Wild Ride (Let it Ride Book 2)

by Cynthia Rayne

  Then I went lower, nipping and licking as I slipped the panties from her body. Her legs fell open as though she’d lost the will to resist. The reddish-blond curls between her thighs were soft and warm.

  I splayed her legs apart and kissed each thigh before I bent to lick her. When I touched my tongue to her, she arched like she’d been hit by a live wire.

  Poppy tasted just like berries and cream on my tongue, a feast for any man, and she was all mine. When I needed more contact, I knelt on the floor and pulled her legs to the edge of the bed. As I licked, I massaged her body, teasing her nipples, running my hands over her belly, then down to her hips.

  And then I got down to business, stroking her with my tongue, the motion more insistent, demanding a response. I lifted her legs over my shoulders and bent to the task with gusto. Poppy gasped, writhing on the bed. Her thighs clenched around me, holding me close.

  When she teetered on the brink of orgasm, I pulled back, making her squirm. I needed to be inside her when she came, and I couldn’t wait any longer.

  Fuck me, but she was a sight. Hard nipples, swollen mouth, a puffed-up pussy—all for me. I love the way a woman looks—swollen pink lips, tinged with red. Ready to be plundered.

  Standing between her thighs, I put on a bit of show, unbuckling my pants, sliding them down my hips. Poppy watched me with glittering eyes and a parted mouth. Shakespeare was right—the entire world’s a stage, and I loved being a performer.

  I’d been aching and hard most of the night, so my cock sprang forward as though it were eager for the added space.

  She gasped. “You’ve got a tattoo on your—”

  “Yeah, heroin talked me into getting a tribal tat on my knob.” I swear to God, I got harder under her gaze.

  The tat hurt like fuck at the time, even though I was higher than three kites. But it wasn’t so bad—swirling lines up and down the length of the shaft. It more or less went with the forest design on my chest, so it could’ve been worse.

  After rolling a condom over my dick, I teased her some more.

  Hissing, I stroked my cock into her pussy to get it wet. I’d intended to pull out, but the feel of her was just too damn good, and I slid all the way in. Soon, I was thrusting hard while Poppy moved against me.

  She lifted her hips. “Please, Sebastian…”

  “Patience, Poppy.”

  And then I forced myself to withdraw. If I didn’t, this would end way too soon.

  I slipped just the tip inside once more and then stroked my cock—teasing us both. She kept edging closer, hips shifting toward me. I backed up a bit until Poppy stopped, dropping back to the mattress with a muttered curse.

  Then I placed my cock between the lips, pressed the back of my hand along the shaft, and slowly moved, brushing back and forth. She was warm and wet like sodden velvet.

  When the bell end was back inside but just barely, Poppy arched, whimpering for me, so I thrust a few more times—light and fast.

  “Sebastian!”

  “Need something, love?”

  “You. Inside me.”

  “Thought you’d never ask.”

  And then I lurched into her again, but this time I didn’t hold back. As I rode her, Poppy rubbed her clit. We’d both been on edge all night—scratch that, for months now. Neither one of us lasted much longer. She came first, and I went tumbling after her.

  All I can say is that Poppy was well worth the wait.

  Chapter Nine

  Poppy

  Did I mention I’m not a morning person?

  The first few minutes after I crawl out of bed, I’m drowsy, dazed, and grouchy. This time, I woke up in Sebastian’s bed, and it took me a few seconds to figure out where I was.

  Blurrily, I scanned the room. My dress still hung over the arm of the couch. I was wearing his button-down shirt, and I wrapped it closer around me to ward off the chill. Last night, the temperature had dropped twenty degrees, but snuggling up to Sebastian helped.

  He sat on the couch, bare-chested and barefoot in a holey pair of jeans, singing a new love song. His eyes were shut, and he strummed along, completely unaware I was watching.

  Music had a way of busting out of him. He’d hum along with songs on the radio, moving his body in time. Sometimes, he’d suddenly start singing some random tune, like he was the star of his own musical. It was one of his most endearing qualities.

  For a second, I simply admired him, freezing the moment. Sebastian wore a pair of battered jeans with bare feet and a white t-shirt. God knew I’d been fighting this thing for months. Made me wish I’d pursued this sooner. We could’ve had months of bliss.

  Last night had been flawless, everything I’d fantasized about and more. One little taste and I was greedy for more. I suppose it’s the nature of a limited-edition romance—get it while it’s hot.

  “You’re awake.”

  Dammit, caught in the middle of a perfectly good ogle.

  “Yeah. Hi.” And then I did this awkward waving thing. Not sure where it came from. For some reason, I felt like an idiot the entire time I spent with him, but in a fantastic way, if that makes any sense.

  He smiled.

  I did, too.

  And then there was silence. Time for the uncomfortable morning-after shuffle, a dance I’d done a time or two.

  Sebastian set the guitar down. “I don’t have a thing in my fridge. It’s been weeks since I went grocery shopping because I usually eat out.” He handed me a glass from the end table. “Here’s some orange juice.” And then a cocktail napkin filled with lime and lemon wedges, along with maraschino cherries. “I raided Vagabond for some breakfast items.”

  I laughed. “Thanks.” It was an unconventional meal, but it’d do.

  “The coffee’s almost ready.”

  “Excellent.”

  Sebastian sat down on the bed beside me. After I placed the napkin on the nightstand, he leaned in for a kiss.

  “Second thoughts?”

  “None.”

  “Good.” His mouth curved into a smile.

  Together, we made short work of the garnishes, and then he made us both cups of coffee. After we finished, another stillness followed.

  “I’ll always remember last night.” I pressed a quick kiss to his mouth.

  I’m not a casual sex kind of girl, so I didn’t know what tone to strike exactly, but his expression told me I’d screwed up. Damn, the words slipped right out. It was yet another bunny-boil moment.

  Sebastian laid a hand on the back of his neck. “Nah, you’ll marry a doctor or a lawyer, then have a couple of kids. When you finally get the normal life you want—a picket fence, the dog, the whole thing—I won’t even be an afterthought.”

  Somehow my ordinary, everyday life dream didn’t seem so fantastic right now. I’d just hooked up with a rock god—one I’d been lusting over forever. Once I came down from this high, it’d all snap back into place again.

  Yeah, that had to be it.

  “And what do you want?”

  “The old standbys.” He sat on the couch again and picked up his instrument. “Recognition, glory.”

  It was a flip answer, but we were supposed to be casual and light, so I’d better take it down a notch.

  “Gotcha. Well, I should be going.” So I could get home and pretend to not think about him while I prepared for a week’s worth of classes.

  Sunday fun day my ass. My weekends were filled with homework.

  “No, I didn’t mean…” Sebastian sighed. “This is a strange situation. I haven’t had a morning after with a woman in quite some time, and I’m rusty.”

  “Usually send them home, huh?”

  You can take the boy out of the band…you know the rest. Even though he’d had a serious relationship with Shellie Reeve, there’d been persistent rumors about hookups with random girls. The drugs probably fueled those decisions.

  He avoided the question. “I don’t want to be standoffish with you. I’m not sure how we should play this one.”


  “Me either.”

  I didn’t want to come off as the desperate chick who slept with a guy then acted like they were engaged. Sebastian and I needed a middle ground. Besides, I had things to do, like ten chapters to read and an essay to complete. While I doubted I’d be able to concentrate, I’d give it my best shot.

  “Let’s play it by ear, then adjust as needed. Why don’t we spend some time apart today then hang out later?” I was impressed by the cool tone I’d used. Nothing to see here, folks.

  “You got yourself a deal.”

  “See you later.” I leaned down and gave him a token peck on the cheek. Then I got dressed and headed out the door, like I didn’t give a damn.

  Pfft. And Bettie said I couldn’t act.

  ***

  Sebastian

  I should’ve kept Poppy here—in my bed, preferably.

  My thoughts kept winging back to last night, even though I had a metric shitload of tasks to accomplish. Being my own boss is tricky—I can always find something else to do with my time, besides work.

  Earlier, I didn’t mean to act like an arse, but I didn’t want us to veer off the rails.

  I was trying really hard not to fuck up this time. I’d already used up my second chance, and the third. So I mustn’t get attached. Soon, I’d let her go, for her own good. And mine. I had enough to atone for and didn’t need to add Poppy to my sins.

  This morning, I’d watched her sleep in the gray light of dawn. I loved the early morning. For some odd reason, it’s my most creative of the time day. When I was on the road, and the blokes in the band passed out with whatever groupie they’d chosen for the night, I had a chance to think.

  As the tour bus buzzed down the road, I’d sit in a chair with the guitar on my lap. The drugs I’d taken earlier were nearly out of my system. For a while I was sober—me again.

  The time frame stuck with me. Now and then, I woke up from a dead sleep to write, as though my subconscious worked on the songs for me. I’d learned to keep paper nearby at all times—much easier to manage than all those cocktail napkins and Post-It notes. Reading scribbled nonsense on proper paper was hard enough as it was.

  This new album was going to be rough, a bit raw. The electric guitar is rock and roll, but there’s something honest about the acoustic. I’d written a couple bare-bones songs using it.

  Unlike the typical slick and packaged music industry sound, I’d be really putting myself out there. A lot of artists had done the same, and now it was my turn to strike out on my own. Luckily, I had name recognition and the money to pay all my production costs.

  That didn’t mean I wasn’t nervous about the project. Some nights it kept me up. Being in a creative field is a precarious way to live. You’re only as good as your current album.

  This was going to work. It had to. If only the power of positive thought worked.

  Without my music, I’d never have survived rehab. The road to recovery had been full of potholes and all uphill. At the time, I’d thought the first week was the worst.

  I’d spent days on the cold bathroom floor in between bouts of vomiting, wishing I’d never been born. But the physical symptoms—sweating, the shakes, hallucinations, even the crushing depression—had been the easy part.

  The real pain was just starting.

  Heroin sucked away my joy, and not just metaphorically—in an actual chemical sense. It uses up dopamine and serotonin, the feel good hormones everybody has.

  And then came the crushing realization of all the horrible things I’d done. One of the twelve steps is drawing up a list of people I’d wronged and then making amends.

  I’d spent years smashing my life into pieces, and each shard had to be carefully wedged back into place. Some of those pieces would never fit together again, and I’d always be a bit broken. One person, in particular, I could never make restitution to—Shellie was gone forever, and it was all my fault.

  At the time, I thought we were meant to be together forever. Shellie loved me when I was poor and didn’t have any prospects. I lived in a ratty motel because I couldn’t pass a credit check for an apartment. We pooled our money together, split the cost of drugs and other living expenses. And when my band hit it big, I took Shellie with me.

  But there’d be time to focus on my regrets later. Right now, I wanted to think about Poppy, allow myself moments of fleeting joy.

  As I thought about her, lyrics once again flowed through my mind. I grabbed a pad of paper and scribbled away.

  Stolen moments in the morning

  Curled in the warmth of our bed.

  Somehow, the song was about Poppy. Maybe all of them were about her in a way. This new music was personal—I was putting myself center stage, in all my flawed glory.

  And I let the music take me away once more.

  It was the one constant in my life, my saving grace, and the only thing real I’d allow myself to have.

  ***

  Late in the evening, I rang Poppy.

  I’d spent all day writing, and time had gotten away from me. That happened a lot, actually—it was easy to lose myself in the process.

  But I’d gone and neglected Poppy. If I was going to make up for earlier this morning, I needed to pull something spectacular out of my bag of tricks. Luckily, a fantastic idea had popped into my head.

  “Meet me in Rockefeller Center in twenty minutes and bundle up—it’s cold,” I said without explanation.

  “It’s nearly ten o clock at night.” Poppy sounded peeved.

  “I know, and the rink closes at midnight, so most likely we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

  There was a pause, and I swore I could almost hear the gears whirring in her head as she mulled it over.

  “That’s a bit of a haul for a couple hours.”

  “I know.”

  “And it’s cold.”

  “But we’ll have fun, I promise.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Come on, love, I’ll buy you hot chocolate afterward.” When in doubt, try bribery.

  She laughed. “Fine. And yes, you’ll get me a big hot chocolate, and a donut, too. I know an all-night bakery near the rink. That place got me through some mind-numbing study sessions.”

  Her tone had thawed—excellent. The plan was already working, and we hadn’t gone for a trip around the ice yet.

  “I’ll meet you in twenty.”

  “See you there.”

  I found Poppy seated on a wooden bench near the arena lacing up her rented ice skates. As I predicted, the crowds had thinned. It was late Sunday evening, and most people had school or work the next morning. Except for us, there was another couple who were more interested in each other than anything else, so no one gawked at us.

  “Hello, love.” I sat next to her.

  “Hi.”

  Her cheeks and lips were red from the chill in the air, and I couldn’t resist a quick kiss. She laid a hand on my face, and the tension leaked from my body.

  “Cold?”

  “Yes, I’m freezing to death.” Poppy wrapped her arms around herself, and I tugged her against me, sharing my body warmth with her.

  “It’ll get better once we start moving, but in the meantime…”

  I pulled out a couple of beanies I’d bought on Etsy. The hats were attached to knitted beards that wrapped around a person’s face—a scarf and hat all in one piece. Sometimes, I wore one in winter, along with a pair of sunglasses, as an effective disguise.

  Poppy chuckled. “These are adorable.”

  “So am I.” I raised a brow.

  She slapped me playfully, then we put the hats on and gave each other beardy grins. We looked a bit like cartoon lumberjacks. Laughter had a way of bubbling up around her, and I couldn’t resist a chuckle.

  “I gotta show the girls.” Poppy whipped out her cell phone and took a picture.

  “Okay, let’s get out on the ice.” I made quick work of my own skates, then watched as Poppy fumbled with hers. “Here, let me do it. You
’re not lacing them properly. I don’t want you to trip over your own feet.” I knelt, placed each foot on my thigh, in turn, fastening one skate and then the other. It was another excuse to touch her, and my fingers lingered on the back of her calf after I’d finished.

  Last night came back in a flash—my hands in her hair, the flowery smell of her skin, the way she sighed my name. My shiver had nothing to do with the cool spring air. When I glanced up, her eyes were shiny and bright. She’d been just as affected. All of a sudden, I wished I’d chosen a far less public place for our date.

  “We should probably, uh, skate.” Poppy made a vague gesture over my shoulder.

  “Yeah.”

  I took her hand, and we went for a spin. Poppy hesitated, staying close to the sides, grabbing my arm for support now and then, which I didn’t mind at all. There was a reason I’d suggested this place.

  “I can’t believe you ice-skate. It’s so touristy.”

  “Well, I didn’t grow up here, love, so I’m sort of a tourist. When I first came to the States, I stayed in New York with a mate of mine before heading to the West Coast. Growing up, I’d always seen people skating at Rockefeller Center, and it looked fun. So I went one afternoon, and I got hooked.”

  It was a late night stress reliever for me, especially on the weekdays when the place was quiet. I glided along, emptying my mind, focusing on the movement of my legs. Since I no longer turned to drugs for help, I’d been forced to look for alternate methods of relaxation. Skating helped me find balance in my life in more than one way.

  Poppy wobbled on her feet.

  “You’ve got to let go and lose your fear of falling. Extend your arms and close your eyes.” She did. “Take a breath and center yourself.” Her arms pinwheeled before she steadied. “Now open them and slide forward. Don’t worry. I’m right beside you, and I’ll catch you if you stumble.”

  She drifted forward, slowly at first, then a bit quicker, gaining more confidence as she went. I scooted along beside her, staying close. Soon, she picked up the pace, and we bladed faster and faster until she faltered and I scooped her up into my arms before she fell.