We’re at a jump show. And by we, I mean Tiller and me. We even rode together. River stayed back at the house with Scarlet since she wasn’t feeling well, and Scarlet wanted to cuddle her. Poor River caught a cold and all I can think about is my parents getting upset that she’s sick and somehow blaming me for it.
“Riders meeting in ten minutes!” they announce over the PA system.
I’ve been around dirt bikes my entire life. Motocross, Supercross, flat track, you name it and I’ve been involved in it. I can say without a doubt freestyle is home for me. Probably because it reminds me of Tiller. I can still remember the first time I saw him perform at the level he’s at now. He was sixteen, two weeks before the X Games and I snuck into the practice runs to watch him perform a double backflip combo and land it with no hands.
I was not only in awe of his ability, but the dedication he put forth to training for the event. When I watch him now, he’s not the same rider he used to be. Something’s missing, but every once in a while, you’ll get a glimpse of the old Tiller. Like tonight. And I can’t tell if it’s the event, or that he’s changing.
Look at him. He’s sitting on his bike with Shade, Roan, and two other riders, discussing the jumps. But do you notice the way girls are all around them, hanging on their every word?
Even with the distance between us, the heat of his stare burns my skin, conveying his want, his need through his eyes. And I know very well the power those eyes hold.
Women flock to him, surrounding, pushing their tits in his face and their children at him in attempt to say, “My little girl loves you.” When in reality, it’s not the child, it’s the mother. Heck, sometimes they use other people’s kids to get close to him. It’s so disturbing the levels women lower themselves to when they want to get an athletes attention.
When they lean in for a selfie with him, he gives them a thrill by wrapping his arm around them, giving them a little something to take home. Only it bothers me more now that I’ve slept with him than it ever did before.
Half dressed, inked from head-to-toe, woman after woman walk past me after getting photographs with Tiller, Shade, or even Roan. Each one gush over things like, Shade’s riding ability or his eyes, what little they saw of them behind his sunglasses he usually never removes and commenting on, “Did you see how blue his eyes are up close?”
They’re attracted to Roan’s smile, dirty yet playful.
And after meeting Tiller, “He looks scary, but I’d totally fuck him.”
When the women leave, Tiller looks at me, watching my reaction. Running his hand through his hair, he winks at me and then leans forward, resting his arms on the handle bars of his bike. I hate the jealousy gnawing at my belly and my heart.
The event is far from over. There are people partying everywhere, music blaring through the streets. The scream of the bikes fills the night, an open field in the hills of Pasadena taken over by the wild and out of control lifestyle of freestyle motocross. A light haze moves in the air, a combination of the smoke from the distant fires and the exhaust from the bikes screaming in the night. I walk around, the grounds dry and dusty from the blazing heat of the California drought.
There I am, between the trailers, tucked away from the crowd, trying to gather my nerves and get a handle on being jealous. I knew this would happen and I shouldn’t be surprised, should I? I’ve been to these events before and seen women hang all over him. Heck, I’ve even seen him kiss other women in front of me, just to get a rise, and though he’s not taking it that far tonight, I can tell he’s judging my reactions every time one approaches him, waiting to see what I might do.
I know before I feel him, because his presence near me sends a thrill of ecstasy through my body. He grabs my hips from behind, his face buried in the crock of my neck. “I don’t want them.”
Turning around, we stare at one another for a moment, and then he steps forward, his eyes low on my body. Pushing the hair from his forehead, I let my fingers linger on his face. “It sure didn’t seem like that.”
“I don’t want them,” he repeats, his voice never wavering.
“Just because we’ve had sex now, you expect me to believe that? Why would it change anything?”
He ignores me.
I push back away from him, just a few inches when he traps me against the side of the trailer. “Not right now.”
“You’re saying no?” He raises an eyebrow, and I nod. “Don’t you want to show those girls who I belong to?” Resting his hand on my jaw, he moves it back slightly so his thumb runs over my bottom lip.
His eyes fall—watching the tentative touch—lazy-lidded, and then back to mine. He stares at me, memories flashing of the way those women hung on him plaguing my thoughts. And then his demeanor softens, shifts away from the harshness he usually displays.
“I can’t stop thinking about how much I want you.” Leaning in, he kisses me, hungry lips seeking mine, desperate, needing. His tongue strokes my lips before pulling my bottom one into his mouth harshly. “I saw the way you were watching me. You want this too.” Sighing, he draws back, mouth lingering over the top of mine. “Why do you torture me?”
My body trembles. His fingers knot in my hair, grasping a handful and pulling his mouth to mine.
“How am I torturing you?” Losing myself in the moment, my need is just as strong, and I kiss him back. Part of me knows we shouldn’t be doing this, outside in plain sight for everyone to see, but nothing can stop me when he’s like this with me.
In the distance, Imagine Dragon’s “Radioactive” blares through the night as Shade is announced over the loudspeaker.
Certainly aware of the reasons why we shouldn’t do this here, Tiller cares about none of that as he unzips his riding pants to get himself freed enough to move. “You just are,” he says, finally answering my question.
Gripping his neck, my hands fist in his hair, tighter, never wanting to let go. Still working on his pants, he moans quietly again as our tongues meet, a sound barely heard over the uproar surrounding us. Laughter to our left draws my attention. It’s those same girls who were hanging all over him, only now they notice me, my legs wrapped around his waist and him pinning me to the side of his trailer.
Would it be appropriate to stick my tongue out?
Oh, my God. I can’t believe we’re doing this in public.
Moving backward at his lead, he presses me against the side of the trailer, keeping me in place against the metal side with his hips, so strong and forceful I can’t move even if I wanted. The burning in my stomach aches with need, my body arching against him in response, wanting him to fulfill the need.
Shaking, my body curves, bending around his, craving the quiet groans that fall from his lips. “That’s it. Give in to me.”
He knows the instant I do.
His mouth moves hastily from my ear to my neck and down my collarbone, before returning to my mouth. Suddenly, he steps back and yanks his pants down to where they meet his riding boots and then removes his jersey and tosses it on the ground.
Holy crap. Not only is his bare ass showing to everyone, but Tiller Sawyer with no shirt is just about the sexiest thing ever. Between the hard muscles and the ink, I will never tire of seeing him like this. Everywhere I look is hard, taut, tanned inked muscle, begging to be touched and licked.
With lust-stricken eyes, I grasp onto him anywhere I can.
Without breaking the kiss, his mouth is back to my neck when his hips move against mine. There’s no denying what’s going on when he rubs against me.
“I don’t have a condom,” he tells me.
“I’m on the pill.” My heart hammers, breathing escaping me entirely. Maybe it’s the jealousy, but I can’t help myself, my hips moving, making more direct, persistent contact with his. I’m certainly aware that he’s been with other women and could potentially have something, but I don’t stop him. I can’t even tell you why I don’t other than I want him, completely oblivious to the consequences of it.
He makes a noise in my ear, somewhere between a gasp and a groan, as his body answers mine. “I can’t wait any longer.”
Supporting my weight against the side of the trailer, his hands move to my breasts, massaging them with need and desire. My hips drag against his again, savoring the feeling, but knowing this should be stopped. The sensation, a reminder, jolts through my body like a spark to an engine, like the igniting of a firecracker.
Pressing his lips to mine, he drowns out everything when the trouble-tortured groan leaves his lips, and he reaches for the edge of my panties under my dress.
Face flushing with the heat of the night, he moves my panties aside and gasps for air as he enters me. “Fuck, you’re so tight and perfect.”
I love the way the sound of his voice makes me feel secure, wanted, desired to the point of obsession.
I throw my head back against the trailer, and Tiller curls his arms around the backs of my knees and holds me in place, pounding into me with need, fucking me thoroughly. “When I’m finished, every time you move tonight you’re going to be reminded of me fucking you against this trailer.”
“Oh God,” I whisper, not knowing what else to say. Overwhelmed by his words, I desperately cling to his body and the reassurance I have him now.
“Say it, Amberly,” he begs, his breathing heavy as drives into me, our eyes locked. “You have to fucking say it. Tell me you want me too. Tell me that you’re mine.”
Sometimes you have to ask for something you want, and that’s not something I’ve been able to do with him. Tiller is determined to make me. He wants me to tell him what he so badly desires to hear from me.
“I’m yours, Tiller. Always.”
And it’s the truth. Always has been.
“Fucking Christ, Amberly. . . .” Again, my name, his weakness, a prayer spoken against my lips, as if he’s claiming me. He knows as well as I do there could never be someone else that could make me feel the way he does.
He slams into me again, filling me, over and over again. I want to slow it down, but I know we don’t have time. Shade’s run is only two minutes and then Tiller’s up. My sounds mixing with his is all it takes for me to get lost in his every thrust, every moan, and I’m pushed over the edge until I’m falling with him.
No, literally falling onto the ground. Tiller catches us by falling to his knees, never pulling out of me. Instead, his hands wrap under and over the tops of my shoulders, slamming me down on him, over and over again.
It’s quick, and then Tiller groans, his body shaking as he lets go, strangled words falling from his lips, his head thrown back. Watching him in the midst of his orgasm is enough for me. I don’t need to get off to get pleasure out of that. When his body stops shaking, I wonder what he’s going to say to me next.
Leaning back to see his face in the dim lighting, my hand drifts to his face, running my fingertips along the edge of his cheek, and for a split second, he opens his eyes to me. I want to see warmth and the connection reach his eyes. And when I don’t see it, a hint of fear hits me as I realize all I see is sadness. His lids shut again, and he begins kissing me harder, trying to mask whatever he’s feeling.
Under that sadness—the vulnerability and the emotion—is something in the way he looks at me, like I’m all he’s ever wanted, but never thought he deserved. He looks at me like he’s about to lose me. And while I want to reassure him he won’t, I know I can’t promise him anything because I know how destructive Tiller can be when he wants to be. He can drive everyone and anything away from him.
I feel beautiful in the harsh light of the street lamps above us. Alive and consumed by his obsession with me. With one last kiss, his mouth parts from mine.
There’s a sting as he slides out of me, both in my body and my heart. My breathing evens out, and he gasps, hands in his hair, swallowing over and over again, trying to gain control. “Fuck. . .,” he breathes out when I stand.
Drawing back, he stares at me as he stands, too, almost confused, his breathing remaining heavy. His head slumps forward as he breathes in harsh gasps, pulling his riding pants back up.
Ricky comes around the corner and nods to him. “It’s time, Wild Cat.”
“I gotta go,” he mumbles, so low I have to strain to hear him.
My cheeks break into a fire, waiting to see what he’ll say. Finally, he draws in a deep breath and looks over his shoulder Ricky waiting for him.
And then he smiles and bends down to retrieve his jersey. “I owe you one now.”
“Yeah.” I bite my bottom lip, relaxing slightly. “You do.”
His damp hair falls against my face. “Sorry,” he whispers, for what I had no idea.
Maybe because I didn’t have an orgasm?
Leaning his forehead against mine, he admits, “That wasn’t exactly what I—”
“Tiller!” Ricky yells. Tiller’s bike’s now at the end of the trailer running. “Come on, man! You’re up! Get the fuck out here!”
“Impatient fuck.” He glances over his shoulder again. “I’m coming!”
Moving back, he shifts away completely and yanks his jersey on. His eyes move to mine, before looking away.
“I’ll be back.” He leans in, his lips pressing to my forehead, staying there for what seems like forever. When he pulls back, his eyes fixate on mine. “Stay with me tonight?”
I nod, and he stands there staring at me for a moment, the rush of everything sinking in.
The air changes, and I feel it. It’s in the confused expression of his brows and the way he runs his hand over the back of his neck. He hesitates, as if he can’t decide if he wants to say something else to me.
That’s when he turns to me and says, “You’re mine.”
I know I am.
Rolling up to the launch zone, Tiller revs his bike, drawing my attention toward him. I’m on the sidelines with the mechanics and fans. My eyes seek his, hidden behind mirrored purple goggles. He nods, my smile can’t be helped, and neither can the warmth of my cheeks.
I watch his run, alongside those same women who were hanging on him. As Seether’s “Betray and Degrade” blares into the night, effortlessly, Tiller flies through the air, soaring high above me. The women, they stare at me, whispering to one another and all I can think about is leaning over and saying, “Hey, I have his cum dripping down my leg. How’s that for possession!”
Ew. Gross, Amberly. So gross.
It’s during his run, with every trick he throws, from the 360 flare, to the double backflip and the superman, he looks back at me every single time. After his run, he skids to a stop in front of me, his back tire off the ground in a front endo that has him sliding forward on the seat suggestively, slowly, on purpose. He pushes up against the fence, his eyes hidden behind his goggles. Slowly, his back tire hits the dirt and he revs the bike, pushing up against the foam barrier separating us. The barrier hits my hips, a reminder of where he was just moments ago.
Laughing, I shake my head, marked with the memory of everything he is to me. “You’re crazy,” I mouth, my words lost in the roar around us.
He gives me a head nod, then blips the throttle with a flick of his wrist and wheelies away from the wall.
One of the women near me leans in, watching Tiller ride away. “Are you with him?”
My pulse thunders in my chest. I look over at her, unsure how to answer, but I nod. “Yes.”
It’s in his arms that night, again, where he finally gives a piece of himself I didn’t know he’d give. It’s whispered under his breath as he’s pinning me to the wall in his room. “I’m never not thinking of you.”
Sometimes you don’t need three words. You need strong arms to hold your fears and messy love that doesn’t make sense to anyone but you.