“Do what?” I asked.
“You and me,” he replied. “Not one time. Not just sex.” He lifted my chin with his finger until our eyes met. “I want to do this.”
He kissed me.
It wasn’t an indecisive peck on the lips. Nor was it an “I don’t know what I want” kiss. It wasn’t a “hey, I’m sorry for what I’ve done, please forgive me” kiss, either.
It was an “I want to make sure you know who’s in charge” kiss.
He slid his hands down the small of my back and brought them to rest on my ass. He squeezed it like he owned it. I fumbled for a place to put my hands, eventually sinking my fingers into the backs of his firm triceps.
Our tongues intertwined. Our bodies melded together. Kissing him in return as aggressively as he kissed me, I stumbled to maintain my footing. We collided with the desk. Our lips parted. I looked at him, and he at me.
Desire radiated from his eyes.
He swept my desk clean with one brisk wave of his arm. Contracts, books, papers, office supplies—everything—clattered across the hardwood floor.
He turned me around and pushed me facedown onto the desk. “Tell me you want this,” he said, pressing his hand between my shoulder blades. “Say it, you sexy little bitch.”
The side of my face was flat on my desk. My legs were tensed with anticipation. “I want it,” I said in a shaking voice. “Please. Give it to me.”
He flipped my dress over my waist. Then, he did just as I’d daydreamed. He kicked the toe of his boot against the inside edges of my shoes, forcing me to widen my stance.
“Spread ’em wide,” he growled.
I did as he asked.
He leaned over, pressing his chest tight against my back. He positioned his mouth beside my ear.
“Don’t move,” he breathed.
I stood, motionless. A pronounced metallic click caused me to tense.
While he continued to breathe into my ear, he cut each side of my panties in two at my hips. They fluttered to the floor. The air escaped my lungs in an uneven breath.
I heard him fumble with his belt buckle. The sound of him tearing a condom from the package followed. I ached with anticipation. He pressed his hand against the back of my head, forcing my cheek firmly onto the cold surface of the desk.
“Tell me to fuck you,” he demanded. “Say it.”
“Oh my God.” I gasped. “Fuck me. Fuck me. Jesus. Fuck me.”
I wanted to see his cock. His face. His body. But I didn’t dare attempt to raise my head. I focused my eyes on the far wall, thankful that my door was closed. I felt pressure against my wet folds. Then he began to penetrate me, slowly.
As his massive length entered me, I inhaled a choppy breath. His cock seemed to be endless, touching places inside me I never knew existed.
The tip bumped my cervix.
“Holy shit,” I said on the heels of an exhaled breath. “That feels so good.”
I was no newcomer to sex, but this was different. His length, girth, and his processes were far beyond what I was accustomed to.
Holding himself inside me, he leaned forward until his body covered mine completely. I felt his warm breath against my ear.
“I’m going to make you come,” he said in a low growl. “When you do, you’re going to scream.”
If I screamed, the entire office would know what was going on—if they didn’t already.
“If I scream—”
“When you do, you’re going to scream,” he insisted, whispering through clenched teeth. He glanced at his watch. “You’ve got three minutes to accomplish it. Are you ready?”
Three minutes?
What the fuck?
I knew better than to argue with either point.
“Okay,” I said.
One hand pressed against my back. The other held a fistful of my hair as it forced my face firmly onto the desk.
His hips slapped against my ass, sending an unmistakable clapping sound echoing throughout my office with each savage stroke. One immediately after the other, they came, bam! bam! bam! Each one forcing my thighs against the edge of the desk.
“You. Sexy. Little. Bitch. I. Love. Your. Tight. Little. Pussy,” he said, saying one word with each instroke.
I had no idea what his cock looked like, but if it were any bigger, I couldn’t have accepted it. If it were any smaller, there would have been no chance of me reaching climax in the three-minute window of opportunity he’d given me.
He released the pressure from my head and pulled me upright by my shoulders. With my back arched and his entire length still buried deep in my wetness, he yanked my shirt open, sending buttons flying across the floor.
“I want to squeeze these big fucking titties,” he said under his breath.
He pulled my bra down. My breasts lurched out, falling into his waiting hands. He gripped them firmly, squeezing them with his massive palms while tweaking my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.
I had no idea where we were in respect to time, but I was on the cusp of climax.
Holding me in place by my boobs, he pressed his chest against my back and continued his sexual advances, pounding himself into my memory bank one ferocious stroke at a time. Lost in the rhythmic sensation of his scrotum smacking against my clit, I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth.
My body tensed.
“I’m going to come,” I announced.
He continued the same predictable pace, not breaking his rhythm. I arched my back and opened my eyes wide.
He sank his teeth into the base of my neck. “Come, you sexy little bitch,” he muttered against my flesh. “Come.”
I was already on the brink. As with everything else he’d asked of me, I complied. I relaxed and closed my eyes. My everything began to tingle.
My pussy clenched his swollen shaft.
“Oh my God,” I wailed. “Keep going. Keep going. Yes. Yes. Yes.”
My entire body shuddered from the shock of his continued thrusts. Each one sent another surge of electricity from my scalp to my toes.
His cock swelled, bringing me to yet another orgasm. This one was much deeper and stronger, taking every bit of energy from me as it filled me with euphoric bliss.
“Holy fuuuuuck!” I bellowed.
When the orgasm subsided, I collapsed against the desk. I spent several moments collecting my thoughts. I aimlessly looked around the office. On the floor beside me, my panties were ruined. Beyond them, buttons were scattered about. Like seashells along the sandy beach, they peppered the floor of my office.
Resting his weight against my back was none other than Devin “Bone” Wallace, a man I deeply desired and, for some reason, yearned to satisfy.
“How’d I do?” I asked.
He slid his hand beneath my head and lifted it from the desk. He looked me in the eyes and smiled. “You did great,” he said. “I’m proud of you.”
He kissed me.
A warm feeling of accomplishment filled me. When our lips parted, I studied his face. I knew very little about him, but I knew one thing, and I knew it for sure.
Quitting him wasn’t going to come easily.
Chapter Thirteen
Devin
We sat across from one another at a restaurant’s outdoor seating area, half a block off the Tamiami Trail. With covered outdoor seating as the only option, I was reluctant to agree to the order-at-the-window diner. Much to my surprise, the food at the Lake Park Diner was remarkable.
Teddi hadn’t changed, but my perception of her did. Following sex with most women, I wanted to disappear. With Teddi, it was the opposite. I couldn’t get enough of her. “I like your hair up. It looks nice.”
“Thank you. I’ll wear it up more often.”
“Keep doing what you’re doing,” I said. “I like how you change it up. It always looks nice. Up, down, that thing you do when the sides are pulled up and the rest is down. I like ’em all.”
She touched her bun with her flattened hand. “Thank you.”
&nbs
p; She studied her sandwich, trying to figure out which end she was going to attack it from. I found it interesting that I perceived her differently now that we were officially “dating.” When we first met, I saw her as an attractive woman who had an abrasive—and often rude—personality. Now, I saw her as an attractive woman who was merely trying to protect herself from being harmed emotionally.
The two were worlds apart.
She bit the corner of her sandwich and then took another immediate bite. She looked like an alligator devouring a duck. “This is so freaking good.”
A piece of fried chicken protruded from between the slices of toasted bread. I nodded toward it.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Pimento chicken sandwich,” she said over a mouthful of food. “Pimento cheese, bacon jam, arugula, and buttermilk fried chicken. It’s to die for.”
“A fried chicken sandwich?” I narrowed my gaze in disbelief. “Do you always eat like this?”
Midway through another monstrous bite, she paused. She nodded eagerly. “I’ve got the metabolism of a cheetah.”
She didn’t have an ounce of fat on her.
“You must,” I said with a laugh. “You can’t weigh ninety-eight pounds.”
“A hundred eighteen, this morning,” she said, as if it were a bad thing. “It fluctuates based on my eating habits. I’ll go a while eating like this and then feel guilty and stop. Generally, I can get by on wine, coffee, and compliments.”
“Compliments? You can’t sustain life with compliments.”
“I can come close. They go a long way with me. I’m one of those women who constantly needs reassurance that she’s doing a good job.”
“Have you tried Downtown Coffee and Wine in Bonita?” I asked. “They make a killer espresso. You could get two out of three of your necessities right there.”
She swallowed her food and grinned. “I haven’t. But wine and coffee in one place? That’s genius.”
“It’s fantastic,” I said. “The beverages and the food. Kate introduced me to it.”
“If you went with me, I could get coffee, wine, and compliments all in one place. I like how you compliment me, by the way. It’s nice.”
It was difficult not to compliment her. In my eyes, she defined perfection. I offered her a look of reassurance. “Keep being you, and I’ll keep the compliments coming.”
“I can’t be anyone else.” She nibbled her sandwich. “The house will be done tomorrow?”
“It will. I’ve got quite a surprise for you, too.”
Her eyes shot wide. “Now?”
“Not now. Tomorrow, when we see it.”
“I can’t wait.” With her mouth curled into a slight smile, she gazed blankly at me for a moment. “How can you be single?” she asked, going back to inspecting her sandwich. “Or, how could you be single? You’re too good a catch to be available.”
“I’ve never been in a serious relationship,” I admitted. “Mister perpetually single.”
She gave me a funny look. “I don’t see you as a player.”
I finished my Korean beef taco and wiped my hands clean. “I’m not. When I was young, I figured out that sex didn’t really work for me, so I never really had a relationship until I was older. My relationships weren’t really relationships, just me seeing someone for a couple of weeks. As soon as they figured out things were the way they were, they’d leave me.”
“What do you mean sex didn’t work for you?”
“I realized I couldn’t get it up if I didn’t have a handful of hair or was talking filthy. Not everyone wants to participate in such filth.”
“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose. “You couldn’t achieve erection without it?”
“Nope.”
“I’ll be darned.” She picked up the other half of her sandwich. “It’s not filth, by the way. Just because it’s different from the norm doesn’t mean it’s bad. With regular sex or whatever it’s called, I never could have done that three-minute thing I did. No way. It would take me an hour to reach climax, if it ever happened.”
It was reassuring to think that there was someone else who possessed the same sexual characteristics and desires I did. Whether our relationship lasted three weeks or three months, having a compatible partner was a huge plus.
“So, what about you and relationships?” I asked. “Why are you single?”
She put her sandwich down and sipped her vodka spritzer through the straw. “I’ve been in a few relationships. The last one was a disaster. I haven’t been in one for a year. Gun-shy or whatever after that one, I guess.”
“What was disastrous about it?”
“He was a liar,” she replied. “And a cheater. And an all-around dick.”
“That sucks. Was that the disastrous part? His cheating?”
She picked up her sandwich and then put it down. “It was part of it, yeah.”
I hated to press the issue, but I’d promised Kate I wouldn’t mention what she’d shared with me. Without Teddi telling me the details, I couldn’t discuss it with her.
I picked up another taco and took a small bite. “An all-around dick, huh?” I asked, trying not to act too interested. “Tell me what a guy does to get that label. I’ll be sure that I don’t make the same mistakes.”
“Don’t worry, you won’t.”
“Let’s hope not.”
She ate half of what remained of her sandwich and pushed the plate aside. After finishing her vodka drink, she raised the empty glass. “These things are so good. If I have another, will you drive?”
“Sure.”
She got another drink. While we talked about our favorite local places to eat, she finished it and then got another. Hopeful that all hundred and eighteen pounds of her would be drunk and willing to talk by the time she finished drink number three, I recommended Brooks Burgers as my favorite burger joint.
“It was ranked number two or three in the nation for burgers,” I said. “That’s quite an accomplishment if you ask me.”
“It’s a hamburger,” she argued. “Hamburgers are boring.”
“Most people would think that sparkling water with a shot of vodka and the essence of kiwi fruit dribbled into it is boring. To each their own.”
“I like it that we like different things,” she said. “I look forward to broadening my eating horizons. Opening up to new things.”
“One of these days you’re going to have to open up to riding on the back of my motorcycle.”
“I don’t know about that. Maybe.”
The motorcycle wasn’t simply a mode of transportation for me. It was part of my being. Without it, I doubted I’d be able to maintain my sanity. “I think you’ll like it. I hope you do, anyway. It’s a big part of who I am.”
She sipped her drink. “What do you mean?”
“It’s an escape. A very necessary one. It’s like a wonder drug on wheels. Whatever’s broken, a ride will fix it.”
“I doubt that.”
“Don’t doubt it until you’ve at least tried it.”
“We’ll see,” she said.
We’ll see was a soft no. “When you’re ready, I’ll give you a ride. Not until.”
“If it’ll fix whatever’s broken, it sounds like a good idea. If this house sells before the deadline, I’ll swallow my reservations and climb on. How’s that?”
“I’ll hold you to it,” I said.
“I’m sure you will.” She finished the drink and looked at the empty glass. “I think I’m drunk.”
“Do you do this often?” I asked.
“What?”
“Get drunk at lunch?”
“Not really.”
“How frequently is not really?”
“It’s just. When I talk about that last guy I dated, it upsets me. I do this when I get upset. I run from my emotions. I ran the other day when Margaret said she was going to pull the listing, and I’m running now.”
“Why don’t you try to talk about them? Your emotions… What bothers you?
”
“I don’t want to be criticized,” she said. “I hate rejection. I’d rather keep it all bottled up inside until it eventually goes away.”
“What about him upsets you that much?”
“He was screwing half the town.” She waved the back of her hand toward the parking lot in the distance. “Maybe more.”
“Beating yourself up about it only lets him continue to have control over you. You ended the relationship and walked away. Leave him and everything about him in the past, where it belongs.”
“Easy to say, hard to do.”
“Why?”
She let out a sigh. “It just is.”
“There’s a lot about my past that I don’t like,” I admitted. “I choose not to think about it. It doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, but it does prevent me from punishing myself repeatedly for it.”
“Everyone kept telling me he was screwing around,” she said in a barely audible tone. “Every time I asked him, he denied it. Then I met a client at a home he was selling because he was out of town. She started telling me about this guy she was dating. How nice he was. How attractive he was. How perfect he was. In fact, they were moving in together. Into the home she was buying. Guess who her boyfriend was?”
“Your guy?”
“Yeah. I was crushed.”
“I’m sure you were,” I said. “But he’s gone now, and you’re undoubtedly better off without him. Let him go. Again, to hold on to the grief is to let him continue to control you. If you’re truly disgusted by him, releasing him—and his memories—is the best revenge.”
“He took almost…basically, he took…he took everything. He screwed me out of over seven hundred thousand dollars,” she said, nearly choking on the words. “It was supposed to be a real estate investment. Some land ownership thing that they were going to build condos on in Marco Island. It never panned out. I’m out the money. My bank account is a constant reminder of him. Letting go isn’t that easy.”
In my wildest dreams, I wouldn’t have imagined it was as bad as it was. The money had to be somewhere. Either he had it, or he had whatever he’d purchased with it. I’d take that up with him when I found him.
“Where’s the money?” I asked. “He had to do something with it.”
Misadventures of a Biker Page 9