still linked, and I split my time between staring at his butt and the scenery. The famous walls of Red Rock Canyon soar overhead, all stark rock and handfuls of scrubby bushes and grasses. I’m just starting to get into it when Vik stops, looks around and then steps. Off. The. Path.
Hello.
I’ve seen those movies, read those books.
You don’t leave the path. EVER.
I dig in, planting my feet on the well-traveled path. Vik, of course, just grins at me. That smile of his... I’m in so much trouble.
“Problem, babe?”
I point to the trail (such as it is—it’s not like he’s taking me down a well-paved highway with sanctioned rest stops). “This is where we want to be, honey buns.”
Every time he calls by one of his ridiculous nicknames, I’m trying on a new one for him. I Googled an entire list and have them stored on my phone.
He tugs lightly on my hand. “Trust me.”
And tugs again.
Somehow, just like that, I’m following him off the path and into the brush. After our closet encounter earlier today, I’m ready to jump him again. But we have to establish some boundaries, and I do need to get on with my life. I can’t keep letting him do whatever he wants.
But as always, Vik squashes all my logical objections simply by tucking me into his side. He blazes a new path, holding the thornier branches aside for me, and making sure I’m good. If I have to have an up-close-and-personal encounter with Mother Nature, this isn’t a bad way to do it. Vik smells fantastic, too, all leather and man instead of the usual Burberry Eau de Toilette I breathe in at work. He hums a heavy metal tune. Since the last time he came over humming he left me with a Metallica earworm, I’m prepared today. I review my Disney princess knowledge and get my Pocahontas on. Bet my rendition of “Just Around the Riverbend” can drown out his rock tunes.
He shoots me a sidelong glance and hums louder. I counter, and before long we’re both shout-singing at the top of our lungs. God, he’s the best kind of jackass. If there’s any nature around here, it’s completely drowned out by our noise. Ryan Seacrest will not be begging us to join American Idol anytime soon.
“Time to stop.” Vik slaps a big hand over my mouth and I nip lightly at his fingers. Gag me, will he? I’m about to up the ante and bite something else when I hear the water.
I push his hand away. “Are we swimming?”
He swats my butt. “You bet.”
The swimming hole comes into view, the blue-green water so clear that I can see the rocks on the bottom. Vik drops the bags by the side of the creek and shucks his jacket and vest, hanging them on a branch. Then he hauls his T-shirt over his head. Pleasure explodes through me. I love watching him, the way he moves so confidently, attacking life head-on. And even though I should question the stripping-down-in-public thing, I don’t. I just stand and stare.
He laughs, the sound low and rough. “Get naked, Harper. I’ve been waiting to see you all day.”
He makes it sound simple, as if we’re not outside where anyone could see us. This section of the river may be private, but there can’t possibly be any truly secret swimming holes near Vegas. It’s too hot, the weather too perfect for a dip, for those secrets to be kept for long. And yet I start to undress, sliding off the cute, wine-colored leather jacket I impulse-bought online after our first ride together. I toe off my boots, peeling my socks off even more quickly because stripteases are for satin and silk, not moisture-wicking cotton. Vik’s shed his own boots, and his hands work his belt open.
“Let me,” I whisper, and his fingers still on the buckle.
“Babe?”
I don’t want to be babe or sweetheart or any of the half a dozen other pet names he probably uses on the women who come and go in his life. I want him to see me, to need me the way I’m starting to need him. I drop to my knees in front of him and finish what he’s started.
The buckle gives beneath my fingers, and then I’m unbuttoning his jeans, forcing myself to move slowly, to wait for his heated curse, even though I want to take him now, to swallow him whole and hang on to him, adding more perfect moments to my secret collection. I cup his balls through the denim. The hot, heavy weight fills my palm, a hard promise of what this man can do for me.
“Please,” I whisper.
Vik’s hands tangle in my ponytail, tilting my head back. He’s fighting for control, but I want him all the way undone, and instinctively I know this is the way to do it. Just as soon as I undo the buttons, he’ll be all mine.
I add another moment to my collection as I hold him, wrapping my palms around the thick, hard length, fingertips tracing a dirty song over him. He makes a rough noise, but it’s not enough. I want all of him. I lean closer and exhale, my chin bumping against his dick.
He groans. “Stop teasing, princess, and open up.”
I glance up at him through my lashes, letting him see the laughter and lo—no, the pleasure I have in doing this for him. With him. Each memory that I’m adding to an ever-growing string of favorite moments. This. Kissing him, touching him, adding a different kind of pearl necklace to my dirty collection... I want it.
I want him.
I press my lips against him and he freezes. There’s nothing between us and if it feels good to me, it must feel even better for him. The rough curse he lets loose when I rub my cheek against him seems like a good sign. So I make him mine. I kiss my way down and then up, curling my tongue around the head, then sucking him like he’s my lollipop. He really likes that—the cursing picks up volume and he shoves his hands farther into my hair.
Despite being on my knees, his hands fisting my ponytail and guiding my head, this doesn’t feel like some kind of power play. I’m tight with desire—to come, to please him, to be his in any way I can. And while I’m tempted to slip into the water just in case anyone does come by, I also want to give him this. To trust him. To make this good for him, too.
“Harper,” he groans roughly, and when I struggle to take him all, to relax and let him in, I see how much he wants this. Me. Us. He’s so goddamned big that I have serious doubts about handling this, but I take him anyhow. I relax until my mouth’s stretched wide and he’s hitting the back of my throat.
He tugs on my hair and I look up. “Okay?” he asks.
I hum a little note of agreement and he groans.
“Fuck, Harper. You’re killing me.”
He’s discovered my secret master plan. I suck and moan, letting him know that we’re in this together, letting his hands on my head guide me. He fucks my mouth deeper, faster, harder, and I move with him, cupping his balls and stroking.
He yanks my hair, the sharp sting waking an answering pulse between my legs. “Gonna come, Harper.”
I nod around his dick. Yes. That’s my plan.
He moves faster, I suck harder, and then he’s grabbing my face, holding me still as he comes with a violent shudder. I swallow and then let him go.
“Jesus,” he whispers roughly, scooping me up in his arms. “Harper.”
He looks a little dazed and a whole lot possessive. Happy, too, which is funny when I think about it because as much as Vik’s always laughing and joking, I’m not sure I’d describe him as happy. I’m not sure he ever lets down his guard enough to be that. Whatever he is, however, he’s definitely mine.
“Good?” My gaze flips up to his and he nods.
“Your turn.” There’s a wealth of dirty promise in his voice as he wades into the water. The water is beyond icy, but it turns out that Vik knows exactly how to warm me up.