by RuNyx .
Her heart pounded in the silence, as she stayed unmoving, barely breathing, nerves stretching tighter and tighter with every single breath, her nipples hardening under the constraining fabric of her bra, heat pooling between her legs. Good lord, she was ready to combust and she didn’t even know where he was. Didn’t know how he was affected. She was going to change that. Make sure he got as affected as she did. She wasn’t going to be burning alone, not if she could help it. If he afflicted her with this insane lust, the least she could do was return the favor.
He liked to watch? She’d give him a fucking show.
Trusting her instincts, which had worked pretty well for her so far, Morana slowly uncoiled her body from its slumberous position, stretching her arms above her head and her legs out before her, arching her spine, playing his game. She was caught unawares by the sudden rush of blood to her sleeping legs, the sudden million pinpricks bursting across her skin.
A moan of relief escaped her lips unbidden before she could call it back, and she suddenly tensed.
That one sound in the silence had been loud as a scream. It hadn’t broken the tension. It had thickened it.
Morana could feel his eyes drift leisurely, heatedly all over her, examining her with a scrutiny that should have been disturbing but wasn’t, would have been disturbing but wasn’t. The thickened silence hung over her like a thunder cloud. She held her breath, her heart pounding, for the lightning to split the air between them, for the thunder to roar in her body, for the electricity to singe them and leave its mark.
She waited.
His eyes never moved away even as she felt his movement in the room, the air snapping around him, changing around her. Was he stepping closer? Or farther? Would she feel his breath on her skin, or feel the empty caress of the air?
She waited, her nerves stretched so taut she was afraid she would snap.
The sudden vibration of her phone on her thigh made her jump, her heart thumping against her ribs. Aware of his eyes on her, Morana picked up her phone with slightly unsteady hands and unlocked the screen, blinking at the message.
Tristan Caine: Meet me in the parking lot in 5 minutes.
Morana could’ve spoken. She could’ve talked and asked him why. But she didn’t want to break this silence, this moment where she was sitting in the dark alone being watched by him from the darker shadows.
Me: Planning to make me go somewhere, Mr. Caine?
Tristan Caine: On the contrary, I’m planning to make you come somewhere, Ms. Vitalio. 5 minutes.
Her breath caught as she read the message, the dinging of the elevator loud in the quiet of the penthouse, telling her he’d left her alone and stepped back. Knowing he was gone, Morana put a hand to her racing heart, feeling its hard thump under her fingers, her breasts heavy and heaving as she inhaled and exhaled, regularizing her breaths.
Was she really going to do this again? Let him do this again? That time in the restaurant had been to get them out of their systems. It had failed spectacularly. Would this time get him out? And just in case it didn’t, would she let him fuck her again? At what cost? She wasn’t foolish enough to delude herself into thinking it won’t deepen whatever connection they already had. Could she risk it? Maybe she was overthinking it. Maybe they’d get themselves out of their systems, and Morana would develop the counter codes and leave everything peacefully with closure.
Another incoming text interrupted her thoughts.
Tristan Caine: If you’re scared…
He was baiting her. Why?
Me: Of what?
Tristan Caine: Come and see for yourself.
What, was he parading around naked in the lot with whipped cream smeared over his man parts?
Me: You use ‘come’ a lot, you know that?
Tristan Caine: Women are usually grateful in all sorts of ways.
Morana scoffed, trying not to let the image of him tangled with some gorgeous woman, multiple women, get to her. It didn’t bother her. Not. At. All.
Standing up and straightening her clothes, she slipped her feet into her flats and headed for the elevator, typing all the while.
Me: You actually let them speak during sex? Outside of a restroom? How classy.
The elevator doors slid open and she got inside, looking back at herself in the mirror, at her tousled hair and the tank top that tended to slip her shoulders. The jeans Amara had loaned her was slightly loose on her, the hem folded back to accommodate her shorter height. She looked like a little hipster who’d burst into a song and dance at the drop of a hat, like in a music video.
Scoffing, she pushed her phone inside her pocket, straightening the strap of her top, and walked out when the doors opened. Dante and Tristan Caine stood together, talking in quiet tones beside his bike. It was her first proper glimpse of him since the afternoon, and she was surprised to find him wearing not the suit he’d been wearing during the day, but well-worn jeans that hugged his ass in ways she could envy, and that black leather jacket of his. She was surprised because it meant he’d been in the apartment longer than she’d realized. It meant he’d let her sleep without disturbing her, and she didn’t know what to make of that.
Dante looked at her, gave her a small nod and headed to his car, dialing someone on his phone.
And then, Tristan Caine took one handle of that beast of a bike, swung one leg over it, the muscles of his thighs flexing under that jeans in a way that made her insides roar with feminine appreciation. He settled his ass back on the seat, picking up a helmet from behind him and finally looking at her with those piercing blue eyes. It was only then that she noticed a second helmet on the seat. A smaller, more feminine helmet.
Fuck.
He was taking her out on his bike? His bike? The sacred, holy bike? The bike he actually enjoyed riding?
“If you’re done gaping, Ms. Vitalio, we’re on a clock,” his rough, low voice rasped over her, breaking her out of her stupor, his eyes locked on her.
Morana gulped and walked forward, apprehension curling in her stomach along with excitement, eyeing the beautiful black and red chrome monster, the seat higher than her waist. How in the world was she going to climb onto it?
She picked up the smaller helmet, aware of his gaze on her. It wasn’t new and it was clearly feminine. Who did it belong to? Or was it like the common helmet for any and all females climbing the back? For some reason, the idea did not sit well with her.
“Who’s is this?” she blurted out before she could stop herself, berating herself the moment the words left her lips.
Tristan Caine raised an eyebrow at her but stayed silent, and suddenly, a horrible, horrible thought occurred to her. Was there someone he was supposed to be with back in…? She shook the thought off even before it could complete. No. What little she knew of him, from what she’d seen and heard, Tristan Caine did not mistreat women. She was the only exception and even with his hatred, he’d given her sanctuary when she’d needed it to lick her wounds and heal.
Had there been someone else, he wouldn’t have pursued her as sexually as he had.
Morana was certain of that.
This was exactly why she took a deep breath and put on the helmet, looking up at him, to find him staring back at her with an inscrutable look.
“You might want to remove those glasses,” he commented, his lips in a completely straight line.
Pulling them off wordlessly, she floundered for a second, wondering where to put it to keep it safe, before tucking one ear-handle into her cleavage, letting the glasses hang off her tank top. She looked up to find those blue, blue eyes watching her exposed skin unabashedly, before leisurely stroking over her neck, her mouth, and halting at her eyes.
They stayed that way for a moment before he turned back to face the front, his lithe, graceful body moving as he kicked the bike off the stand. He started it with a powerful thrust, waiting.
Morana felt an odd kind of excitement filling her.
She’d never been on a bike. Only ever in her
car and her father’s.
Her first time on the back of a bike, with Tristan Caine.
Morana took in a deep breath, putting her feet on the stand and her hands on those broad, muscular shoulders for support, swinging her leg over. She settled onto the seat, her legs spread wide and held that way by his hips in between them. The beast of a bike rumbled underneath her, sending vibrations up and down her spine, vibrations into her core, making her bite back on a gasp.
“You’ll need to hold more than my shoulder if you don’t want to fall,” his voice rumbled over the noise of the engine.
She didn’t want to.
But she did too.
Morana hesitated, but slowly placed her hands on the sides of his jacket, feeling nothing but tight, packed muscles beneath the leather, her fingers flexing against the warmth of his flesh.
“And keep your leg off that big rod on the right.”
She’d already figured that one out for herself.
After a second, the bike rumbled under her as he pulled out of the spot, the vibrations quickening against her flesh as the bike picked up speed, pressing her flush against his massive back.
Dear Lord, how was she supposed to survive an entire ride like this?
He pulled down his visor and throttled the engine once before pulling out of the lot, exiting into the quiet street in front of the building, turning left once on the bridge, flying across it.
The world sped by faster and faster, becoming a blur she could not see without her glasses, the motion of the bike smoother than she’d thought it would be. The wind whipped through her free locks, sending them careening wildly into different directions as her breasts flattened completely against him, her body plastered to his as she gripped him around the stomach, his abs rock hard against her palms. The bike purred under her like a content beast being stroked seductively by his lover.
And she had to admit it, Tristan Caine rode the bike well. Really well. He maneuvered around crowded areas expertly, gave it free rein in the open road, all the while in complete control of the monster. Not for one second did she feel worried about breaking her neck, and she should have as they raced across the almost empty freeway way beyond the speed limit. She should have worried when she felt the gun he’d tucked into the back of his jeans press against her stomach. But she didn’t.
All she felt was free.
Wild.
Exhilarated in a way she’d never been before.
Was this the high he got every time he climbed his bike? Was this the freedom he tasted that was so elusive in their lives? Was this the wildness he felt beat like a pulse through his blood?
Morana tilted her head back, feeling every caress of the wind over her skin, feeling a rush so profound she couldn’t even explain it to herself. So she didn’t. She let herself go, let herself have this, let herself be free in a way she had never believed was possible.
Removing her arms from around him, she tightened her grip on his hips with her thighs and raised her hands above her head. Some switch inside her had flipped. She knew he wouldn’t let her fall, or he already would have, on the many chances he’d had to destroy her. She knew he would destroy her, but not today. Today, for the first time, she got to be no one but a girl on the back of a man’s motorcycle, if even for a moment. Today, for the first time, she was just a woman with no past and no future, just this endless road with this man, this freedom, and this life.
She couldn’t contain the loud shout of pure exhilaration rushing through her lips, the loud scream announcing to the world of her joy, letting the man controlling this bike know she was enjoying it. She was not inhibited about it.
Morana spread her arms, closing her eyes, feeling the wind rub against her, feeling him rub against her, feeling the bike rub against her.
She yelled even louder - unashamed, unbound, unchained.
She let herself feel deeper - uncaring, unhinged, unabashed.
It was just a bike. It was just a ride. It was just a man.
It just was.
It was almost an hour later that reality intruded.
Tristan Caine turned from the main road onto a dirt lane she’d known all her life, and for the first time in an hour of bliss, her heart started pounding again. Her fingers flexed against his abs as she saw the massive structure of the Vitalio mansion loom behind the wrought iron gates.
What the hell?
He stopped the bike on the side of the property, nearer to her wing than the gates. He parked behind thick bushes that were tall enough to hide them from the view.
The sudden quiet under her thighs contrasted starkly with the buzz that coursed through her body, setting her senses on high alert, only the sound of nocturnal creatures penetrating the area around them along with her own blood pounding in her ears.
Slowly, she removed her fingers from his stomach and her arms from around him. She pulled back enough to give him the space to get down. He did one of those leg-over-the-handle moves that she’d only seen on Sons of Anarchy, and was standing on solid ground within minutes, waiting for her to disembark.
Morana removed her helmet and handed it over to him, pulling her glasses from between her breasts and putting them on her nose, blinking at the world suddenly coming into focus. She found his intense blue eyes on her, just watching her as she threw her leg around the bike and hopped down.
Big mistake.
The sudden standing position made her knees crumple beneath her just as hands gripped her low on her hips and pulled her upright, her hands landing on his hard chest for support as blood rushed to her legs.
“You enjoy riding,” he said softly into the space between their faces.
Morana watched the moonlight play with the shadows on his face. His scruff hid his cheeks while his eyes seemed even bluer, focused on her with the same expression she could feel pulsing inside herself – sheer, undiluted exhilaration.
“You enjoy making me ride,” Morana shot back just as quietly.
His lips twitched for a second, his eyes drifting to her mouth for a long, heady moment, before the veil came back over his face and he took a step back, leaving her standing on thankfully steady legs.
Taking out his phone, he pressed it to his ear and spoke, “Now,” before hanging up.
Morana raised her eyebrows. How eloquent.
A moment later, a chunk of the wall of the property came away. A man with a thick beard stood on the other side in a guard’s uniform, nodding respectfully at Tristan Caine.
He had spies in her father’s house?
Of course, he did.
That was how he’d gotten inside and climbed her wall so easily all those weeks ago. God, that was so long ago. She’d been so different then, in so many ways.
Morana looked at him, taking him in, and realized how much she’d changed since then, and how much he had to do with it.
“Clear?” Tristan Caine asked the guard, his voice cold, lethal.
The man nodded. “Yes, sir. You can go straight to the wing. Nobody will bother you.”
Holy… okay. That was a first. Another first.
Morana watched, stunned, as Tristan Caine entered the premises, telling her with his eyes to follow him.
He was breaking into her father’s house.
She was breaking into her father’s house.
Her father - the most dangerous man on this side of the country.
Not right now, a voice whispered inside her head as she watched the man beside her. He moved with that stealthy grace of his as the guard disappeared somewhere in the shrubbery, the moonlight their only guide across the trees that lined the property.
Morana’s heart thudded erratically in her chest. This was beyond anything she’d ever imagined she would do. Yet, there she was, following the enemy’s footsteps as he wove his way in and out of the green, intruding on her father’s property to retrieve something of hers.
Watching him weave his way over that made Morana realize just how well he knew this property. Better than an
y enemy should know. She wondered if her father had any idea at all.
Morana saw the window of her bedroom come into view minutes later. Were they going to do the crazy climbing thing he’d done the last time? Because she couldn’t fly, and she sure as hell did not have those biceps to hold her while she dangled fifteen feet off the ground. She wasn’t the biggest fan of heights either, something she could not let him discover or he’d probably kill her by throwing her off a high cliff. She’d rather die by a plain gunshot to the head. Vertigo sucked.
Shaking off her gloomy thoughts, Morana swallowed, her palms sweating, heart racing. Without thinking, she placed her hand on his back.
He stilled completely, turning around to pin her to the spot with those magnificent eyes shining in the moonlight.
She blanked.
Tristan Caine, in motion, was beautiful. But Tristan Caine, in utter stillness, could not be described.
She didn’t even try.
“How are we getting inside?” she whispered, keeping her voice as low as she could, the fear of discovery, of execution, not just hers but his making her antsy.
“Through the door.”
Before Morana could utter a word, he wrapped his long, rough fingers around her wrist. Pulling her behind him, they across the empty patch of grass on quiet feet, his longer strides making her work double to catch up. They ran across the clearing, in clear view of anyone who happened to look their way.
Her heart in her throat the entire time, fear and thrill fighting for dominance in her body, Morana ran faster than she’d ever run, still so much slower than him, his hand pulling her along the only thing to keep her from stumbling at the speed.
They reached the side door to her wing, the one beside the stairs, and he clicked it open. Slipping inside, he pulled her along in one smooth move. In silence, awed by the fact that they’d made it without discovery, they walked in the dark hallway that opened up to the staircase.