CHAPTERSIX
Gavin certainly had a knack for knowing when Lanie needed him and what she needed. Not only regarding sex either.
He did command their sexual relationship. Not in a domineering manner. And not in any way which made her uncomfortable. But she always followed his lead. She didn’t say ‘no’. She never felt as if she needed to. He didn’t make extreme demands or suggestions. He always treated her respectfully and affectionately. But he took her to the edge of her boundaries and she found it exhilarating.
She never would’ve dreamed at her age she’d be having sex anywhere except in a bed. Sometimes they had sweet, passionate sex. Other times they had aggressive, wilder sex.
Sitting with her phone in her lap after the bad call with Bev, debating with herself if she should or shouldn’t and could or couldn’t ignore everyone else and do what in heart she wanted to do, her phone rang again for the third time.
Dropping her eyes to the screen it indicated three missed calls from Gavin. She immediately felt less stressed. He did that to her. He relaxed her. He accepted her and enjoyed her. And she him. He didn’t criticize her or pressure her. Picking up the phone, she checked to see if he left a voicemail. He didn’t.
The phone rang in her hand, startling her. Gavin again. She answered, “I’m surprised you’re up this early.”
“Sorry to keep calling, but I’m out on the bike and I have to stop to call, but I thought I’d see if I can come get you and we’ll make a beach run,” he informed.
She didn’t have a bike. He didn’t know where she lived. If he did, he wouldn’t have suggested they bike the eight miles to the beach. At least not for her to attempt it. “You go ahead. I don’t have a bike. And besides getting together with the girls on a tennis court holding rackets but not much actual tennis activity, I’m not particularly active.”
His laughter exploded through her phone. She pulled it away from her ear.
Clearing his throat, he explained, “I’m on my Harley. Can I come get you? Riding is therapy for me. Freedom. The power of the motor beneath you. The wind in your face. You release your mind.”
A Harley. A motorcycle. She’d never been on one. She always wanted to though. “Yes. Come get me.” She texted him her address and advised him she would leave his name at the gate for entrance into her subdivision. She realized she didn’t know his last name. Good Lord. She’d been having lots of sex, even crazy sex, with a man who she didn’t know his last name. And he would be there on a motorcycle to pick her up shortly. Motorcycles scared her. They were dangerous.
But he didn’t wish to die any more than she did. So, he would be careful. And she trusted him. She didn’t bother texting, she hoped to catch him before he started his bike and left, so she called. His voice came across as disappointed when he answered it. “You haven’t changed your mind? Because if you have, I can be creative with my methods to persuade you.”
“No, I haven’t changed my mind. I need your last name to give to the gate.”
He chuckled, “I am sure they will ask for that. Mitchell. And I probably need to know more than your first name when I check in. Though you did give me your address. But saying I’m visiting Elaine at 2790 Oleander Circle might be a little too informal.”
“Richards,” she stated.
“See you soon,” he added.
And her mind embarked on the yoyo it seemed determined to frequent since meeting him. Up and down. Should she. Shouldn’t she. Could she. Couldn’t she. Odd how while being with him, the yoyo never dangled or fluctuated. Being with him made everything better.
What does a woman wear for a motorcycle ride? Did she have time to google it? She had no idea where Gavin started out on his ride from. How long did she have? Gary had owned motorcycles. He and Bev went on several bike rallies. In the pics Bev shared, what had she been wearing? Jeans. Jacket.
Pulling a pair of jeans out from a drawer, Lanie shook them out and stared at them in horror. She hadn’t worn jeans in—forever. Would they still fit? They appeared small and uncomfortable. And hot. So very hot. As in temperature hot. Sweaty hot.
Going to the chair, she sat and placed her feet in the leg holes and started maneuvering herself into the denim. So far so good. Stopping above her knees and gathering material above her ankles, she stood and pulled the pants higher. She got the waist to her upper thighs before it decided to become uncooperative. She bounced. And wiggled. And danced. And twisted. And sucked in her breath. Success. Her butt triumphed and staked its claim in the seat of the jeans.
She delivered a fist pump in the air and paraded in a circle before realizing she still had to button the damn things. First, loosen them. She lunged around the foot of the bed and back to the chair. Holding in her breath, she attempted the impossible. Nope. Not gonna happen.
Engaging in a few more repetitions of lunges, she flung herself on her back on the bed and sucked in her stomach. The button reached the hole. So close. Yet so far.
She didn’t have any alternatives. She doubted she had a multitude of sizes of jeans to pick from. She must make it work. Otherwise, what could she wear? Shorts. Why not? They were riding along the beach. Damn it. Why did he have to suggest an activity where she couldn’t wear her typical sundress.
Detaching herself from the jeans became a more comical scene than donning them had been. She leaned over her bed and pushed them down with her hands. She used the heels of her feet to wriggle each leg down. Finally, she freed herself. Racing to her closet, she grabbed a pair of jean shorts she hadn’t worn in years and slipped into them easily. Pairing them with a cute summer top and socks and sneakers, she rushed to the bathroom and gathered her hair into a messy ponytail.
Opening the makeup drawer to apply some mascara and gloss, the doorbell rang. Oh well. It’s not as if he hadn’t seen her au naturel.
Crossing through the main living area of the home, she scanned the space to ensure its tidiness. But she didn’t have to bring him inside. Entering the foyer, she saw him through the glass side panes of the door. Her breath hitched. She couldn’t wait to open the door and see him again. To smell him. Touch him. Hear him. Be with him.
Turning the deadbolt, she opened the door. “I guess you found it no problem?” she stammered. Nervously. Her heart raced. The clean, masculine scent she always smelled in his presence enveloped her. He grinned at her mischievously and her heart raced nervously.
“I will always find you,” he declared. He stepped forward into the doorway and she backed inside. Moving her behind the door, one of his hands went behind her neck tilting her face back and up toward him. His lips met hers. He kissed her as if he hadn’t kissed her in forever and might never again. “I missed you,” he murmured into her lips.
She missed him too. Wrapping her hands over his shoulders and into his hair, she returned his kiss fervently basking in the happiness she had with him.