by Brooke May
Late last night after Meg left and I changed my sheets, I shot Levi a text letting him know I was in. Normally, I have no issues sleeping in sex-stained sheets, but last night, I felt dirty and in need of a change. Fucking one woman while thinking of another was a new low for me; a relative first in my rather large book of misdeeds, and I struggled to wrap my head around it.
While I laid there tossing and turning, I decided it wouldn’t hurt to go with Jax and Levi for the hell of it. It’s not like they would get me on a bike. They can’t force it on me. Besides, they would have to have it all planned to do something like that to me anyway. My sizes aren’t easy to come by where we live, and I can’t see either of them going out of their way to custom order something from one of the shops in town or begging my mum to mail over my gear.
With that in mind, I told Levi I would ride to Beaver with them in the morning and hang out for the day.
Now, my hands twitch with the old familiar sense of a bike’s vibrations rippling up through the handle bars and into my being making the bike and me one.
The leather of Jax’s wheelchair’s push handles creaks under the stress as I tighten my grip. I know he can get himself around out here with all the uneven ground and the rocks, but at the moment, I need to hold something more than he needs the help.
“Watch out, Jax, Ax may be liable to do something drastic like enter a race and use your wheelchair to drive.” Levi’s attempt at a joke falls on deaf ears. None of it is funny; not even when Jax joins him in the laughter. What happened fucked with my head—end of story.
“I’m sure a chick around here has a pink helmet his fat head could fit into.” Jax snorts a laugh, and I’m tempted to dump him.
Yes, I would do that to a cripple.
He may be in a wheelchair, but don’t let him fool you. He can kick even my arse still.
“Maybe fit his Hulk size into a pink, glittery chest protector and gloves so he can do spirit fingers?”
“I don’t think he would be able to fit into anything else. Ax’s shins are too big for even one of your pair of shin protectors.”
“Har fucking har, you arseholes.” Giving Jax a little shove, I release him and watch him wheel away, taking control of his own damn wheels. I know they are trying to make me feel better, but the bantering back and forth about how much of a cunt-faced pussy I am now sets me off. “Fuck off.” Flipping them both off, I storm off and follow the crowds to a track just in time to watch the first heat of the day.
One hundred and twenty-five bikes and their riders line up, revving their engines and making last-second adjustments to their goggles, gloves, and whatever else before the card crosses and the race gates drop.
The burps of the bikes gear not only their riders up but me as well. Taking in every rider and watching them from afar, I feel the uncontrollable twitch as my focus homes in on a female rider dressed entirely in black. She is fixing her goggles and then clutching her handle bars, revving her bike like all the others.
I can’t fully see what her bike is, yet my weird as fuck savant talent picks up and I am able to figure out the bike from just the front view of it. She’s driving a Yamaha YZ125, a great bike for racing. A little hard to control at times, but when tuned in just right for the rider’s style, it can win races with ease.
The tension mounts in the air as the race draws closer. I can feel it around me and taste it on my tongue, yet my eyes never leave this woman. When the gates drop, she wastes no time getting the hole shot and taking off away from the other racers. She’s gone, holding nothing back and kicking up as much dirt as she possibly can.
Other skilled riders slowly start to gain on her, but none can block pass her.
She owns it.
Her speed is maxed when she enters the whoops; her bike barely touches the mounds of dirt as she glides over them and takes the next corner to come into the long stretch of her first lap.
And then I see it.
Well, see her name and number on the back of her shirt.
Bartin
666
Paige.
She’s here racing even though this event isn’t for top racers. Sure, sponsors scout for new talent, but she hasn’t been a part of this in a few years. Paige breezes through the start finish line and continues onto her second lap.
I watch in complete captivation as she flies through the course for fifteen laps, only losing her seat at the front of the pack twice before reclaiming it. I’m held there until she crosses the finish line, winning the race.
But there is no celebration. Instead of soaking it up, she continues to drive, taking her bike off the track and disappearing behind the throng of the crowd and out of my line of vision. A twinge of something foreign fills me now that she is gone.
Longing.
Yes, longing—never have I experienced this kind of shit for someone I don’t even know.
Or is it because my body is attuned to a racing lifestyle? Do I miss the thrill of pinning back the throttle and turning my bike out to hit max speeds?
Fucking whatever.
Instead of waiting to see the two-fifty class race, I kick up some dirt while I take off to find my douchebag friends. They should have found some trophy girls to occupy their limited brain power by now. As I walk around, I can’t deny the spread here; the wide array of willing pussy is nice, and aside from that, there is an entire area sectioned off for freestyle jumps.
Meandering my way through the tents and trailers set up by the sponsors to attract riders, I grab a Coke and head over to the freestyle events just in time to hear Parker Bartin’s name announced.
I don’t understand why they are even here. The season is in full swing; shouldn’t they be elsewhere putting in track time at a bigger event?
Just as I’m cresting the hill to the stand, I find my friends chatting up a set of BBBDs; big boobed, blond, and dumb. But I’m unable to get closer to them. Something behind me capture my attention as hushed whispers surround me.
Narrowing my eyes, I slowly turn my head to look over my shoulder, praying to whoever will listen it isn’t Meg; that she left me alone and wasn’t a total stalker by following me here.
But it isn’t.
Hiking up the hill in her race pants and boots with a black tank top pulled tight over her tits is Paige. Her hair is loose now—straight and free from her helmet—and blowing over her face and her aviator covered eyes. She looked like pure sin in the dress and boots yesterday, but today, she could rival the devil’s seductress in her race gear.
Get a girl who can do both.
What the fuck? Where did that thought come from?
Even though she’s smoking, it doesn’t falter her stride as she’s talking to someone next to her. Too many people are between us for me to make out who is with her, but I watch. When she is close enough, I’m finally able to see who it is.
The tiny pixie of a woman has a blond Mohawk with shaved sides and the tips of her hair dyed purple. She catches me watching and flashes me an impish grin that catches Paige’s attention.
Reflective glass meets me, and a perfectly sculpted black brow rises from behind them. Paige’s expression remains impassive. It’s just as unnerving as it was yesterday, and it only sets the blood in my veins on fire.
Stopping before me, she tilts her head slightly to look up at me. Her lips pucker as she runs her tongue along her teeth without opening her mouth. Once more, she has painted them bright red. She just finished racing and is possibly covered in layers of dirt but still has lipstick on.
I find it sexy as fuck.
I want a red smeared ring around my dick after her lips are long gone.
Talk about a cock ring.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice is still the same rasp as it was yesterday.
What the fuck, Ax? Did you think it would change overnight?
I’m a stupid cunt.
“Hello?” Her tanned, red-tipped fingers snap in front of me. “Did Miss Bitch send you to scope out my brot
her and me?” Shaking her head ruffles her locks. “I thought you were smart, not a mindless drone.” She tsks and starts to walk away.
I can’t explain what it is about her. She calls to me; I know she could push every button I have and infuriate me to no end, but I fucking want it. Crave it.
“Just go home and back to—”
“I used to race.”
Where the hell did that come from?
“Back in Australia, I was nationally ranked.”
An easy grin spreads her red lips; it looks dangerous, sexually charged, and I itch to plunge my hands into her hair and pull her face to mine to get a taste.
“I figured, Oz.” She steps closer only to stop when my phone whistles.
Motherfucker.
Ripping the offending device out of my back pocket just as it sounds with another whistle, I snarl. Meg’s number shines brightly on my screen with three messages.
Meg: Ax, we need to talk.
Meg: Ax, when are you going to be home?
Meg: Axle, please answer me. It’s about last night …
I don’t get a chance to read the rest when my phone is snatched from me.
“So that’s what you’re into? Needy girls?” Paige barks a laugh and shows the little pixie my phone. She laughs as well and then looks back at her watch. When Paige tosses my phone back to me, I’m tempted to just let it fall and break.
I regret last night.
I never regret sex. I love it, but last night, I crossed a line I should have never stepped near. Meg isn’t going to let it go like she said she would; she’s going to cling. And clingers are not awesome. They fucking suck, and I just royally screwed myself.
“She’s not needy?” I recoil at my attempt to cover Meg’s arse in a pitiful excuse to show I’m not into those kinds of women. I’m really not. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with Megan.
Even with her aviators on, I know Paige eyes me skeptically. “Whatever you say.” She bunches her hair and piles it on top of her head. “When you want to find out what a strong woman is like, come find me.” Patting my shoulder, she leaves me there feeling the electric sting of a cattle prod in the wake of her hand.
Spinning around, I watch the spicy kick to her walk and the way her hips move back and forth underneath her clothes while at the same time revealing a frame I want nothing more than to have pressed up against me.
“Yo, Ax!” I want to pull the small amount of hair I have on my scalp out when I hear Levi. My glare is murderous as I look at where my friends are; both are wearing grins like they think I just set up my lay for the night.
Couldn’t be more fucking wrong, arseholes.
Stomping over to them, I take a seat on the edge of a bench next to Jax. He, unlike Levi, watches something from across the ramps while Levi focuses on the set of tits bouncing in his face.
“Close your trap. You don’t want them thinking you’re stupid, do you?” I bark at Jax. His mouth instantly closes, but he stays fixed on whatever has captivated him.
Following his line, I find Paige talking to her brother, completely unaware of all the male attention she has gathered.
Let me tell you something.
I’m not a jealous sort. I don’t rage if one of my friends is into a girl I either screwed or am about to. But something about Jax’s gaze makes me want to steal his wheelchair and break his phone so he can’t call someone to rescue him.
I’m about to do so when his head moves, like a scope following its target, and once more, I follow him. This time, I see the little pixie who was with Paige. She’s walking away from the twins backward, yelling something at one of them.
Evil plot saved for another day.
Leaving Jax to his open ogling of the woman, I resume my own of a woman I know I will never get out of my system until she gets my dick wet. Her shades are now gone. The corners of her eyes crease as she laughs with her brother.
And then they are on me.
Across the wide section of ramps, Paige’s sea green eyes lock on and hold me until I nearly squirm.
She’s unassuming, impassive, unnerving, and fucking hot.
I’m fucking this woman.
If I don’t tonight, I will soon.
If I don’t tonight, I’m jacking off to how she looks right now.
When she flashes me a grin, I know I’m not the only one thinking those thoughts.
Chapter Six
Unknown number: She probably can’t take your thick dick like I could.
“How about that one?” My attention is far from Levi and his attempt to pick out another woman for my evening entertainment. Tilting his beer bottle to yet another tiny thing prancing past us in the apparent uniform for the trophy girls for this event, I barely look up. I’m perplexed at the message on my phone. It showed up an hour ago, and I’m completely lost because I never give my number out.
This is very concerning.
Did I get so rotten one night I gave my number to whoever blew me?
I fucking hope not. That would just be bloody fantastic.
Shaking my head, I drop my phone on the table and look up as another girl strides by. Trophy girl hunting is not as fun as many think it would be. Most of them are vapid and just looking for a rider to bed.
Don’t look at me that way because every sport has them. See, most of the girls here are looking for a rider who shows the most talent to latch onto them in the hopes of riding the cash train when they make it big.
They are the easy ones to fuck.
Then there are the girls who love this; the races, the stunts, the camaraderie that comes along with the sport. Those are the ones you become friends with, the girls who are ‘normal,’ and hope they just stay your friend unless you want more.
Megan used to be one of those.
Pinching my eyes into slits, I focus on the trophy girl’s little body. Her tits are a nice size but too small for my massive hands to palm. Her arse doesn’t fill out the skintight booty shorts, and she’s far too tiny.
“She couldn’t handle all of me.” Leaning back, I start to play with my own bottle. “Even if she could, she would be in pain afterward and cry when I leave her bed.”
Outside Meg, I never bring a girl back to my place. Since I always leave them after I fuck them, it just makes it easier, and then they don’t know where I live, which is always the safe route.
“Awfully full of yourself, aren’t we?” Jax has been quiet all afternoon as he continued to watch that chick with Paige—who is now gone—finally speaks.
“He isn’t broken!” Slapping the table, I laugh right along with Levi. “What do you say, mate?” Nudging Jax, I pull his attention from his mindless searching. “Think she would be any good?”
Snorting, Jax rolls his eyes. “Don’t you two get tired of just fucking around?”
Looking at Jax, I try to piece together what has gotten into my friend. He has always gone along with this little game. At the bar, a game, or working out, he’s always had a say.
“No?” I’m really not. I won’t be tired of it until the day I find the woman for me.
“What’s up? You were fine earlier, what changed?” Levi, the ever-concerned friend he is, leans forward.
“Nothing. Just forget I said anything.” Turning his wheelchair quickly, Jax tries to leave. “I’m grabbing another water; you two want anything?”
“I’m good, mate.” I wave my half-drained bottle at him.
“Me too.” Levi salutes to him, but his back is already to us, and he’s moving away.
“I think he is onto something.”
My brow rises at my confused friend. “About?”
“Tiring of this game we play.” One of his arms drapes over the back of his seat. “I know I haven’t found someone yet, but you seem to have a good thing going with Meg?”
“Hold it right there.” Dropping the back legs of my chair to the ground I sit up straighter. “Nothing is going on between Megan and me.” Knowing I shouldn’t take this out on my fr
iend, I snarl.
“That’s not how it’s been lookin’ for the past couple of months.”
My head shakes violently. “No, not happening. I’m not in a relationship with her, and I have no plans to ever be in one.”
Removing his hand, Levi scratches his head. “I just thought—”
“Well, whatever you thought is complete bullshit. Megan wants more with me, and I don’t. I fucked up with her, and now I have to be an arsehole by really hurting her.”
Unwisely, Levi opens his mouth to speak only to be cut off.
“Yo, man!” A heavy hand slaps my shoulder. Instantly, the scent of hard liquor is swarming the air around me. Levi’s expression is one of amusement; he isn’t completely sure who is visiting us. With a raised brow, he looks at me, hoping I know who is behind me.
“Parker, nice to see you again.” He comes around and takes a vacant seat at our table. Levi follows him as he takes a comfortable seat. Parker’s eyes are beady yet large, and his grin is sloppy. He’s already hitting the hard shit for the night.
“’Sup.” He nods at Levi. “Parker Bartin.”
“Levi Crowe.” They shake hands and a strange, fairly uncomfortable silence descends on the table. I down the rest of my beer, trying to think of something to discuss, but I can’t come up with anything not related to his sister.
How does one phrase a rapid succession of questions about a man’s sister without sounding like a total and complete stalker?
That’s right; you can’t do it.
I don’t get what is up with the woman. I haven’t had more than a couple of insanely brief conversations with her, and she consumes me. My dick twitches at the thought of her. After staring at one another for a beat a few hours ago, she disappeared again, but I felt her ghost-like presence around me wherever I moved to be with my friends. After tirelessly searching for her, I’m left as twitchy as Parker is now. But while both his legs bounce under the table, mine remain calm.
Yes, I can see his legs because the table has a glass top. I’m not leaning backward to check out the man’s legs, just so you know.