Taboo Kisses

by Helena Harker

  “I want to kiss you,” Ryder said, water dripping from his hair, his T-shirt clinging to his sculpted chest.

  “Wish you could.”

  A boat approached us, puttering along in the water. The man sitting at the stern, his blond hair floating free in the wind, held out a long pole. The bungee cords were attached to a winch on the platform above, and the jumpmaster lowered us until the pole was within reach. Ryder grabbed it. Soon we were both sitting in the boat, soaking wet from the waist up.

  “How was it?” Ryder asked.

  “Exhilarating! Thanks for convincing me.” I twisted my ponytail, wringing water out of it.

  Drops trickled down Ryder’s face. His wet T-shirt showed off a chest that would have inspired Michelangelo.

  “It’s like I got part of my soul back.” My heart bloomed like a rose.

  Laughing, we got out of the boat and then strolled back to the parking lot. When we reached the truck, I took a quick look around. Nobody in sight. I threw myself at Ryder, smothering him in a bruising kiss, shoving him against the passenger door. His strong arms held me tight, one hand pressed on the small of my back, the other at the nape of my neck. My tongue flicked inside his mouth, teasing, inviting him, and he responded with an aroused moan. When we came up for air, panting, he held me firmly, as if he were afraid I’d fly away.

  “Ready for the next adventure?” he murmured.

  “Anything,” I said, breathless.

  He opened the door, reached into the cab and pulled out a helmet. He offered it to me.

  The world stopped. I recoiled, folding my arms against my chest, shaking my head and stepping back. The memory charged to the surface, the screech of tires, the tumbling sky, the wreckage. The guilt I left behind on the platform bounded toward me and grasped my hand like an old friend.

  Ryder placed the helmet on the hood. “Thought I’d take you for a ride.”

  On his dirt bike? Never.

  He held out his hand. “I do crazy stunts in competition, but I’m a safe driver. You’ll be fine.”

  “Take me home,” I said, walking past him.

  “Why?” He blocked my access to the door. “Tell me. I’m trying to understand you, Jacinda. Don’t make it hard for me. Please.”

  “I haven’t been on a bike since the accident,” I said flatly.

  A light bulb flashed over his head. “Oh, shit. I wasn’t thinking. I’m stupid. I’m sorry. After a year, I thought…. I mean I wanted to take you on a dirt trail…no high speed or anything.”

  He pulled me into his arms, and I sank into him. I didn’t care if anybody saw. How could he not think about the bike? To Ryder, the bike was a source of thrills and adrenaline. To me, the bike represented the end of my past life.

  “You don’t know the details. Nobody does.”

  “Tell me. I’ll listen. Whatever’s trapped inside you, you’ve got to let it out.” Ryder opened the door and helped me into the cab.

  In a flash he was sitting next to me, cradling me in his arms. The truth surged, clawing me like a terrible beast. Time to stop caging it. Set it free.

  “The accident was….” I inhaled a shuddering breath. “My fault.”

  Brows furrowed, he looked at me as if he didn’t believe me. “How?”

  The words tumbled out, every one burning like a hot coal.

  ***

  The sun shone brightly, and the first autumn leaves spiraled from the trees. Maddox rolled his baby—a 1500cc Elektra Cruiser—out of the garage and told me to hop on. He didn’t have to tell me twice. I grabbed my leather jacket, gloves, and helmet and sat behind him. Although I had a license, I didn’t get a chance to ride the bike often. Maddox was very possessive about his Cruiser and concerned about my tendency to ignore speed limits. Before he put his helmet on, I ruffled his sandy hair. He smiled at me over his shoulder, laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. Soon, we were on a winding stretch of road flanked by corn fields on one side and a rocky mountain on the other. Wind tugged at my jacket as I clung to Maddox.

  After a while, Maddox pulled over. “Want to try?”

  “Yes!” I practically shouted, sliding off and playfully muscling him out of the way.

  Exhilarated by the power clamped between my legs, I adjusted my mirrors, grabbed the handlebars and applied the throttle. I nudged the bike onto the asphalt, happy that we had the road to ourselves. Traffic in this area had slowed to a trickle since the new highway opened last year.

  The Cruiser was built for comfort on long journeys, not speed, but it didn’t stop me from pushing the engine. The motor growled under me, responding to my every demand. I leaned into the wind, thrilled by the way it grabbed at my jacket and snatched at my legs. The road snaked along the mountain, the intermittent white line skimming past in a blur.

  Maddox tapped my right side, his signal for “Slow down, baby!” Ignoring him, I leaned forward, demanding more speed from the engine. A little faster. Just a little. The needle on the speedometer crept steadily forward.

  As smoothly as a professional racer, I rounded another corner. By the time I saw the bed of leaves in the middle of my lane, it was too late to slow down or swerve. My heart stopped dead in my chest. My right boot instinctively shifted to the rear brake, but I knew I couldn’t decelerate fast enough. Maddox’s grip tightened around my ribcage, cutting off my breath.

  As the bike lost speed, I pitched forward. The front wheel skidded on the patch of leaves. The Cruiser keeled over, dumping me on the road. As I spun madly from the asphalt onto the grass, I caught sight of the bike sliding across the road, metal twisting, parts flying into the air.

  The tumbling stopped. I lay on my stomach. My helmet had flown off. Dizzy, dazed, I tried to raise my head. Impossible. Blood poured from my right shoulder, turning the yellowing grass to bright crimson.

  The Cruiser lay several yards away, a hulk of wreckage resting against a boulder. My vision blurred. Maddox?

  “Maddox,” I murmured weakly. “Maddox.” Managing to lift my head a few inches, I scanned the area, blood dripping into my eye.

  There. Under the Cruiser, wedged between the rear tire and the boulder. Blood leaked from his shattered helmet. His legs twisted at odd angles. Fingers twitched. He was alive!

  “Maddox.” Pushing myself on my elbows, I crawled forward one painful inch at a time. Pain stabbed my shoulder. Out of breath, weak, I gave up.

  I focused on the sign of life, his twitching fingers.

  Call an ambulance. Get help. Where was my phone? In the inside pocket of my jacket, I remembered. Could I reach it? Twisting my body to the side, I fumbled and found the phone. Only three numbers to dial. 9.1.1. Done.

  “Maddox?” His fingers no longer moved. My heart shattered. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s my fault my fault my fault….

  ***

  “He died at the scene,” I told Ryder and broke into sobs against his chest. “The next thing I remember…waking up in the hospital…broken arm…clavicle…nasty gash in my shoulder.”

  Ryder reached into the glove compartment and handed me a battered box of tissues. He kissed the top of my head while I wiped my nose. “Forgive yourself, Jacinda. He would.”

  “Would he?”

  “Yes. He loved your spirit. He loved the fact you weren’t afraid, that you took risks. He told me stuff sometimes, you know.”

  “Really?” I said, picturing them sitting around and chatting about me. “I was reckless. I killed him.” There, finally, the words I’d never said aloud.

  “Do you still want to go home? I’ll take you now if you want.”

  Did I? No. His hand reached for mine. I took it, his strong fingers closing over my own. The second we touched, the noise in my head stopped. No more crumpling metal, shrieking tires, or screams. Just the birds, the wind-rustle of the trees drifting in through the rolled-down windows.

  “Get your bike off the trailer,” I said, my voice shaking a little.

  While Ryder took care of the bike, I put on the he
lmet and waited. This wasn’t his racing motocross, but his very first dirt bike, the one he used to go trail riding with his friends. The red and yellow frame bore the scratches of innumerable falls, missed wheelies, and failed jumps.

  “There are lots of trails through these woods.” He grabbed a couple of bags from the back of the pickup and lashed them securely to the bike.

  “Can I ask about the contents?”

  “No,” he said slyly.

  Hmmm, now curiosity nibbled at me.

  Gingerly, I mounted behind him. My limbs shook, and I breathed deeply. I expected flashbacks, but they didn’t come. The memories settled to the depths of my mind, the way a dead body eventually sinks to the bottom of the ocean. I felt okay. So far. Ryder took off down the nearest path, and I clung to his back, more out of comfort than necessity. We bounced along the path, Ryder driving so slowly I could probably have jumped off and jogged ahead of him. Half an hour later, we came to a clearing by a crystalline lake where wildflowers dotted the landscape. Ryder parked the bike under the shade of a few oak trees.

  “How was the ride?” Worry etched his features.

  I removed the helmet, letting it dangle from a handlebar. “Better than I expected. Thanks for being so understanding.”

  “You’re worth it.”

  Damn, he was so sweet, sweet enough to eat. I stepped up to him, wrapped my arms around his neck and indulged in a long, appreciative kiss, tugging his T-shirt out of his jeans. “You don’t need this, do you?”

  He pulled it over his head and tossed it over the handlebars. “Not if you say I don’t. Is there anything else I should get rid of?”

  “Not at the moment.” I slipped my fingers through the belt loops in his jeans. “There will be later, though.”

  “Help me set up camp,” he said, grinning widely.

  While he started a campfire, I rooted through the contents of the bags, my stomach growling. Hot dogs, buns, salt and vinegar chips, baby dill pickles, two vodka coolers, and a few bottles of water. I scrounged around some more. “Giant marshmallows! I love these.”

  “I remembered.”

  In no time at all we were sitting on blankets by a crackling campfire, drinking our coolers and roasting hot dogs.

  “I come here sometimes when I need to think.” Ryder spurted ketchup on his dog and took a bite.

  “What do you think about?”

  “How different I am now from what I used to be. How hard it was to make the change, to be more responsible and quit hanging around with the wrong people.”

  “Your Mom helped a lot, didn’t she?”

  He nodded. “For a while, when I stared out over the lake, all I thought about was you, how beautiful you were, how unattainable. I still can’t believe you agreed to come with me. I was sure you’d say no.”

  “You were confident. It would have been hard to say no. I’m glad I agreed. It’s so beautiful here.”

  Since we arrived, I’d only heard the distant whine of a few dirt bikes. We ate in silence as I gazed appreciatively at his chest, at the shadows dappling his abs, his pecs, the web of veins along his forearms. He finished wolfing down his hot dog and washed it down with the last of his cooler. Then he ripped into the bag of marshmallows, impaled one on a stick and held it over the fire. The mega-sized marshmallow turned golden brown.

  Our eyes met. The air crackled with electricity. I took off my top, slowly, one sleeve at a time. Underneath, I wore a black lace bra. Not exactly the kind of thing a lady usually wore to a picnic, but on this occasion, I thought the choice was a good one.

  Ryder stared, oblivious that his marshmallow had just plopped into the fire.

  Yes, I’d made an excellent choice. “More?” I asked.

  “Oh, yeah.” His eyes never leaving my breasts, he sat closer, reached behind me and unhooked my bra with one hand.

  Good move. The boy had skills. I slipped the bra off my shoulders and dropped it at the edge of the blanket. Need stirred inside me, and my breath came in short pants. I kneeled, and he did the same, holding me close, crushing my breasts against his chest. I planted a kiss on his throat, soft as a petal. He responded immediately, his mouth over mine, wild and passionate. Eager hands explored my breasts, cupping and squeezing. Thumbs flicked my nipples, and I gasped. I pulled off my hair band, freeing my long mane.

  “Like silk,” he said in awe, his hand diving in. “All those nights I fantasized about running my fingers through your hair. It’s finally coming true.”

  My finger paused over the button on his jeans. Ryder’s eyes drifted down my body once again. Everywhere his eyes rested, I flared with sudden heat. I hadn’t responded this way since Maddox—

  I hitched in a breath. What would Maddox want?

  What do you want, Jacinda? This is the question you should be asking.

  And that was the crux of it. The little voice in my head was really my conscience, not Maddox at all. Just me. Me punishing myself.

  I forgive you, I heard him say, and his presence vanished.

  After a year, it was time to stop looking over my shoulder, and time to forge ahead.

  “I want you.” One sharp jerk on the button. It popped. I rubbed the bulge in his pants and lowered his zipper. Reaching in, I freed his cock, grasping its thickness while Ryder closed his eyes, buried his head in my neck, and thrust his hips forward.

  Ryder stood up to remove his jeans, kicking them off along with his sneakers and socks.

  “My turn?” I asked, removing my not-so-sexy hiking shoes.

  “I want to watch.” His pupils dilated.

  “Sure, baby.” With a sexy sway of my hips, I stood, lowered my zipper, pulled down the jeans in a slinky move I’d practiced countless times, and tossed them aside. All that remained were my matching lace panties. I slipped them down my thighs, palms hugging my skin, until they reached my knees.

  “Help me out?” I teased.

  He reached for the panties, almost tearing them off. I quickly stepped out of them. Ryder got to his knees and buried his face in my mound, parting the fine golden hair and inhaling deeply. His tongue flicked, and I moaned. My clit swelled. My pussy grew slick and wet. As he sucked on the delicate nub, flashes of pleasure radiated through my core. I moaned, rocking my hips, pressing my clit against the warmth of his mouth. Once more, he inhaled my scent, taking a long, slow breath. Moist lips left a long trail of kisses up my belly. Grabbing my arms, he pulled me down next to him, and we rolled onto the blanket, his body heavy against mine. Still on top of me, he grabbed at his jeans, which were by the fire, and fumbled in the pocket until he found a condom.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, unease on his face, holding up the square packet.

  “Absolutely.”

  His eyes lit up. Dimples appeared in his cheeks. Sexy. Cute.

  Mine. Today, he belonged to me.

  I touched his cock, long and hard, tracing the swollen veins on its surface. Over and over, I stroked, caressing him with my palms, and his hips thrust forward.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  “You know I am.”

  I took the foil packet from him and tore it open, unrolling the condom along his length. Wet and ready, my pussy ached for him. My thighs locked around his waist, and I guided him into my damp folds. His cock filled me with delicious sensations, stroke after stroke going deep into my flesh. I kissed the hot arch of his throat and scraped my fingernails down his back.

  Panting, wild with desire, I whispered into his ear. “Deeper.”

  The next thrust came fast and hard, and I gasped. “More.”

  Ryder kept up the rapid rhythm, exactly the way I liked it, and when he plunged deep, I arched my back and moaned. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. He breathed through his open mouth, features intense, his eyes staring into mine.

  I didn’t think he’d last much longer, but I didn’t want him to slow down. The sensations were exquisite. His pace grew frenzied. His flesh slapped against mine, and suddenly he grew still, shuddering, as
he came. Spent, he lay against me, still inside me, touching my hair.

  “That was amazing.” I nuzzled his cheek.

  “But you didn’t have an orgasm,” he said.

  “I can’t this way. It’s okay. Relax.” Orgasms often eluded me. Over the years, I’d learned to appreciate the entrée and the main course, knowing I seldom managed to taste dessert.

  “It’s not okay. Teach me how to please you. I want you to come,” he said. “How about oral?”

  Damn, he’s eager. Shivers ran down my neck. “Oral won’t work. It feels great, but no orgasm,” I whispered. “You said you were good with your hands. Let’s see how good.”

  He pulled out of me and disposed of the condom as I straightened the blanket. I lay on my back and he lay on his side, leaning against his elbow. Taking his hand in mine, I placed the tips of his fingers on my mound, right over my clit, and made smooth circular motions. “Like this.”

  “Like this?” Ryder continued without my guidance.

  I nodded, closing my eyes, enjoying the feel of his warm body against mine. The cool late afternoon breeze tousled my hair.

  “Yes. Keep going,” I whispered. “Kiss me.”

  His lips were gentle, soft, moist. I curled my fingers into his hair. He kissed my neck, starting beneath my chin, all the way to the hollow of my throat. My clit throbbed. Pleasure mounted and mounted. It reached a crescendo, like a beautiful song whose notes reached higher and higher until they couldn’t go higher anymore. I was close. So close. My muscles tensed. I bit my lip and arched my back.

  “Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” I guided his hand, adding pressure to exactly the right spot. The sensation intensified until a violent rush of fire overwhelmed my body. With each move of his fingers, the orgasm intensified. “Yes!” Keeping my hand over his, I rejoiced in the pulsing heat that rushed over me in waves. Stronger. Stronger. The breath caught in my throat. The waves began to decrease in intensity, becoming more subdued, yet still immensely pleasurable.