CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

When Ricky passed the town limits and hit the gas, I found the rush I’d been looking for all my life. My earliest memories of life with Pamela and Todd Larsen? Me on a swing, Todd pushing me. Me in his arms as he swung me. Faster, higher, the air whooshing past like hits of pure oxygen. My first taste of a drug I’d never forget. No merry-go-rounds for me. I wanted roller coasters. I wanted go-carts and snow sleds. Faster. Higher. I remember my dad taking me out in the Spyder, and even before I was old enough to drive, he’d hand me the keys on a lonely stretch of road just like this, letting me take the wheel and go. Just go.

The wind whipping over my bare arms and legs was the most delicious burn imaginable, something I’d never gotten in a convertible, even with the top down. I could feel the motorcycle, too, in a way I never felt a car, no matter how perfectly the engine roared and rumbled. This rumble went right through me, vibrating against my bare thighs and, yes, everyplace else that vibration feels so damned good, making me really glad I hadn’t put on a pair of jeans.

Leaning against Ricky’s back, my legs wrapped around his hips, the burn of the wind and the rumble of the bike . . . It was a rush—an erotic blood rush, head rush, oh-my-God-this-is-amazing rush. I won’t say it was better than sex, but I’ve had some that didn’t live up to this.

It’s not surprising, then, that as we rode, me leaning against him, legs wrapped around him, my fingers slid higher and crept inward, until my hands were wrapped around his inner thighs. When I realized that, I pulled back to a more appropriate hold. He slowed for a turn and stopped the bike, took my hands and put them where they’d been, twisting to look at me and mouthing, “Okay?”

I nudged open the visor. “I don’t want to distract you.”

“I don’t get distracted. I get focused.”

I rubbed the insides of his thighs and his lips parted, lust shimmering in his dark eyes. He pulled off my helmet and kissed me. It wasn’t an easy angle, and the awkward, hungry kiss felt like teasing.

“You want to get off?” he whispered.

“Eventually.”

He laughed, abrupt with surprise and ragged with desire. “Hell, yeah. The bike, I meant. Do you want me to stop?”

“Not yet.”

I kissed him, our lips half meeting, tongues brushing, teeth clicking as we struggled for that elusive connection, the frustration of not finding it only raising the heat.

“I want more,” I said.

He chuckled. “That’s the idea.”

“The bike, I mean. Faster.” My fingers moved to his crotch, rock-hard under his jeans. “Yes?”

“Shit, yes,” he said, his voice hoarse.

I pulled my hand away. “I shouldn’t while you’re driving . . .”

“You should.” He put my hand back where it had been. “You absolutely should.”

He kissed me again, and I started to think that getting off—the bike and otherwise—right away wasn’t such a bad plan. When he went to put my helmet back on, I stopped him.

“I’d like to leave it off,” I said.

He hesitated.

“Please.” I moved against him. “I want to feel it.”

“You really want to feel it?” He leaned back and whispered a suggestion in my ear.

I pulled my leg up, turning sideways on the bike. Then I slid off my panties. I was going to stuff them into my pocket, but he took them and put them in the saddlebag. He took something from the bag as well—a condom. He lifted it, a question and a clear signal of where he figured this was heading. I nodded, and he pushed it down into his pocket.

I swung my leg back over the bike, hiked up my skirt, wrapped my legs around him, and put my hands back where they’d been. He pushed off.

If the earlier ride had been better than a few sexual encounters I’d had, the one I got now beat most of them. It was incredible, hair blowing, wind wailing past my ears, skirt hiked up around my hips, sitting bare-assed on the seat, the bike buzzing and rumbling under me, my hands on Ricky’s crotch, rubbing him.

He wasn’t lying when he said distraction only made him more focused. It was as if the bike itself responded, sailing over hills and around curves with a perfection of speed and motion that was beyond exhilarating. Beyond exciting. I leaned against his back and felt him under my fingers and the bike rumbling under me and . . . I came. On the back of a bike. A completely unexpected, amazing orgasm that kept going until, the next thing I knew, Ricky was veering off onto a dirt trail into a patch of woods, hitting the brakes before the bike was even safely hidden by the trees, and then he was pulling me off the bike with a hoarse “Yes?” and the second I said yes in return, I swear he had the condom on and was inside me, before we even hit the ground.

I was still orgasming from the bike when the fresh waves hit, so intense I didn’t care where we were, didn’t even know if I was horizontal yet, only cared that it kept going. And it did, just long enough to leave me lying on the grass, panting, eyes rolling in ecstasy, with Ricky poised over me, whispering, “Shit, holy shit,” until we both caught our breath and he laughed, a little awkwardly, as if embarrassed. “That was, uh, not quite as finessed as I’d hoped. Sorry. I got carried away.”

“Oh, I like carried away. I was already there, if you couldn’t tell.”

“Yeah, that was . . . Holy shit.” His cheeks colored. “I’ll stop saying that. I sound like a sixteen-year-old after his first time.”

“Don’t,” I said, grabbing the front of his T-shirt and pulling him down for a kiss.

“I’m just saying—”

“You’re apologizing. I’m pretty sure if anyone should apologize, it’s the person who had her hands where they should never be on someone operating a motor vehicle.”

“Oh, I wasn’t complaining. I just—I thought I had it under control, and then—”

“Stop. I said yes. You used a condom. If you keep apologizing, I’m going to presume that means you don’t ever want to do that again, and I’m really hoping that’s not the case because . . .” My tongue slipped between my teeth. “Hell and damn, that was good.”

He smiled, but I could tell he was still worrying he’d messed up, been too eager, disappointed me.

Since we’d first met, Ricky had pursued me with the confidence of a man twice his age. Now that he’d succeeded, the doubts and vulnerability peeked through, and I knew they’d vanish again when he got his footing, but it was fascinating to see, more contradictions adding to his endless tangle of them.

He kissed me then, one hand behind my head, cushioning it from the ground, the other under my ass. When a car passed, he broke the kiss only long enough to make sure the long grass hid us. Then another noise stopped him: my grumbling stomach.

“It’s reminding me that I promised you dinner,” he said. “And I should damn well deliver before I try for more.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“Dinner? Or more sex?”

I laughed. “I mean that after lying on the grass, I’m not in any condition to be taken to a restaurant.”

“Would you settle for pizza? Delivered?”

I slid from under him and sat up. “Delivered where?”

“Here, of course.”

We were in the middle of nowhere, on an empty road surrounded, I was sure, by more empty roads.

“If you could manage that—” I began.

“—you’d spend the night with me? Yes, you have work in the morning. I’ll get you back in time. But if I can manage to get pizza delivered here, will you let me find us a place for the night? I know that’s not what you had in mind.”

“I—”

He cut me off with a quick kiss. “I aim to impress, and I need a bed to do it. Besides, you don’t believe I can get a pizza delivered out here, so . . .”

“Go on and try.”

“We have a deal?”

“We do.”

He had to walk to his bike to get decent cell service. Then he used his phone to look up a place. He called one. I heard a male voice answer. Ricky said he had the wrong number, hung up, and called another place. He got a woman this time and shifted into full charm mode, chatting away. After about two exchanges, I knew he had her. It was too damned easy for him. So I decided to make it tougher.

I started unbuttoning my blouse. He caught the movement and looked over. He could have looked away. He didn’t. As I stripteased, his eyes never left me. Nor did he falter for one goddamned second in his other conquest, even as the growing bulge in his jeans told me my performance was not unappreciated. Less than two minutes later, he hung up.

“Pizza’s on its way, isn’t it?” I said.

“Yep. Twenty minutes. Which gives you plenty of time to finish.” He took a step forward. “Unless you want help.”

“Not yet,” I said.

“You’ll tell me when?”

“You’ll wait until I do?”

He grinned, his look sending heat through me. “That might require ropes. Strong ropes.”

“Another time,” I said. “For now, you’ll wait. Right there. Until I’m ready.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and eased back to watch the show.

—

I think Ricky was right: strong ropes would be required to hold him back when he wanted something. Possibly chains. I teased until it was clear he was about two seconds from breaking. Then I said the word and got very enthusiastic, very satisfying sex, with a few minutes to spare before pizza arrived and we ate, half dressed, on the grass.

At the motor inn, he did indeed show me exactly how attentive he could be. I was soundly asleep ten minutes after, the clock having not yet even struck nine.