One Wild Ride

by Lauren Hawkeye

  “I’ve got no problem with a woman who wants to be a sweet butt, Trey, and you know it.” I nodded to his... companion... whose dazed smile told me she was probably high. I wasn’t surprised. The sweet smell of pot was everywhere you turned at the rally. “But that’s not where we were going, so don’t do this just to cover your ass.”

  This was not wild and crazy. This just... sucked.

  Crawling back out of the tent, I tried to hold my chin up, but his words had hit home.

  “At least close the fucking tent back up!” Trey’s words followed me into the twilight air.

  “Keep the sleeping bag!” I shouted back, saluting him with my middle finger. That was twice in one night that I’d given someone the finger—the first times I’d ever done it in my life— and damn, but it felt good. “And fuck you!”

  I didn’t wait around for his response. Blindly I made my way across the field, back toward the area where the stage was. I had no idea where I was going or what I was doing—I had vague thoughts of leaving the rally, of looking for a bus stop.

  But I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to explore the rally on my own terms...

  I felt liberated.

  And pissed as hell. Mostly at myself.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. Trey’s actions shouldn’t have surprised me, but I’d fooled myself into thinking that because he’d let me hop on the back of his bike and ride with him, that he’d liked me. That I’d found someone who could take me away from my stifled life.

  And while I felt lighter, more carefree, without his deadweight hanging around my neck, there was still a shard of pain in there. But I clung to the pain.

  If I wanted to change my life, I couldn’t count on a guy to do it—that was what Rachel always did. Looked to each new boyfriend to save her.

  If I wanted to be different, I had to reach for the change with my own two hands.

  So when I paused for a moment to catch my breath, surveying the row of bikes that ran out in front of me, catching sight of a Yamaha YZ 450F, I embraced the trickle of crazy that worked its way into my body.

  I’d read up a bit because I wanted to fit in, and I knew that this make was one of the most popular in the country—nothing unique. But I recognized it because of the insane number of stickers that Trey had plastered all over it, all sayings meant to show the world how witty he was.

  Though if he really was that witty, I figured that he wouldn’t need stickers to say things for him.

  “Opportunistic bastard.”

  Red clouding my vision, I wasn’t thinking straight—a novel concept for me. Before I was even sure of what I was doing, I’d stooped, picked up a big, heavy stick, and was circling Trey’s bike, the thing I knew he treasured most in the world.

  Slowly I approached it. I knew it was wrong, but in that minute I was feeling crazy enough that I just didn’t care. He’d used me—embarrassed me—and I wanted to hurt him. I wasn’t sure what, exactly, I was going to do with that stick. But I would never find out, because movement from the corner of my eye had me whirling guiltily, clutching a hand to my chest.

  “You might not want to do that. Though if you do, I want to watch, ‘cause I think it will be fucking hot.”

  It was him. Drummer Boy. Standing not three feet away from me, the glow of the floodlights that surrounded the area by the stage making that sexy as hell eyebrow ring glint.

  “How the hell do you know what I want?” The words were defensive, knee-jerk. But even as I spoke, his words sank into my consciousness, helping to dilute some of my crazy.

  What the hell was I doing?

  Followed by, he thinks watching me trash a bike would be hot?

  He’d thrown a wall right in the runaway train of my tantrum. Channeling a scene from the Exorcist was not how I wanted to behave, freedom from rules or not.

  “Thanks.” My words were halting as I lowered the stick, dropped it. He’d saved me a hell of a lot of trouble—messing with someone’s bike was serious business.

  And—damn it—he was so right. Now that the red haze of anger had passed, I mostly felt relief. Really, Trey and his bike had just represented the freedom that I was searching for. I’d get over it.

  He’d hurt my pride, but he and his buddies would have hurt a lot more than that if I’d scratched up his bike.

  And when the anger had receded, I found myself shifting in the silence, uncomfortably aware of Drummer Boy’s unabashed stare.

  He was hot. Like, hella hot. And I knew that I wasn’t imagining the chemistry sparking between us.

  But jumping from one bad boy to another was something Rachel would do, not me.

  Drummer Boy remained silent as I had my inner monologue, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans. Still feeling edgy, I didn’t bother to hide the fact that I was looking him over.

  Since he was doing the same, I didn’t think he’d mind.

  His jeans were tight, torn in all the right places. A sleeveless black tank showed off arms that were ripped, probably from the repetitive motions of drumming. On his left bicep was a large tattoo.

  One thing I’d learned in the last two weeks... I liked tattoos. They made me hot. In fact, I kinda wanted to be brave enough to get one of my own, something to mark this trip.

  I couldn’t tear my eyes away from that ink on his arm, a bright heart with “Three Little Words” inked through it.

  Three Little Words... that was the name of the band that had been playing earlier. They were good. Like, really good, but I’d been so caught up in my tantrum that I hadn’t even noticed their set was over.

  Belatedly I looked up at the stage. A new band was on, this one more about making loud noise than music, like these guys had been.

  I didn’t want to dance to this. But as I stared at Drummer Boy, I felt that same weird connection that had stretched between us when he’d looked down on me from the stage.

  I didn’t want to dance to this racket, no, but I thought that maybe I wanted to dance with him. A naked dance accompanied by some hot, heavy rhythm.

  And there I went, wanting to jump right back into the next wild thing. But I could hear the clock ticking away in my head.

  I figured I had another couple weeks, maybe, before my parents came to hunt me down. Or maybe it would be Rachel... the last time I’d called, she’d been about to go for a “ladies’ lunch” with our mom and Mrs. Knox.

  Her voice had been filled with panic. It might have been truly awful of me, but to know that she was getting a slight taste of what my life had become because of her actions made me grin.

  Yes, she was having a taste of my life... so why shouldn’t I have a taste of hers?

  I wanted it. Wanted him. Hard as it was to admit even to myself, what I’d wanted most from this time on my own was sex—sex that lived up to those kisses in the rain in the movies. Something to keep me warm in the dark after I was married to Cade Knox and barefoot and pregnant with our third child.

  I’d thought Trey might have been able to give that to me, but it hadn’t been there for me. But here... here was a guy who really, really did.

  I wanted him.

  Why couldn’t I have him?

  Working my lower lip between my teeth, I thought on how to phrase what I wanted. And tried to reconcile it with my need to be more important than some chick who came when Drummer Boy crooked a finger.

  Although coming of a different variety wouldn’t be a horrible thing, right this second. His stare was making heat wash over me, making my nipples tighten against my tank top, making me aware of the pull of denim between my thighs.

  “My name is Mercedes,” I finally offered. I wasn’t shy, never had been, but the way he was looking at me—so direct, so open—made it hard to look him in the eye.

  “Levi,” he replied, rocking back on his heels.

  “Thanks... aah... thanks for the nudge. I don’t know why I was thinking of doing that. It was stupid.”

  “You’re angry. Angry chicks can be hot.” His words were cocky, but
still he didn’t move, his body belying his words, and his words made me flush. The way he stood there—he was so completely in control of himself, his surroundings. All of things I didn’t feel. “Want to have a beer and talk about it?”

  Beer, maybe. I wasn’t really in the mood to talk. There was something between us. It was strange and indefinable, and yet it existed, and I wanted to act on it.

  Maybe this could be the first step.

  “Yes.”

  Silently I followed him around the back of the stage, to an old van that was parked beneath a tree. Beside it was a battered looking Harley, and I nodded to it as Levi pulled two cans of beer from a cooler in the back of the van, handing one to me.

  “That yours?” I paused to let my gaze flicker over it—even in the shadows of twilight, I could see that it was a thing of beauty. I liked this clearly well used bike better than I’d ever cared for Trey’s souped up, soulless one.

  I could so easily picture myself straddling that leather seat, could almost feel the vibrations of the machine between my thighs.

  Could picture myself with my arms wrapped around Levi’s waist as we rode off into the sunset.

  No. Scrap that. I wanted to drive.

  Levi grinned wickedly, and as if he knew and understood the thoughts crowding my brain, he leaned over and ran a hand over the handlebars. Watching his long fingers trace the chrome made me shiver.

  Yep, there was definitely something going on between us. I just had to steel myself, to acknowledge going in that it probably wouldn’t be for any more than one night.

  He was a musician. And I had to get back home before my dad had a heart attack for real.

  Shaking off the thought, I turned my attention back to Levi. Not a hardship—man, he was sexy. And that tattoo...

  I wanted to run my tongue over it. Slooowwly.

  “Yeah. Had a better one back home, but most of the money we make now goes back into the band.” Popping the top on his can, he drank deeply and swallowed; I tore my attention away from the tattoo, only to find myself mesmerized by the bob of his Adam’s apple in his throat.

  “Where’s home? Australia?” He caught me ogling and smirked, making me blush. Damn it. I never blushed.

  He cocked his head to the side, telling me I’d guessed right, before placing his hands behind his head and stretching. The movement made those biceps of his flex, that brightly inked heart rippling, and I felt a quiver between my legs.

  No, jumping from one guy to another was definitely not the smartest idea that I could have had. But if that was where this was headed—and surely I wasn’t mistaking the sparks between us—would I regret it if I didn’t?

  Hell, yes, I would.

  Now to figure out how the hell to make my move.

  “My mates and I moved here a few months ago. We did okay back in Oz, but for some reason our music really picked up with the college crowd here.” I waited to hear the cockiness, for him to strut—metaphorically speaking of course—in order to get into my pants. Like Trey had. And which he didn’t have to do, because I already wanted him.

  It didn’t come. While the heat between us was definitely real, he seemed to be okay with letting this play out however it was meant to.

  We sat in silence for a moment, the screech of the group that called themselves musicians on the stage truly painful to hear. One shriek of the guitar and we both winced, knocking our hands together.

  I felt my heart leap into my throat at the simple touch. Curling my fingers into my palms, I rode the sensation.

  I’d never felt that jolt, that surge of need with Trey. I’d never felt it with anyone at all.

  Looking up from beneath the lock of gold hair that fallen into my eyes, I found Levi staring right back at me.

  He quirked an eyebrow when he started to lean in, telegraphing his intent, giving me a chance to pull away.

  Pulling away would be the stupidest thing I could ever do. So instead I eagerly leaned forward, moistened my lips with my tongue, and held my breath.

  At first it was just the slightest brush of his lips over mine. A promise more than anything, but the electricity that zinged through my body from that light touch pulled a moan from me.

  “Beautiful.” Levi spoke against my lips, and I saw those gorgeous eyes of his looking down at where our lips had met. He inhaled a breath that sounded as full of pent up need as I felt, then slowly sank his finger into my hair, changing the angle of his mouth.

  His tongue pressed against the seam of my lips as he slowly, steadily, took us deeper.

  I opened eagerly when he licked his way into my mouth. I couldn’t hold back the gasping sigh of excitement, of pleasure when he danced that tongue over my teeth, exploring.

  Driving me crazy. Clouding my mind.

  When he pulled back, breathing hard, I was gasping for air myself. We eyed one another with something akin to shock as I tried to wrap my mind around the way that kiss had made me feel.

  My pulse was pounding a rapid tattoo against my ribcage. My skin felt swollen, sensitive.

  And I ached. Oh my God, I ached—everywhere, really, but especially the tips of my breasts and the wet cavern between my legs.

  This, this. This was what I’d been searching for. I wanted more—I wanted it all, so I tried to think, tried to use my frazzled nerves to figure out the best way to seduce him.

  Instead...

  “Do you do this a lot?” I cringed as soon as the words left my lips. Damn it, damn it. Way to kill the mood, Carson.

  But instead of smirking, or getting weirded out, Levi tilted his head to one side, seemed to contemplate the question seriously.

  “You mean, hook up after shows?”

  I nodded.

  “Yeah. I mean, I guess so.” He shifted uncomfortably, and I swore yet again in the confines of my own skull.

  What the hell did it matter if he did this a lot, if he was just going to be my wild time?

  But... this didn’t feel like just some one night thing. Which was stupid, because I’d just met the guy. And I was probably imagining things, drugged from the power of that kiss.

  Before I could get too crazy, Levi inhaled sharply then turned, one leg dangling outside the van. “I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone before. Because... you’re different. I feel like I can tell you this.”

  I blinked; startled—this wasn’t what I’d expected him to say. “Okay.”

  He raked a hand through those spikes of black hair; I slid my fingers beneath my thigh to keep from doing it for him.

  He sucked in a deep breath, his face carefully blank.

  “I’ve had sex with a lot of girls, yeah. I’m young, and they like blokes who are up on a stage. It’s not me especially—it could be anyone up there. But I take advantage of it, sure. Even though I never tell any of those girls what it is that I really want. Never really satisfies me.”

  My stomach did a small flip; I didn’t really need to hear this, though I was intrigued by the latter half of his comment.

  How the hell was I supposed to be any good if all of these other girls hadn’t done it for me? I was just... me.

  He continued.

  “Dorian, our lead singer? He’s in a relationship now, first one in a long time. With a girl and a guy.” Levi shook his head, clearly puzzling that one out, and I had to admit, it set me back on my heels a bit too.

  “You’re not asking me to have a threesome, are you?” I knew my voice was sharp, but after Trey’s suggestion that I join him and his sweet butt in a little ménage a trois.

  Levi barked out a laugh, holding his hands out. “No, not that.”

  “Okay, then.” I shifted where I sat, cross-legged in the back of his van. Our hands were still touching, and I felt an electric current between us every time I inhaled.

  Was I imagining this? Were we just going to keep talking, or was he going to make a move? Because I really wanted another one of those slow, potent kisses.

  Come one, Drummer Boy. Let’s d
o this.

  “But watching him be happy because he’s reached out for something he wants... even though that something is unconventional... it made me want the same thing. I want to be open about what I want, and to hell with whoever doesn’t like it.”

  I waited, watching him from the corner of my eye. He was tense, and without meaning to, I reached out, ran a hand over his arm.

  “Hey, it’s okay.” I didn’t know why, but I wanted to make him happy. “You don’t know me. I’m probably not going to freak, but if I do, it’s no skin off your back, right?”

  “We’ll see. Take a deep breath,” he said wryly, and I furrowed my brow.

  “Spit it out,” I said at the same time that he spoke.

  “I like to be hurt during sex.”

  Chapter Two

  LEVI

  I held my breath, waiting for Mercedes—man, what a sexy name—to respond. I was sure she was going to call me a pervert and run, or else pretend to be into it to hook up with a musician, and then I’d wind up scarring her for life.

  She covered her mouth, and I braced for the worst.

  I was not prepared for the giggle that slipped from between her lips.

  “I’m sorry. Oh, I’m so rude. It’s not funny. It’s, it’s just...” Another giggle. My mouth fell open.

  I wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or relieved or... what.

  “I thought you were going to want to cover me in saran wrap. Or tell me that you were into fucking sheep.” Sitting up straight, she tucked that amazing golden hair behind her ears, the movement thrusting her breasts forward.

  I looked. I couldn’t help it.

  “What kind of pain?” She leaned forward as she asked, revealing the top swells of her breasts, and I felt my cock began to lengthen and thicken in my pants. She looked... eager. Even... interested.

  No way was this happening. I’d found a girl that had really caught my eye, had actually managed to spit out what it was I really wanted during sex—the whole kinky secret—and not only was she still here, but she wanted to know more?

  Calm down, Sinclair. Don’t scare this one away.

  I thought of Dorian, of how he’d found happiness because he’d stepped outside the box.