Or Roxy’s words yesterday, a continual loop in my thoughts. Because I was definitely being swept up into some kind of hurricane—and didn’t I owe it to myself to find out what that meant?
I set my drink down firmly. Walked over to him as confidently as I was able, tracking the tension radiating from every muscle.
I was fairly certain my friend was about to do some convincing.
20
Fiona
Max swung his leg over the bike and sat all the way back on the seat, making just enough space for me to make the most spontaneous decision of my life.
But with him sitting right there, I wasn’t scared. I was fully in control of his lust, his affection, and his desire for me. He’d made that much clear. And there was a unique freedom in both of us admitting, however coyly, that we both had more-than-friendly feelings for each other.
He patted the spot in front of him, one long arm draped lazily across the handlebar. This was the closest we’d been to each other since the fire escape. His nose was slightly crooked, which I hadn’t noticed before. His lower lip was so sensual it could have been crafted by a sculptor.
His eyes were still dark and sexy, but the mystery had been replaced with humor and affection and a real kindness. And the second I swung my leg over and sat, utterly caged in by his long arms and his broad chest, I understood exactly what my sister meant.
His jean-clad thighs pressed against my bare legs. His chest curled around my back. Every time he exhaled, his breath caressed my hair. The feeling of safety, of protection, was immediate.
I hadn’t expected that. It was as forceful, and as tempting, as my all-consuming attraction to him. Becoming friends with Max might have ultimately been the critical error. He wasn’t only the hot, cocky bad boy vying for my attention. I now understood him for his complexities, his wry humor, his alluring tenderness. I’d seen him get choked up while watching his best friend’s engagement video, had seen the elements of their friendship that showed me how much Max really cared when he let himself connect with people again.
Confident fingers brushed the hair from my neck, allowing his mouth to dip next to my ear. That same hand pressed lightly against my stomach as Max tucked me firmly against his chest. His hand stayed put, inciting an urgent heat. I made a last-ditch effort to recall the language from my contract, tried to access the way I felt after Brendan had dumped me. Max doesn’t do commitment. Max will only fuck you and then leave. He wants the opposite of what you want.
His thumb stroked lazily across my stomach. If I tipped my head back against his shoulder, he would have been able to lick my neck, grip my throat, hold me in place to better ravage me with kisses.
“Is this okay?” His mouth at my ear was the sweetest torture.
“Promise you won’t let me fall?”
“You’re always safe with me.” His nose carved a path from my ear to my hairline, then back down again. This kind of hot, electric chaos was what I always swore I never wanted, because it couldn’t possibly serve my grander plans for my future. One taste of it though, one taste, and I was already lush and drunk with it.
We were only in Mateo’s cramped, crowded garage on a bike that wasn’t even moving. But I was being tugged toward a dream, a silky fantasy of flying down an open highway with the wind in my hair. No deadlines, no checklists, no goals. Just leaning in to thrilling sensation.
“Now place your hands here, and here,” he said. My hands rested on the handlebars, gripped them tight. His hands left my waist to rest ever-so-lightly against mine. “This is the throttle and the clutch.”
“What’s involved in this simulation?”
“Depends,” he said, voice husky. “How would you like me to make you feel?”
I licked my dry lips. “Free.”
He fully entwined our fingers together, squeezing. “Close your eyes and keep them closed.” I obeyed, eager to close off any visual distractions from this erotic fantasy. “Now picture the two of us, out on the open road. Rocketing down the highway, breaking the speed limit just because we can. We’re sharing this bike, sharing this seat, leaning together on curve after curve.”
I pressed more fully against him on instinct. Which meant pressing more fully against his hard-as-steel erection. It literally stole my breath away. Behind me, Max also seemed to have lost the ability to take in breath.
“But you’re not afraid, you’re in control,” he whispered. “This powerful machine between your legs obeys your every command.”
I hummed a little. I liked that.
“Choose our destination: Desert, ocean, or mountains?”
“Desert.”
“Good girl,” he said. “I’m always partial to the mountains, but for a dramatic drive, you can’t beat sweeping, flat desert and big canyons.”
“So wide open,” I murmured.
“And almost as beautiful as you.”
I giggled—a totally carefree sound I didn’t try to hide. “Such a flirt, even during a fucking simulation.”
“You said you needed to be convinced.” The edge of his teeth scraped the shell of my ear, making me shudder. “This is me convincing you, by the way.”
“Keep up the good work.” I was breathless, exhilarated, aching.
“Yes, ma’am.” His voice was the sexiest rumble. “Let’s see. We’re flying past rocks that look like they came straight from Mars. Massive canyons deep enough to hold lakes. And red, sandy land everywhere you look. A few Route 66 signs, some old motels with neon signs. Cactus. Bright blue sky and burning sun. And the bike cutting across it all.”
His thumb stroked up and down the side of my hand, splitting my attention between this waking dream and his sweet touch. How I wanted that same stroking movement between my legs. And like this, spread on a bike, he could accomplish his promise easily, could convince me with orgasm after orgasm.
It would only take Max slipping his hand between my thighs.
“What does it feel like?” The words came out more like a pant. My eyes were closed, but Max was vibrating with sexual desire behind me. His restraint, his control. Those sculpted lips at my ear, nose against my temple. His voice dropped deeper, grew rough and ragged.
“There’s no limit to where I can travel, no destination too far. If there’s a road, I’m there. No one can stop me.”
I fought the urge to roll my body, to seek deeper contact, firmer touch. Being unstoppable was certainly something I coveted. This concept was intriguing to me.
“And this machine between your legs, it’s a puzzle and a goddamn poem. I know how to put this beauty back together, but I also know how to take it apart. How to make it sing at the turn of the throttle. These hands do that.” The hands in question squeezed against my own, and with my eyes closed, I had to accept the very real strength in them. His fingers slid free from mine, slowly stroked up and down my forearms. My eyes fluttered open because I wanted to watch. Admire the black art tattooed on his arms, the tiny skulls inked onto his knuckles, the leather bracelets dragging along my skin. His fingers continued their exploration, past my elbows, along the curve of my biceps, up to my shoulders. He squeezed there, and I bit back a helpless whimper.