Finders Keepers (Fairy Tales After Dark Book 2)

by Jessica Collins

He couldn’t really open the throttle here, in the city, though. “You okay if we go for a little ride? Show you what she can do?”

  Her soft yes, accompanied by the motion of her nodding against his back, thrilled him. After her flashback, the urge to be there for her had only grown. Whatever — whomever — she was hiding from, he wanted to protect her from it. To know the dangers and ward them off, so she didn’t have to anymore. Jayla was used to pushing everyone away to keep herself safe — a thought which saddened, and sobered, him

  He wasn’t lying in the alley when he’d told her he wanted her to get home safe. He wasn’t counting on her reactions — her defiance. He should have anticipated all of it, knowing her. And every time her bratty submission appeared, he felt gutted. She was perfect for him. As long as he could keep his desires at bay.

  No pink hand marks on her lush ass. No bending her over my lap, squirming from the pleasure of pain.

  Turning his attention back to what he did have — her, on the back of his bike — he smiled. As long as Jayla was with him, the rest didn’t matter.

  For early March, it was unseasonably warm — enough to bring this baby out for the first time this season. He loved this bike. A BMW S1000RR — matte black, chrome, dark wheels. Complete with all the bells and whistles. It was sleek, light, fast. He once read a description in a bike magazine that likened it to a “purring pussycat and raging cheetah in one”, but even that description didn’t do it justice.

  The scenic route toward Long Island was the perfect place to show Jayla what the bike could do. He knew the gentle curves of the road by heart, relaxing back into her as they rode.

  When she tapped his thigh again, he smiled, revving the engine into the triple digits.

  Alistair pulled off into a parking lot, the salty scent of the ocean wafting over Jayla. A trail of moonlight glistened over the soft waves in front of them and made the white sandy beach almost glow.

  Smiling, she removed the helmet, and shook out her hair. She had no idea how thrilling a motorcycle ride could be. Energy flowed through her veins — energy … and arousal.

  “Where are we?” she asked, leaning over to stretch her back.

  “It’s a private beach,” he answered cryptically.

  “By private, do you mean we shouldn’t be here?” she asked, her voice low.

  He shrugged.

  “Ali, are we going to get into trouble?”

  “We’re only in trouble if we get caught,” he whispered back, taking the helmet from her and securing it to the front of the bike.

  Wrapping her arms around his waist, she rested her head on his shoulder, watching the dark waves of the Atlantic, listening to the sound of them crashing onto the shore.

  She couldn’t help but focus on his hard stomach underneath her fingertips. Turning her head, her cheek now resting on his back, his breath moved in time with the waves and relaxed her. Nestling into the hard muscle, surrounded by the smell of the ocean air and the distinctive scent of him, she sighed.

  This is perfect, she found herself thinking, quickly followed by a frown. It can’t last though. Not if he…

  “What’s on your mind, Princess?” he asked, cutting into her negativity.

  She wasn’t ready to talk. Not when, for the first time, she was relaxed being alone with a man. So, she lied. “If I asked how fast we were going, would you tell me the truth?”

  “Do you want to know the truth?”

  Shaking her head, she responded, “Nope.”

  Laughing, he turned in the seat and grasped her hips, lifting her up and pulling her around and in front of him. Scooting backwards, he settled her over his lap, her legs wrapping around his waist, her back against the handlebars. Looking at her for a moment, his features softened. She noted the dip of his gaze from her eyes to her lips. It was the briefest of changes, but catching it sent a round of butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

  “Good. Now … tell me what’s really on your mind.” He punctuated the statement by cocking his brow, the head tilt and smirk indicating he knew she’d held back before.

  Butterflies? Now they were bats.

  Placing her hands on her thighs, she looked toward the ocean for a moment, wondering if she were ready for his answer.

  You need it, Jayla.

  Nodding to herself, she turned back to face him. “What got you into … you know, ‘whips and chains’?”

  His smirk grew as she shook his head. “’Whips and chains? The club’s really growing on you if you’re quoting Rihanna.”

  She rolled her eyes, appreciating his ability to lighten a difficult question for her.

  “An ex-girlfriend, actually,” he added, the answer surprising her. Whatever reason she thought he was into BDSM, it wasn’t because of a woman.

  “Really?”

  Running his hand through his hair, he leaned back slightly. “Yeah. Kathi.” He smiled again, sending a jealous twinge through Jayla’s stomach. “She ‘dabbled’ in it from time to time and had been to the club a few times before we got together. She brought me there and as it turned out — I was really good.” He wiggled his brows. “Guess I’m ‘good at being bad’.”

  Jayla laughed. “I think you have that backwards.”

  “Well, either way. I … liked it. It took a bit of time for me to really wrap my head around what the lifestyle is about. Granted, I’m not really ‘in the lifestyle’, I just play around here and there. I’m not into a D/s relationship, meaning not outside of the club or the bedroom. But seeing the level of trust between a Dom and sub — the responsibility of the Dom to ensure she’s feeling good, she’s enjoying herself. Most of all — she feels safe — that really called to me.”

  He paused a beat before continuing. “It’s like that saying — without trust, there is no love.”

  Jayla bit her lip. He was right — that she knew from experience. Yet something about the hint of sadness in his voice called to her. Maybe he’s just been looking for the same thing I am?

  “You didn’t love Kathi?” she asked, not entirely sure she wanted to know the answer.

  Again, Alistair smiled. “We were young. I was nineteen, she was twenty-one. She just graduated college, was off to explore the world. I was just figuring myself out. I mean, in a lot of ways I did love her. And I loved the relationship. It was sweet. And we had a lot of fun. It just wasn’t meant to be forever — and we were both okay with it.”

  Hearing of a normal, healthy, happy relationship seized her chest. Why couldn’t I have that? she mused, with regret for her past.

  Shaking her head of the negativity, she thought back to the conversation with Gene. Alistair’s “story” wasn’t bad at all. Why wouldn’t he tell me?

  Then, another negative thought crept in. Is Alistair lying?

  “I asked Gene earlier about it. Said ‘it wasn’t his story to tell’.”

  At this, Alistair laughed. “He probably just felt bad he spilled the beans on me in the first place. Knew I’d kill him if he revealed another facet of myself, rather than letting me tell you.”

  Jayla thought for a moment, then nodded. Knowing Gene, this was most likely the case. She did like Alistair opening up, however. She wanted it to keep going.

  “Tell me something else. A secret.”

  Alistair’s eyes narrowed, the devilish half-smirk appearing on his face once again. “Oh no, Princess. Not until you share something first.”

  Not yet. Jayla batted her lashes, pouting out her bottom lip. “Please?” she asked, drawing out the word.

  Alistair pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, sucking gently before releasing it. Shaking his head, he admitted, “Okay. You’re the only person other than me who’s been on this bike.”

  “No women?” she asked, incredulously.

  He shook his head.

  Her lips lifted in a smile at the thought of no other women sharing him in this way. “No men, either?” she asked, teasing.

  Running a hand through his hair with a sly smile, he countered,
“Well, they don’t count.”

  She gently hit his arm, laughing at the joke. An image crossed her mind, one of the pictures she’d seen on Snow’s phone at Belle’s. Confidence in her gut instinct restored … that he was, as Gene called him … “a really good guy”, Jayla was ready. Nervous, but ready, to take the next step.

  “I’m kinda surprised,” she started. “I would think with your … particular tastes, you’d have tied a girl up on this sexy beast.”

  His grin widened. “Never really thought about it.”

  “Never thought about it? Never imagined having someone tied … here?” Leaning back, she moved her hands flush with the handlebars, her chest opened to him. Lord help her, but she may have jutted her chest forward, ever so slightly. And the movement may have caused her lap to shift forward, pressing against his crotch. “Like this?”

  A low groan escaped his throat, and she could feel him hardening beneath her. Moving forward, his hands curled around her wrists as he leaned in, holding her against the bike. “Thinking about it now,” he admitted, his voice gravelly.

  “So am I,” she told him honestly.

  “Is that a hint?” he asked, his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip.

  Is it?

  She nodded, licking her lip.

  “Is it … an invitation?” he asked, his voice having dropped even further, the huskiness of it sending a rush through her system.

  Nodding again, she gave in.

  “Yes.”

  The word barely escaped before his lips crashed into hers. She knew it was coming, yet was entirely unprepared for their firm softness, the heady feeling of him against her. Sucking her bottom lip, he expertly played her, his kiss setting fire to her already needy core.

  Her tongue peeked out, licking his lip, tasting him. This close, she was engulfed in his scent — leather, mixed with the scent of the bike, and his own, masculine aroma.

  Hands squeezing her wrists, holding her down, he deepened the kiss, his tongue gently probing her lips, requesting entrance. Excitement coursed through her. Butterflies circled wildly in her stomach as his mouth played against hers

  Nipples peaking, goosebumps littered her skin.

  Shifting, he pulled her up, wrapping his arms around her waist.

  Her free hand went to his hair, pulling the strands, eliciting a moan from his lips.

  Wiggling against his thick shaft, she tilted forward. Wetness coated her panties, the hem of her jeans now lined up perfectly with her clit. She needed the friction. She began moving, rubbing against him.

  Pulling her tighter against him, their bodies melded together, moving against each other, increasing her heat. The kiss deepened, their lips playing against each other — his demanding control. Hers begging for surrender.

  He shifted again, pulling her higher on top of him, repositioning her legs wider to thrust up against her. She gasped at he hit the direct spot she wanted him to, each undulation pressing against her sensitive nub.

  His teeth bit into her bottom lip, as he pulled her down, hard, against him. His lips moved, trailing down her jaw, onto her neck, sucking, licking. Kissing her collarbone, moving to the front of her shirt.

  One hand on her ass, the other moved up her back, catching the bottom strands of her hair, wrapping them around his wrist. Pulling back, moving her head, he exposed her neck, sucking the sensitive skin. She groaned and he grasped the back of her neck, forcing her to face him.

  Eyes wild with heat, his gaze refused to leave hers as he thrust up against her. His firm grasp, his motions, his lips on her skin sent waves of passion coursing through her body. She was ready to explode. Closing her eyes, she tried to regain control over her body.

  “Look at me,” he commanded, his voice velvet against her.

  Eyes snapping open, she found his once again. The corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly. “Good girl.”

  From anyone else, those two words would have been condescending — but, from him, they felt right.

  Continuing to thrust against her, he pulled her ass into him, matching her motions with his. Their bodies fit so perfectly together atop the bike it was as if they were meant to have this moment.

  Circling her hips, he grunted against her ear, adding to her arousal. She was close — just needed a bit more to push her over the edge. The grip in her hair tightened, and fuck, the hold felt good.

  Her eyes closed, lights flashing behind the closed lids.

  “Look at me,” he reminded her.

  “Kiss me,” she countered, needing to be devoured by him.

  “Open your eyes and ask me again,” he growled.

  “Please, Ali,” she looked him. “Kiss me.”

  Lips crashing against hers, he lifted, pulling her even harder against him. His cock ground firmly against her core, his hand pulling the strands of her hair, directing the motions of her mouth with his, guiding her where he wanted her to be.

  Squeezing her legs around his waist, using him as leverage, she found the control, pulling herself where she wanted to be. His soft mouth taking hers with wild abandon, leaving her lips a swollen, tingling mess. His tongue danced around hers, never pushing too far, yet moving with a sinful expertise that forced her to imagine his tongue on the more sensitive areas of her body.

  Stomach clenching, her orgasm drew near. Tightening around him, gasping at the heat forming low in her abdomen — the heat trailing to her clit, and lower, it finally exploded through her body. Ecstasy radiated from her inner walls, through her pussy lips, and up her spine, leaving her quivering from the rush of her orgasm.

  Crying out, his mouth swallowed her sounds as the orgasm rocked her body. Possessed, she continued to grind against him, chasing the feeling, rocking harder, trembling in his arms.

  He held her tightly, his body slowing, kiss softening, as her orgasms dissipated. The last aftershocks rocking her core, she caught her breath as he kissed her lips, down the sides of her mouth, up her cheeks and forehead — praising her with his lips.

  Breaths shaky, she descended from her high. His forehead met hers, waiting for her body to relax.

  Breathing each other in for a few moments, neither spoke. His arms still wrapped tightly around her, his strength apparent, even through his gentle caress.

  His voice rumbled through his chest. “Thinking about a lot of things now.” She could hear the smile in his tone.

  Pulling back, looking into his gaze, she laughed. “You never stop flirting, do you?” she teased.

  Smiling, he wiggled his brows. “With you? No. Why … would you like me to?”

  Taking him in, she focused — really focused on him. Kind, penetrating eyes, the occasional feigned boyish innocence, his mouth, capable of both pissing her off, and making her swoon.

  She was smitten.

  “No. Don’t stop.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The first wisps of sunlight were just breaking through the night sky when Alistair parked the bike at the curb of her apartment complex.

  The brick, which was once bright red, had faded to its present dingy brown. Graffiti littered the building adjacent to hers. Why her building had been spared its own layer of fresh spray paint was beyond her.

  She swung off the seat and removed the helmet. Handing it back to him she hesitated, then took a breath for strength. “Do you want to come up?” she asked, timidly.

  Head tilting, surprise registered on his face.

  When he didn’t answer right away, she nervously rambled on. “I mean, I know it’s late, and really, don’t expect much, but I was just thinking if you wanted to—”

  “Yes,” he laughed kindly. “I’d love to.”

  Pulling the key from the ignition, he took her helmet, grasping her hand and allowing her to lead the way.

  The distinct scent of pot wafted through the air when they stepped inside. “It’s so hard to find good neighbors these days,” she said with a shrug as she led him up the stairs. “I’ve got the ‘penthouse’ — sort of —
for what that’s worth.” She laughed. “And it’s not worth much, trust me.”

  Opening her door, and turning on her light, she caught sight of two cockroaches scurrying back to their nook in the wall. She was sure Alistair hadn’t seen them. If he had, he was kind enough to keep any comments to himself.

  He inspected the doorframe, running his fingers along the wood, as his lips tilted downwards in a frown. “It’s not very secure,” he murmured, before stepping into the threshold. “Even if your landlord doesn’t have a key, it wouldn’t be hard to get in.”

  She’d had the thought herself, wanting to install a padlock. Unfortunately, the landlord refused. If another lock went up — she went out.

  “I know,” she nodded, shrugging. “Nothing I can do though.”

  Looking up at the frame, he took a breath. She cut him off. “Whatever you’re thinking — no. Seriously. I can’t change anything or I’ll have to leave.”

  Looking back to her, his jaw ticked, yet he only nodded, taking a step inside.

  She watched him as he looked around, taking stock of her studio space, at the bed on the floor, with the light purple comforter, and the crate with the lamp — her makeshift side table. Then there was the crate that held up her TV, and the low ironing board that provided a home for her laptop. The old dresser she’d found on the side of the road the day she moved in rested against the far wall. Hefting it up eight flights had been no easy task, but she had managed on her own.

  “It’s … nice,” he said.

  She laughed. “No, it’s not. But it’s home.” Turning toward him, squeezing his hand, she had an idea. “But there is something I’d love to show you. Want to see something awesome?”

  Smiling, he nodded. Rushing to her window, she opened it, and sat on the sill, swinging her legs outside. “Hope you’re not scared of heights!” she remarked, standing up and reaching for the ledge that hung from the floor above.

  At some point, the building must have made use of all ten floors. Now, though, the top two remained abandoned, giving her the “penthouse”. Her apartment was the only one on this floor, something she paid extra for, but the added security was worth it.