Eve
NO ONE WARNED me that straddling a Harley with a hot guy is like using a gigantic vibrator as your pony ride. As a kid, I used to shove a broomstick between my legs and gallop up and down the yard in pursuit of runaway cattle, ponies, and bad guys. Riding with Rev is the grown-up version of that game and different from any other bike ride I’ve ever taken. As soon as I slide my arms around his waist, locking my fingers just above his belt buckle, he takes off.
Slow isn’t part of the man’s vocabulary. His speedometer never drops below sixty. He takes us out into the desert, the big bike eating up the asphalt with blinding speed. Even through the helmet, the wind whips at my face, tears my hair, chokes my voice in my throat. It’s terrifying. It’s the best feeling ever. My heart pounds in my ears and an answering pulse springs to life between my legs. My pussy clenches with each turn Rev takes, a hot, heavy beat anticipating the way his body leans into the road’s curves, the muscles in his body flexing as he guides us faster, harder, tighter.
When finally we pull over I’m not sure if my throat is hoarse from screaming—or from holding back my moans. Damn, I’m horny.
My partner in crime, however, is oblivious. He waves a big hand toward the open air in front of us. “Lookout.”
Since that appears to be a noun and not a verb, I follow his fingers pointing off into space. I don’t want to admire canyons or vistas or (frankly) anything other than his dick. I don’t even need him to come for me—I just want those big, rough, banged-up fingers shoved inside me and I can do the rest. Apparently, all of me wants to live dangerously, not just the part that thought it was a great idea to get on a Harley with this man.
“Thanks.” For nothing.
I hop off his bike, not sure my legs will hold me. I should be glad he’s hands-off. That his definition of ride is textbook nice and not a dirty, filthy, orgasm-filled euphemism. Should be. Am not.
I’m such a liar.
I stroll over to the railing and look out. The view is pretty. I even whip out my phone and snap a picture. See? I’m absolutely enjoying my ride. This fun companionship is what I need.
Not sex.
And definitely not sex with Rev.
“Like what you see?” His rough voice rolls out of the silence behind me. It sounds lower, deeper, darker than before. I’m not sure he’s actually talking about the canyons and the desert at all. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking combined with the heat.
Because it’s hot out here. I lift a hand to fan myself, tilting my face into the weak draft of cooler air as I tug open the leather jacket Rev insisted I wear. Jeans and boots in Nevada in the summer? I’m definitely overheated.
I don’t hear him move. One moment he’s still straddling that big, too-hot bike of his and the next he’s right up behind me, his thighs pressed against mine, his arms caging me against the railing.
“I like what I see.” He growls the words, his mouth trailing over the damp skin of my throat. He does? Heat flashes through my body as I spontaneously combust.
His mouth moves down. “I want you, princess.”
My mouth opens and I’m sure there are a dozen witty, sexy, fabulous responses to his statement—but I draw a blank. Suck in air and stare down at his hands wrapped around the railing.
Those hands could be wrapped around me.
Say yes.
“It’s a bad idea,” I say instead. See? I’m being responsible. Mature. Putting my job first. My pussy all but whimpers in protest.
“No one has to know,” he counters. The man must be the devil. Or omniscient. A mind reader. It would make for awesome sex but is the risk worth the reward?
“I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “I’ll be your dirty little secret. Don’t you want to come right now?”
Hell yes I do.
“Just once?” Because tonight I’m feeling greedy. If you’re going off the diet, diving face-first into the three-layer chocolate cake that’s been teasing you all day, you don’t want just one slice. You want the whole thing. You want to eat until you can’t swallow one more bite, until just the smell of all that sweet makes you sick, until you’re over it. Done. Kaput.
Rev’s my cake.
I’ve been so good and now, just this once, I’m breaking all my rules and I get to taste him. Lick him. Devour him whole. By tomorrow, I’ll be cured of this obsessive need to eat him up, to find out if his skin can possibly taste as good as it looks. Tomorrow, I’ll see him and be all ho-hum, been there, done that, couldn’t possibly have another bite. We’ll be over.
Tonight... I want it all.
All of him.
Once can’t possibly be enough, not with Rev.
His slow grin makes my panties wetter. As if I wasn’t soaked already from the ride. “How many orgasms you want?”
Maybe I don’t need to give him a number. Maybe he isn’t cake, but is instead an all-you-can-eat buffet and I can go back for more, more, more whenever I want. That so works for me.
I lean up and nip his bottom lip. “Surprise me.”
His eyes darken. “You got any hard limits I should know about?”
I lick where I bit because why play safe now? “Stay the hell away from my ass. Otherwise, I’ll give you a play-by-play update.”
Some stuff I’m just not into—and something tells me this man has no limits whatsoever. Adventurous is good, but I still have to ride his bike back to my house. Of course, I could take him there, too. Have sex in an actual bed with sheets and pillows and something cushier than the ground but...he’s not a keeper man. This is a onetime thing and I don’t want him there in my space. I need an orgasm, not memories.
“Gotcha.” He gives me a quick, hard kiss, his lips pressing against mine with erotic intensity before they release me. Nope. I don’t want him to let go. Not yet.
I reach for his shoulders and he laughs, scooping me up in his arms. He stops to grab his saddlebag—maybe it’s the biker equivalent of a toy box because a girl can hope, right?—and then he’s effortlessly striding down a small ravine just out of sight of the highway. I probably should worry. Hello, this is bad movie material right here. I’ve just given him a free pass to have his wicked way with me and bikers aren’t particularly known for their upstanding moral values. And yet... I feel free. Free and somehow safe at the same time because whatever Rev does to me, I trust him not to hurt me.
Rev
I should kiss her.
Trot out all the tricks I’ve learned from fucking too many women on too many different nights. Give her the orgasms she’s all but begging for and mark her as mine. Somehow, though, the smooth, practiced moves disappear from my head and all I can do is enjoy being here with her, right now, right this moment. I’ve driven out to the lookout before, although I’ve never tapped ass here. Doesn’t take a genius to know, however, that we need to get off the road for this. Don’t know why she’s suddenly so impatient, but I roll with it, carrying her down a small ravine. As soon as we’re out of sight of the road, I drop my saddlebag and shift her in my arms so I can peel my jacket off to use as a blanket. She’s working out of hers, too, so maybe we don’t end up with dirt where dirt has no business going.
Her hands start on my shirt next, trying to get the hem up, but that’s not how I want this to go. So when she starts snapping out commands to go faster, get naked, do this, do that, I kiss her hard. My mouth covers her mouth, my lips parting hers, as I pour myself into the kiss. She tastes good, like mint and sweet tea. Fuck, maybe she tastes like sunshine or whiskey or any one of a dozen things, but I know one thing for certain. Evie’s my Kryptonite. I lay her down without breaking our kiss, planting myself between her legs, cupping her head between my hands as I bury my fingers in her pretty hair. I devour her, pressing my dick against her pussy as her legs wrap around my hips. Fuck, she’s greedy.
Love that about her, even though the L-word isn’t one I trot out about sex or women.
She swallows a moan when I finally tear my mouth away, leaning back. She’s wearing too many clothes and I need her naked. If I start tearing shit, however, we’re gonna have a problem with the drive back to Vegas. I’d enjoy the shit out of her riding naked behind me but we’d definitely attract attention. Plus, I bet that’s one of those hard limit things she mentioned. No Lady Godiva on my bike.
“Don’t stop,” she orders, eyes half-closed. Her hands go to the waist of her jeans, unbuttoning and shoving the denim down. If I don’t hurry, she won’t wait for me. “You owe me an orgasm.”
“Never broke a promise yet,” I tell her. She toes her jeans off, but her panties are mine. I tear them off her because they’re the cutest little thing—and my souvenir. Perfect spank bank material for later. Gonna wrap that silky blue-and-white scrap around my dick and rub one out—dessert to go, for later. I shove them in my jacket. My next step in this erotic battle we’re fighting has to be her tits.
Fun fact of the day—Evie’s tits drive me crazy.
I’ve jerked off to the fantasy of ripping off her shirt, tearing open her bra, and then ramming myself between her breasts, shoving my dick up the tight, sweat-slicked valley until my head hits her lips and she opens up for me. She swallows a moan as I make the first part of my multistep plan reality rather than fiction. I drag her shirt up, and then fuck it, I leave the cotton tangled around her arms, her wrists stretched over her head, braceleted in one hand of mine. Don’t need ropes when I’ve got her like this.
Hot.
Eager.
And all for me.
I unbuckle, unzip and shove my jeans down just enough to get my dick out.
“Hurry,” she whispers as if she’s got a schedule, a plan, a time table in her head. Fuck doing this on Fast-forward when I could hit Pause and enjoy her for hours. I want her screaming my name, desperate for me, knowing exactly who has his hands, his tongue, his dick all over her sweet, needy body. If she has an itch to scratch, I’m in no position to judge—but I’ll make damn certain she knows who’s making her fantasies come to life.
I drag the fingers of my free hand down her chest, between her tits, until I’m cupping her, my thumb teasing her nipples. She rewards me with a whimper.
Not good enough.
Her tits are fucking gorgeous, big enough to fill my palms but small enough that I can cup them. Lying on her back pushes her tits up and out, putting those sweet curves on display for me and I’m gonna need both hands to appreciate her right. I give her wrists a gentle squeeze. “Don’t move.”
Her eyes narrow as her fingers tangle with mine. “Orders?”
Woman’s a total back seat driver. We’ll work on that.
“Yeah.” I lean down and give her another quick, hard kiss. “You got one job here and that’s to take what I’ve got to give you.”
She shifts beneath me, stretching, making space for herself. “And what if I don’t like it?”
“You’ve got words. Fucking use them.” Not as if she’s held back in the mouthy department before, so she can tell me if something I do fails to get her off. If I don’t make this good for her, I deserve everything she can dish out.
Her fingers fall away from mine. “Okay.”
“You want me dirty?”
Guess she hears the challenge in my words because her eyes darken and flick down my body. No way she misses the bulge in the front of my jeans.
“Yes. Touch me,” she demands. Doesn’t move her hands, though, so she definitely deserves a reward.
“Hold your tits for me.”
She shakes off her shirt, lowers her hands and squeezes her tits together around my dick. Love how she takes instruction. Since I first saw her, I’ve been fantasizing about getting her naked. Opening her up, putting myself inside her.
I straddle her, bracing my hands on either side of her head. Spread out on my jacket, strands of her hair tease my fingers, wrapping themselves around me. There’s a lesson there. She’s the one who’s really in charge here.
I wish I could draw this moment out forever, wish I could whip out my phone and snap a picture of her body welcoming mine. Fuck. She feels amazing. I drive forward, her tits hold me tight, and my eyes all but roll back in my head. Gotta get it together. Gotta do her right, make this good for her.
And then she licks the tip of my dick.
I give it to her harder, faster, pistoning my dick in and out of the snug channel she’s made for me. Fuck if I can hold back—or want to. I find a rhythm that makes my dick happy, the slick, tight grasp of her skin on mine pushing me higher, tighter, closer.
“This work for you?” I whisper.
She flashes me a grin. “Who wants his happy ending?”
That’s all the warning she gives me before she sucks the tip of my dick into her mouth, the head disappearing beneath the perfect O of her lips. Fuck. Me. I’m hard as nails, rough as shit, and she opens wider, swallowing me down. I must look like some monster beast, crouched over her, fucking her mouth, and I don’t care. She lets me and I’m far too close to coming.
Fuck happy endings—this is heaven.
I bump against the back of her throat and she doesn’t tell me no—just groans and sucks harder like she loves the taste of me. I’m going to blow all over her face, mark her with my come. Her lashes drift down, hiding her eyes from me. Not sure what I expect to see to be honest, but looking at her is sexy as hell.
Fuck this.
I’m not coming until I’m balls-deep inside her, which makes it her turn.
I drop and roll, pulling her over me. Her legs hug my face, her pussy planted above my mouth. She squeals, bracing herself on her arms. Guess she didn’t see that coming, but then she whimpers, her thighs trembling, and I cup her sweet little ass with my hands.
“I’ve got you.”
Let go.
Let me.
She asked for it dirty and I’m just giving her what she wants. Making sure she’s ready before I tap her. And because the taste of her is addictive and I’m not ready to be done. She relaxes in my grip and I part her with my fingers. Another whimper. A sexy-as-hell moan. Her pussy’s the prettiest shade of pink, her bush neatly trimmed into a dark arrow of soft hair. Not bare, not quite, just a fucking tease to look at.
“Look at you.” I blow lightly, trailing my fingertips over her folds.
“Rev—” She shudders.
Yeah, she likes this.
Bet she likes this even more. Bet I do, too. I lean in and get my first taste of her. I pull her wide and lick her slowly over and over. When she’s squirming, I suck her clit, alternating between the two until she’s gasping, her breath catching as I push her closer and closer to the edge. Her tits heave up and down, still wet from my kisses.
I pull away before she comes, grabbing a condom and ripping the package open. Fuck finesse. I need to be inside her now. Playing dirty games doesn’t mean putting her at risk. I get the condom out, roll it down my dick and yank her down my body. Seconds later I’m pushing my way inside her body.
Eve
Rev’s monster dick opens me up.
He’s big.
It’s not like his proportions are a revelation. Deep-throating him wasn’t an option, so it’s no surprise it takes him long, fabulous, thank-you-Jesus minutes to work himself inside me. He’s not holding back, he’s giving it to me good, but he’s not in any rush, either. He doesn’t slam deep, doesn’t force my body to yield.
He just waits me out.
I soften around him—he moves deeper. Cause and effect.
My legs open wider, hugging his hips, bumping into the ground, and he grunts, catching my knees with his palms. Putting himself between me and the dirt. I use my new leverage to ride him hard. I don’t want slow, I don’t want sweet and gentle. Fortunately, he’s in the mood to give me exactly what I want.
He slams up and I meet his thrust, coming down hard. A shriek forces itself from my throat, but to hell with it. The sensation is so good. I feel him everywhere, inside, outside, in my head and right goddamned there between my legs. I brace my hands on his shoulders, and yes I dig in with my nails. We’re both going to bear marks tomorrow.
“Eyes open,” he grunts when my lashes drift down. Not sure what he thinks I’m really looking at because right now all I can do is feel. And feel and feel.
His eyes watch me, dark and intense with need and emotions I can’t interpret. He’s so different from anyone else I’ve done this with. He’s more in control of this, of us, than I like but it’s too late to stop, to step back, to hold off the orgasm building deep within me. He so wins this battle we’re fighting between us.
“Come,” he orders, sliding a hand free to find and press my clit as he drives inside me. God. He fills me up. There’s no room left, so I do the only thing I can and come apart. I let everything go and scream with the pleasure, the desire, the feeling of fucking flying and flying, knowing he’s here to catch me. It’s too much, too everything—too fast and definitely too close.
He grunts something, moving faster and harder, his hands grasping my hips and holding me tight. My head hits his chest, my face pressed against his sweat-slicked skin and I breathe him in as he pounds deeper, finding his own release. I lie there and let him do what he wants with me.
God, he’s dangerous.
And then I can’t think anymore because his fingers find my clit again and press and just like that I’m soaring, flying and fighting with him toward another release.
Rev
Christ. What just happened here?
I wrap my arms around Evie, holding her tight, and try to figure out when dirty sex took a dangerous right-hand turn into something...else. Not sure what to fucking call it, but all I know is that I’m not done with her. She sags against my chest, her face buried against my skin, her hair tickling my nose.
“Rev?” Her voice floats up at me.
“Yeah?” I can feel a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. I’ll tell her whatever she wants to hear. Fucking gospel truth right there. She’s amazing. I run my hands over her bare skin. We need to find a bed stat because the shit I want to do to her, with her deserves that much.
“You give good dirty sex,” she whispers, rolling off me and standing up. The. Fuck?
I’m not done with her.
Not even close.
But she’s already pulling on her jeans, wiggling and tugging, zipping and buttoning. She’s not thinking about what else I could do for her. Now I’m just her ride back to Vegas, and maybe, if I did this right, a happy memory. I’m her been there, done that boy. Her past.
She asked for dirty sex, so I’m not sure why I suddenly feel dirty. Yes, I’m her not-so-fucking-little secret and that part’s okay because it’s what I agreed to after all, but I’d also like to do her in a bed, and not some forty-buck-a-night motel, either. Satin sheets, fucking candles—the whole nine yards before I give her the twelve inches that has her name written all over it.
Except she really doesn’t want that. Has to be a first in my life, that a woman doesn’t want a repeat from me.
“Thanks,” she says and heads for my bike. Feels like she slapped me on the ass and sent me on my way.
What the fuck just happened?