"It means cheat on me and have it publicized by the papers."
"Oh. Well even more duh." I scooted forward and Shane slid down so that he was reclining on the bike and I was lying on top of him. It felt precarious, but he didn't seem to mind, and I felt secure, held in his arms.
"It's not a duh, though," Shane said. "I mean, I trust you, but...gossip rags are one thing. Real, presentable facts are another."
"You'll have to trust me, then, won't you?" I said, and kissed his jaw. "I'm not that kind of girl. If I didn't want to be with you, and only you, I wouldn't have come."
"I know, I just meant it's not a given for Mom." Shane ran his hands down my back and cupped my ass, then dug his palms under the tight waistband of my jeans to hold bare flesh. "As long as you're sure. I don't want you to feel pressured. I know it's a lot. Shit, it's a lot for me. I'm not ready to take over for Dad. I've never really wanted to. I just want to build bikes and work Rescue Medic."
"Did you build this bike?"
"I restored it. It's a 1968 Triumph." He brushed my jacket off, slipped his hands up my back and underneath my halter top.
The rumble of the engine between my thighs had made me sensitive, tingling and throbbing. And now that his hands were running over my flesh, I felt myself getting wet, needing him.
I wondered if we could balance like this on the bike while we...
Shane had the same idea. He tugged my shirt over my head, reached down to unzip my pants and helped me push them off. We were alone, with no people around for dozens of miles, but it was still exhilarating to be naked outside in broad daylight. The early fall air was cool against my bare skin, but it just made Shane's heat all the more delicious.
I unzipped Shane, slid his pants down past his hips and gathered his cock in my hands, sliding my palms along his length, gasping as he slipped a finger inside me.
"You're so wet already," Shane said, kissing my throat, and then my lips.
"The bike helps," I said. "All the vibrating..."
There were no words then, just his hands pulling me up, his feet braced against the footrests of the bike, his body pillowing mine, his arms holding me in place. I rested on his chest, my arms behind his head to provide a pillow for him. I lifted up my hips, reached between us and guided him into me, pressing my lips against his chest as he filled me, stretched me.
I sank down until our hips were flush, and then stayed there for a moment, enjoying the feeling of his body inside mine, around mine. He held me tight, locked eyes with me, and then I lifted up and sank down, setting a slow, rolling rhythm. He held me, let me move on him, balancing us on the narrow seat of the motorcycle. Our lips met, clashed, pulsed and explored, and I gripped his hair in my fingers as I felt the fire spread from a dull ache between my thighs into wildfire throughout me, his breath and mine merging, his strength holding me up.
I moved faster, rising and sinking, holding his head in my hands and kissing him with desperate passion as I rose up into the throes of climax, pulling him with me, riding him with relentless abandon until he began to move beneath me in his own climax. His motion risked our balance, though, and I pressed my lips to his ear.
"Stay still. Let me do it," I whispered.
He just nodded, and then held me with one hand across my buttocks and the other across my shoulders. I continued to move on him through this interaction, never slowing the pace, and I felt his muscles tense beneath me as he struggled to remain still. I watched his jaw tense, felt his arms turn to iron bands around my body, his washboard abs turn to rock, his thighs to tree trunks, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and he began to rumble deep in his chest.
I kept the rhythm quick, but not so fast we'd topple off, which forced us to draw out the fall into orgasm. Shane came first, clutching me hard enough to squeeze the breath out of me, and I slowed the pace then, sinking down onto him, hard, lifting as far as I dared and then plunging down, and now I felt the tremors rock through me, starting as a quiver in my thighs.
The pounding rhythm of our joining hips drove me higher and higher, and now the edge was near, his climax pushing me over. His hot seed filled me and his body surrounded me and there was only the plunge of body into body, heat into heat, and I could barely support my own weight on his chest for the shuddering, rocketing thrill of orgasm climaxing through every cell of my body.
He held me tighter than ever, crushing me close, kissing me as I came.
We lay together on the bike for a few minutes longer, then we dressed and mounted the bike once more.
I had to cling even harder to him as we rode back to the house, my body still limp and trembling.
* * *
I clutched Shane's hand so hard my knuckles turned white.
We'd flown back to Detroit the next day in the Sorrenson's private jet, and we were now in a rented limo, Gerald driving, sitting in front of John's house. What had been my house. John was inside; I could see him at the window, watching.
"I'll go in with you, if you want," Shane said. "You know, present him with a united front."
I shook my head. "No. I'll be fine."
I leaned in and kissed him, deep, passionate. Desire flared, and for a moment I considered letting things flare, right there in the back of the limo, just to get out of having to see John. Shane pulled away, making the decision for me.
"Later," he said, his voice a promise of passion in my ear. "Get this done and come back to me."
I opened the door and slid out. As I did, I glanced back at Shane. A flash of something like worry, or jealousy glinted in his eyes, then was buried. I smiled at him, shut the door, and made my way to the front door. I realized as I rang the bell that he was worried not just for me, but that I'd somehow decide to go back to John. I wished I'd taken a moment to reassure him I wouldn't, but it was too late.
John opened the door and ushered me in. We stood in the foyer, awkward and tense. I could tell John wasn't sure if he should hug me or shake my hand. I didn't want to touch him, but I settled for a brief, awkward hug, done from a foot away, two pats on his back and then pulling away. He didn't want to let go.
I stepped into the living room, feeling a pang of something sharp in my chest. Nothing had changed. The couch we'd bought together, in the same spot. Our TV, our his and hers recliners, all the artwork I'd picked out at the Ann Arbor Art Fair, all the pictures of us together. He hadn't taken anything down, hadn't changed anything. As I moved hesitantly into the living room, I could see down the hallway to the master bedroom, and I could tell he hadn't changed anything in there either. Same comforter and duvet, same pictures in the same picture frames: me and John on a sailboat on a vacation to the Virgin Islands, us at his cousin's wedding, a grainy photo we'd taken from my phone at a bar barely a month before I'd jumped out of his car.
John looked at me, licked his thin, pale lips. "Can I get you anything, Leo? Coffee? Tea?"
I stifled a sigh. I'd never drank tea in all the time he'd known me. "No, thanks, I'm fine."
"So...thanks for coming," John said, sitting in his recliner, the larger, darker one. "I would have met you somewhere, but since this is the only time you could meet me, and I have plans in a few minutes..."
I sat on the edge of the couch, clutching my purse. "It's fine. Look, I guess I should apologize for running off the way I did. I should have...I don't know, handled it differently—"
John interrupted me. "Leo, no. I'm the one who's sorry. I was a jerk, all around. I never really treated you right, and I realize that now." He looked up at me, eyes wide and almost...hopeful. "I know things weren't...optimal, before, but if we could—"
"No, John. That's not going to happen. Not ever," I cut in, a bit harsh. "I'm only here because...honestly, because my mom said you'd called them. She seemed to think you need closure or something."
"Closure?" John said it with a laugh, disbelieving. "Closure? She thinks I need closure?"
"Yes, John. Closure. Let's say it a few more times, just to make it less true."
I knew I was being bitchy, and he didn't quite deserve it, but I couldn't make myself stop.
"I don't want closure, Leo. I want you back."
"Not gonna happen."
"It was a stupid fight. We could have fixed it." He seemed to be trying to push down a lot of anger and a lot of hurt. Oddly, if he hadn't pushed it down, if he had expressed it, he might have had a better chance of getting through to me. "You never even told me if you were pregnant or not."
"No, I'm not. And it wasn't the fight. That's not why I left. The fight was what made me realize how...I don't know how to put it." The words that came to mind were harsh and ugly; I tried to reign them in, and failed. "The fight made me realize how bored I was with us...with you. Sorry if that's harsh, but it's the truth. It wasn't just boredom, though. I was suffocating. You never react, you never...god, you never do anything. You...god, this isn't going anywhere. I'm gonna end up being mean, and there's no point."
John seemed honestly stunned. "You were...bored? You flipped out and left me because you were bored? Seriously? We could have...I don't know, gone skydiving or something. Tried some bondage or...I don't know."
I laughed. "Oh god, John. See? You're completely missing the point. I don't know how to explain this without being vicious. Skydiving? Bondage? We made love on a schedule. With the lights off. And you want to tie me up? You wouldn't know what to do with me if you did have me tied up, John. You'd do what you always did: stick it in and finish, then go to sleep."
John physically flinched at that, and I knew it'd gone too far. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. True, but uncalled for." I stood up and went to the door. "This isn't getting us anywhere. I'm done. We're done. We were done the moment I jumped out of the car and you were more worried about your stupid leather seats than me. Shit, we were done way before that, I just hadn't realized it. Apparently you still don't realize it. Good bye John."
"Wait, Leo, please—"
"Why? It's done. Forever. Move on, find someone more suited to you. Rearrange, paint, get rid of the pictures of me. Get rid of my chair, our sheets, everything. Move on."
"But I...I can't, I don't know how." Oh god, he was turning pathetic. It hurt, it made me sick, and most of all, sad.
"Well, I don't know what else to say. I'm sorry." I opened the door and walked out, trying hard to ignore the stunned silence, and his game attempts to hide the hurt.
"Leo, please." Quiet, desperate, but still from the center of the room.
I decided to be brutally honest. "You know the biggest reason I walked out then, and why I'm walking out now? It's because you're just standing there, waiting. Hoping. Begging, but not doing anything to try and change it." I turned and looked back at him. "You're nice, John. You're dependable. You're predictable. For some girls, that might be enough, that might be a good thing. It's not enough for me anymore."
I closed the door behind me, wanting to run towards the limo. I forced myself to walk, because I knew John was watching.
I'd never been happier to see Shane. I slid into the car and moved as close to him as I could without actually sitting on his lap. He sensed my mood and kept silent till we got back to his condo.
When we were finally behind a closed door, alone together, I let go. I didn't cry. I screamed into a pillow and then threw it across the room.
"Went that well, huh?" Shane said.
"Yeah. That well. It was pathetic. He thought I was coming back, like...to get back together. But he didn't do anything to try to make that happen—" I took Shane's hands in mine and stared up into his eyes to make my point clear. "Not that it would have worked, mind you. It was pathetic. I don't know how I didn't see it all the time I was with him. He actually begged."
Shane, to his credit, didn't show any sign of gloating. "Well, some guys just aren't..."
"Aren't you."
"Well that's not what I was going to say, but sure. I'll take that."
"What you would you do if we had a fight and I walked out?"
Shane thought for a while before answering. "I guess it depends. Sometimes a woman needs time to cool off, and sometimes she needs to be chased after and convinced. Knowing which is the right choice in any given situation is the tricky part. I wouldn't let you go, though. I'd fight to get you back. I wouldn't stop for anything. I'd give you time to cool off if that's what you needed, but I'd be back in your face as soon as I felt it was safe." He pulled me to him and wrapped his arms around my waist. "But I'd do my damndest to make sure the fight didn't happen in the first place."
I laughed. "Good luck. Making me mad isn't all that hard."
Shane smiled and quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah, but there's a difference between making you mad and making you so angry you're ready to walk away. The one I can handle. The other, I couldn't."
I leaned into him, hearing what he wasn't quite saying. "No? Then I guess you'll have to make sure I don't go anywhere, huh?"
"I guess I will." Shane pinioned my wrists behind my back in one of his powerful hands, pushed me tighter against his body so my curves were crushed against his angles.
I resisted, my eyes locked on his, wiggling my wrists to try and free them, but his grip was implacably, gently unbreakable. He smirked at me, took my chin in his index finger and thumb, lifted my face to his. I thrashed my arms and hands still, eyes shining my amusement with this new game, this new struggle for power. I kissed him, still struggling against his fingers around my wrists.
He pushed me backward into his room, maneuvered me against the edge of the bed and then reached into his closet, yanked a tie from a hanger and tied my wrists behind my back. I sat down on the bed and waited, watched. He picked up a small black remote from the nightstand and clicked a button, turning on a stereo. A popular club dance song was playing, and Shane used the beat to start a dance, a sensual writhing of his hips and torso in front of me.
I let a smile curl my lips as he danced in front of me, slowly lifting his shirt over his head, moving up against me, rubbing his stomach in my face. I leaned forward and kissed his torso, bit him gently on the side. He moved away again, and unzipped his jeans, pushed them slowly down and then pushed his cotton-clad cock against me. I took the elastic waistband of his boxers in my teeth and tried to work his erection free, getting a taste of his skin as I pulled the cotton down with my teeth. He helped, pushing them away to pool at his ankles. He stood rooted to the spot as I licked his cock, tracing the groove beneath the head, then drew him into my mouth. He let me bob a few times, then hissed and moved away.
"Not yet," he said.
He tugged me to my feet and knelt in front of me, untied my shoes and slipped them off, then my socks, and then reached up to unbutton my pants, unzipped them and tugged them down, kissing my thighs as they were revealed. My thong came next, tugged free in one smooth motion. It was odd being naked from the waist down; usually I undressed and dressed the other way, starting with my panties and putting my shirt on last. He ran his palms up my legs to cup my ass and pull me closer to him. He traced his middle finger along my wet, pink folds, dipped in, drew out, dipped in again. A third time he moved his fingers into me, and then he curled up and in to find my G-spot and stroked it in small circles.
I focused on the build-up of sensation coming from his finger, and so found myself shocked when his tongue darted into me, spearing my clit and drawing a moan from me. I wanted to put my hands on his shoulders for support as he manipulated me with his tongue and finger, but I couldn't, all I could do was stand and hope I didn't collapse when I came, and I was so close, so close...
He licked me with a hungry, nimble tongue, stirred me into a fervor, and then explosions rocked through me and left me stumbling and buckling. He caught me, held me till I regained my equilibrium.
He unbuttoned my shirt, one button at a time, and let it fall down my arms to dangle from my tied wrists. My bra was front clasp, and he unsnapped it so it too fell away, and then I was naked in front of him, with him, his lips on my neck and then my brea
sts, and I wanted to hold him, to feel him, to touch him.
He moved away, taking his warmth with him, and I mewled in protest. He got on his back on the bed and gestured to me. I crawled awkwardly onto the bed, was caught by him again and set upright. He helped me crawl on top of him, his hands settling me onto his hips. One of his hands clutched his cock, the other delved into my pussy and guided him in. Then I was full with him, stretched wide as he pushed slowly into me, me with my wrists tied behind my back, unbalanced on him, held in place solely by his hands on my waist. I was forced to trust him, to rely on his strength to hold me in place.
I moved slowly at first, a tentative exploration of my range of balanced movement. Shane held my hips, lifted me, drew me back down. The total dependency on him was exhilarating, intoxicating. I found my rhythm, lift and sink, lift and sink, back arched, filling with him and then pulling away to plunge back down again. I forgot he was all that held me balanced, lost myself in the tidal wave of pleasure rocking through me, pulsing in me. I moved with abandon, trusting him now to hold me steady.
I felt the climax rise in him, felt it in his belly, felt it in his hands squeezing as he thrust with ever more wild power. He came, and the feel of his release, the groan of my name, "Leo, god, Leo," drove me into paroxysms of delight. I burst apart, went limp as wave after wave hove through me, Shane's hands holding me upright and pulling me onto him, drawing every drop of ecstasy from me and from himself.
He whispered my name once more, and then untied me, but his warm, strong arms pinioned me just as close, just as implacably unbreakable.
I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.
* * *
I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable and impatient. Hands pulled at my hair, hands dabbed and brushed and penciled makeup on my face, hands taped my breasts into a dress far more revealing than anything I'd ever worn before. None of the hands doing these things were mine. My hands were clasped on my lap. The hands attending me belonged to a team of stylists and makeup artists, flamboyant, perfectly dressed men, and elegant, perfectly dressed women, all instructed to make me beautiful.
Biker Billionaire #3: Riding the Heir Page 4