When she peeked up, his knuckles were bright white around the handles of his bike and his jaw was tight. It was pure evil to continue to tease him, but the devil on her shoulder just laughed and laughed.
Carefully, she trailed her fingers across the sides of his waist and then up over hard abs to his chest. His nipples were hard and she couldn’t resist a light pinch or two. Her fingers traced the path of hair that led from the center of his chest to the waistband of his jeans. When the devil egged her on, she undid the buckle of his belt, his stomach caving in when she slid two fingers underneath his jeans, grazing the very tip of his erection.
So engrossed in teasing him, Sandy didn’t notice when they slowed and pulled into the drive of a modest sized house. The garage door opened and Christian came to a stop, barely getting the bike turned off and stabilized before yanking her around to sit on his lap, facing him. He attacked her lips, kissing, sucking and biting them until she was breathless and scratching at his shoulders with those nails.
With her thighs spread across his, he couldn’t resist rocking the hardness behind his zipper against the seam of her shorts. He had them both gasping in seconds. Leaning Sandy back, Christian hooked her arms around the handlebars of the bike and pulled the thin shirt she was wearing up and over her breasts. They were flushed, dark pink at the tips, and begging for attention.
Nothing had ever felt as good as Christian’s mouth on her nipples. A tight pull, a short lick, and then a small but sharp bite had her moaning loudly. His hands were all over her stomach and sides, gliding over skin that was quickly becoming slick with sweat. Refusing to lay passive, she reached down to the hem of his shirt and yanked up sharply. He withdrew his attentive mouth long enough to pull the garment over his head and toss it to the floor.
Frantic to have her hands on him the way he had on her, Sandy ran her hands over every inch of exposed flesh. His skin was hot against her palms, rough with hair and sensitive. Every stroke made his stomach twitch. He groaned and pulled her forward until their chests were pressed tightly together and he could claim her mouth again.
There wasn’t much room to maneuver on the bike, but she somehow managed to get her hands between them to work open the buttons on his jeans. She could feel the rumbling in Christian’s chest as she slid her hand down his cock and wrapped her fingers around the base, squeezing lightly.
Leaning her back once more, Christian popped the button on her shorts and began pulling at them. When they stuck, she laughed. The laughter stopped when he got them down and realized she didn’t have on any panties. The look on his face was too much, too needy. All teasing over, she found a way to get the shorts and her boots off.
Christian planted his feet on the floor, pulled out the condom he’d stashed in his pocket and handed it to her. There was no going back this time. Sandy palmed the foil packet and waited while he wiggled his jeans and boxers down a few inches, trying not to laugh again at the frustration wrinkling his brow.
Tearing the packet open, Sandy took her time rolling the latex over the hard shaft pulsing under her fingers. Her mouth went dry at the feel of him, while other parts of her were wet and ready.
He leaned back and her chest tightened at the sight of the long, strong lines of his body. If she weren’t so desperate to have him inside her, the logistics might have been a nightmare. Placing her hands behind her on the handlebars, she pushed up while he slid underneath her. Her thighs came up and over Christian’s. Holding himself firmly in hand, he lined the head of his cock up against the heat of her opening.
Sandy slid down slowly, letting her body adjust to his size. She didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until he sat up and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her down the last inch and making her gasp.
Movement on the bike was limited, but neither complained. The gentle rocking motion, his hands tight on her hips so that he could go deeper, was more than enough stimulation.
Christian was in awe. There had been lots of other women. Lots of hot one night stands that had made him walk funny the next day. Nothing compared to this. It wasn’t the place, despite the fact that it was a fantasy come true to find a woman who’d fuck him on his bike, it was her. The way she sighed and moaned, the way she held on to him and trusted him. It was the sparkle of wildness and fun in her eyes.
Ready to make her scream, Christian pushed her until her back touched the tank, stood and began to fuck her the way he wanted, hard and deep. She’d gone from holding him to raking her nails down his chest and muttering his name over and over.
He hit all the right spots, thumb riding her clit, and sent her screaming into orgasm. So tight and so hot, she was pulling him along with her. Usually he’d pull out, even with a condom, but he couldn’t do it this time. No, this time Christian seated himself deep and let the fear go. His legs trembled hard as he came.
CHAPTER TEN
Somehow he managed to get her off the bike, their clothes collected, and into the house. Still slightly brain-dead, Christian remembered that they’d laughed a lot, that they’d stumbled a couple of times, and that he’d had trouble making his hands stop shaking enough to open the lock.
He’d wanted Sandy in his bed, or somewhere near it. They settled on the shower. There wasn’t much washing done, but there were more acrobatics and a senses-draining oral ending that made him glad the soap dish could support the weight of a full grown man.
Sandy couldn’t remember a time when she’d been this needy for a man. There was no getting enough when it came to Christian. It would make for a sore morning tomorrow, but it would be worth it.
They made it to the bed, finally, and all she could do was sprawl across it and try to catch her breath. Her knees were raw from the carpet on the floor outside the bathroom, and her thighs had taken on a permanent tremor.
The sight of her, arms and legs thrown wide across his big bed, naked as the day she was born, had Christian hard again in seconds. No woman had ever been in his bed. He came to them, he never brought them home. What made her different? It was a question for another time. Christian climbed up next to her, lifted one half-limp arm, and let it fall onto his chest.
“You’ve killed me.”
Sandy’s voice was so muffled by the comforter that at first he hadn’t understood her. “You’re still talking. Pretty good for a zombie.”
Halfheartedly, she smacked his chest. “I can’t stay.”
“Mmmm, yes you can. I can’t drive in this condition.” That teasing southern drawl made her skin go all hot.
Barely raising her head, she took a good long look at the area he was indicating, eyes wide at the sight of his renewed hardness. “That’s it. You’re a real cyborg, and that tattoo was me seeing the future.”
“It’s your fault. I’m not the one who decided to sprawl fully nude on top of my bed.”
“I’m nude because I can’t walk to find my clothes.” She walked her fingers up his chest and ran her fingers over his swollen lips. They matched hers.
“If you’re dead set on it, I’ll try to control my randy partner and take you home.” He chuckled when she looked up long enough to stick her tongue out at him.
Reality took that moment to rear its ugly head. He could see it hit her. She was in his bed, the bed of the man Atticus hated. If he took her home, Atticus would know what they’d been doing. She didn’t want him to know. It was plain on her face. He turned his head away and tried to keep the anger he felt out of his voice. “Don’t worry, pretty girl. I’ll drop you back at your shop so he’ll never know I had my hands on his precious daughter.”
Sandy could hear the anger he was trying to mask. Could feel it all around him. “Christian, I don’t know what is going on with you two, and I won’t beg you—or him—to tell me. No, I don’t want him to know that I was with you right this very second.”
She got up and straddled his lap, forcing him to look up at her. “I don’t even know where this is going, Christian. If I don’t know what this is, how am I s
upposed to explain that to the man who raised me?”
Christian nodded. She was making sense, dammit. He wanted her to crow about her night with him so he could watch Atticus’ head blow, but at the same time he didn’t want anyone to know. He wanted to keep her all to himself for a while longer. Sandy Rivers wasn’t like the other women he’d spent his time with, and he needed time to process that.
Smacking her soundly on the ass, Christian sat up and tossed her over onto her back on the bed. She bounced once and giggled. “I’ll get your clothes.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sandy nodded off more than once on the ride back to the shop. She was exhausted, and a little sore. If she hadn’t been so tired she might have noticed the light in the office upstairs go out quickly.
Christian stopped and turned off the bike. He took off his helmet, surprised when she didn’t move. “Tired?”
She nodded, knowing he’d feel it against his back.
“Promise you’ll be careful going home?”
She nodded again, a small smile crossing her lips. “Same to you. It’s late and you know what that means for folk like us.”
He chuckled lightly. “Yep. Must be up to no good.”
“Well, it isn’t a lie. We were up to no good.” She rubbed her cheek against the fabric of his t-shirt and sighed. Moving was not high on her list of things to do, but she made herself get off the bike.
If she’d thought she was just going to walk away, she was wrong. Christian grabbed her hand and pulled her back to him, holding her close to his chest for a minute and kissing her gently to keep from aggravating the rash his beard had left on her face. “This still isn’t over, pretty girl.”
Something inside her softened even more. “I guess we’ll see what the morning brings. Goodnight, Christian.”
“Goodnight, Sandy.”
He watched to make sure she got safely onto the road to her house, just a mile away from the club. When she rounded the corner slowly he pulled out and headed home.
*****
He hit the speed dial on his cell. “Wake up. He’s headed your way.”
“Atticus, I have to ask again—are you sure you want me to do this?”
“Do what I paid you to do.” Atticus hit the end button and tossed the phone into his desk drawer. Tomorrow he’d get rid of it.
*****
He took the drive home slower than usual. His body was tired, but his brain just wouldn’t shut off. Sandy had him all twisted up in knots and that was something that hadn’t happened in a long time.
Mainly, he wondered what it was that Atticus truly had against him. He’d been tolerant of him when he was new, even agreeing with some of his ideas. Then something had happened. If he only knew what that was, maybe he could reason with the old man.
Sure, there were rumors about him. Lots of them over the last four years. He’d been more than a little wild in the beginning. Drinking too much, sleeping around, and racking up fist fights. He’d thought that the life was just that—one big party.
Christian’s past was his past. He’d left it there three years ago and hadn’t looked back. He’d straightened up his act and made friends. Put down roots. Gotten involved in the real work that a club could do. Good work. He had the shop and his house, work he loved and people who cared what happened to him.
Sandy. She was like the missing piece of a puzzle. She fit in the empty spot so perfectly that it was seamless. What did it mean that he’d broken all his rules for her? He’d broken them, and if he were being honest he’d admit that it had nothing to do with pissing off Atticus. He realized that not one second of his time with Sandy really had anything to do with Atticus, other than giving him an excuse to get close to her.
Tomorrow the shop closed at noon. As soon as he was cleaned up, he was going to hunt down Atticus and have a long overdue talk. Find out once and for all what it was that he hated about him so much. He had to face the old man if he was considering anything long term with Sandy—and he was seriously considering it.
Lost in those images of her on his bed, he didn’t see the car until it was too late.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A few hours of sleep had done wonders. All Sandy’s aches were gone, aside from a little bit of remaining beard rash that stung under the hot water of the shower. It was after nine before she was dressed and ready to face the day.
She skipped breakfast, rushing to get to her shop and get opened up for the day. Saturdays were busy, usually Towners with requests for small pieces or flash art. Nothing she couldn’t handle.
It wasn’t until she got everything organized that she thought to check her cell and see if Christian had called. There was a small twinge of disappointment when the screen showed no missed calls or messages.
Of course, her disappointment wasn’t reasonable. They’d been up late, and he opened his shop at eight on Saturdays. Since he was the only mechanic in town, there was little doubt he’d be busy today.
The bell over the outer door dinged, and she welcomed her first client of the day.
*****
Pain pounded in Christian’s head, making him feel slightly nauseous. Concussion, he thought. Helmet had stayed on, which was good news.
Trying to take stock without moving too much, Christian carefully tested his arms and legs. Everything worked, but his right leg was messed up. Dislocated or broken, he couldn’t really tell. He didn’t think his neck or back were broken.
The smell of gasoline was making the nausea worse. The tank must be leaking. He couldn’t tell where the bike had landed without moving, and that was out of the question for the moment.
He tried to remember what the car that hit him had looked like. A sedan of some kind. Definitely not American. It was dark, either blue or black. It had come out of nowhere, and he’d been distracted.
Cell phone. He carefully moved his hands to the pocket of his jeans where he kept it, but it was gone. It must have fallen out when he was hit. Hoping it was on the ground, he felt around but it wasn’t within the reach of his arms.
His stomach heaved and he managed to roll onto his side, scared he’d choke on his own vomit. When his stomach was empty he rolled onto his back again. His head felt like it might split wide open.
He had to get a sense of how far from the road he was, and how long he’d been out. Maybe he could spot his cell close by. There was no choice; he had to sit up. Being as careful as possible, he planted his hands on the ground and pushed up. His head spun, but it was manageable.
Once he was mostly sitting upright, he looked down at his leg. It didn’t look broken, but his knee was swelling up. Dislocated then, not broken. He looked left and right. The road was about a hundred feet to his right. The bike was on his left, destroyed, gas tank leaking. It was far enough away that if it caught fire he could get away.
He didn’t see his cell phone anywhere, and the world was getting a little fuzzy around the edges. He tried to stay awake, but the pain took him under.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sandy’s first client was done and gone. Wanting a simple set of roman numerals to commemorate the birth of his first child, the Towner had been chatty and obviously nervous. Sandy actually enjoyed the part of her job where she got to make first-timers comfortable. She enjoyed talking with her clients and getting to know a little bit about their lives. Of course, the real talent was doing all that without revealing anything about herself.
Her second client was a looksee. Spent a half an hour looking at flash, claiming to want ink but not finding anything that was—her. Sandy tried to feel her out, but got nothing. The woman liked the idea of being rebel enough to get a tattoo without actually wanting to get the tattoo. She’d go out tonight and tell her friends how she’d gone to a tattoo parlor, but hadn’t found anything unique enough to fit her personality.
She took a break after the woman left. The club was open, but there were barely any people hanging around because of the charity ride. Even Mariah was off today, her backup co
ok sitting bored behind the flattop reading a magazine.
Moving behind the counter, Sandy grabbed a glass and filled it with ice and sweet tea. Back in her shop she dug into her bag and pulled out her cell. Still nothing from Christian. What could it hurt to send a quick text? She typed, ‘Get any sleep?’ and hit send.
*****
The pain in his head wasn’t getting any better. He’d managed to get his helmet off but it had taken every bit of energy he’d had. The nausea had returned, and he’d been breathing very slowly to get it under control. Each movement of his head brought waves of sickness.
It was close to eleven, according to his watch. He’d been out for a while, and that was scary. Every biker was aware of just how dangerous concussions could be. He needed to get closer to the road, try to flag down the first car he saw.
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