Where was the ability to rewind in real life? We stood there in front of my front steps, him looking at me like I was a complete idiot and me feeling like one. Why the hell had I just confessed that to him?
“You don’t know how to drive?”
“I’m going to learn this summer!” I protested, defensive and embarrassed. “I haven’t gotten around to it yet. But it’s not like… I mean, I can just call a car when I need…” I trailed off, feeling too self-conscious to continue. Words from one of my favorite movies flashed through my mind—Alicia Silverstone in Clueless protesting “everywhere I want to go has valet!” Was I that spoiled and clueless?
“You should know how to drive,” he declared.
“I know,” I acknowledged. So much for a romantic moment with my hero. This kept getting worse and worse.
“How old are you?”
“18.”
He exhaled and swore, as if I’d just said I was 13. “Almost 19,” I hastily added.
Glancing away and looking pissed off, he sounded as if he regretted it even as he said, “I’ll teach you.”
“What?” I couldn’t have heard him correctly.
“I’ll teach you,” he repeated, sounding resigned but meeting my eyes again. “Sunday morning. We can go out to an empty parking lot. It shouldn’t take long. Give me your phone.”
I handed it to him, still feeling somewhat stunned. The tattoos, the muscles, he had bad boy written all over him, but here he was expressing concern over my safety and offering to teach me to drive? Who was this guy?
After he entered in his number, he gave me back my phone. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“Um, thanks?” My gratitude had a whole lot of confusion in it.
He shook his head, looking down at me in front of my front door in the moonlight. “I can’t believe you don’t know how to drive.”
“Well, it’s not like I’m 48. I’m 18!”
“I could drive at 13.”
I looked up at him in disbelief. “But that’s not legal.”
He cracked a smile at my naiveté. I blushed and looked down, but he brought his hand under my chin, tilting my face up again, caressing my cheek softly with his large thumb.
“How old are you now?” I managed, my curiosity strong enough I could still form words even though his touch felt so good a large part of me just wanted to purr and nuzzle my face into his palm.
“A lot older than you.”
“How old?”
He kept caressing my cheek lightly with his thumb, gazing down at me, his fingers weaving into my hair. “I’m 23.” His voice sounded husky and deep.
“That’s not too old.” My words had a bit too much of a pleading quality to them, as if trying to convince him there didn’t have to be so much separation between us. But it was how I felt, as if he kept putting up barriers between us and all I wanted was to be in his arms.
He leaned in slightly closer, but he murmured, “Yes, it is.”
I swallowed and my eyes flickered closed for a moment, his touch felt so good, so sure and right as he cradled my head, his thumb traveling down to my chin, then sweeping up along my lower lip.
“These lips look like they’ve never been kissed.” He spoke in a hushed whisper, almost sounding reverent.
My eyes opened, defensiveness kicking in again. Sure, I was innocent but it wasn’t as if I lived in a convent. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t kiss me. “I’ve been kissed,” I protested. “Just not, you know…” I met his heated gaze. He knew what I was saying. I’d been kissed by guys, but not by him. Somehow I knew what he could do to me would be like no other.
“You’ve never really been kissed,” he concluded.
I shook my head no, my breathing picking up, a shiver of anticipation traveling down my spine. He made me feel so small, standing next to him, so close I could feel the heat from his hard body.
He leaned in closer. But still he murmured, “I shouldn’t kiss you.”
“Please.” The word slipped past my lips, shameless in my own neediness. With a growl he slipped a hand to the small of my back and claimed my lips with his. Demanding, rough, he didn’t waste time with tentative or polite exploration. My hands up to his shoulders, I moaned into his mouth as he tipped me back. Opening to his tongue, I drank him in, wanting more. He tasted like some dark secret I hadn’t even know I was dying to discover. I could get drunk on this man, his kisses, his hands.
But just as suddenly as he’d started, he stopped. Both hands firmly on my waist, he placed me a few feet away, then took another step back.
“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath, raking a hand through his hair. Shaking, I missed his warmth, his lips, his hands on me. I almost started to take a step toward him, but then he barked, “Go inside.”
I froze, rejection stinging sharp.
“Do it now, Gigi,” he insisted, not even looking at me. I made my way up the steps, unlocked the door and headed into the house without once looking back.
Everything about that exchange had been the exact opposite of what I was accustomed to. Usually guys pulled out all the stops to sweet talk their way into my pants while I fended them off, keeping them at arm’s length. They wanted me drunk, would have loved to get me alone inside an empty house. Now here I was with a man literally pushing me away and telling me to get lost and it was all I could do not to run back out there and throw my arms around his neck, bury myself in him and beg him to come into the house and take me, teach me, ruin me in ways I didn’t even know about yet.
4
Dom
Saturday I felt as restless as a tiger in a cage. My shift at the country club didn’t start until four. My roommate Tom and I were going to head to the gym around one. But there I was, ten in the morning, wide awake and hard as a fucking rock for one reason and one reason only.
I shouldn’t have given her a ride home. It was enough to stop her from heading into a car with that little shit. My fist balled at the memory of him grabbing her arm. Fucker had a world of hurt heading for him if he so much as mussed a hair on her head ever again.
I should have let Gigi call a car, maybe stayed until it got there to pick her up. Some nights it seemed like half my job at that club was getting drunk people behind the wheel of a sober driver. What I didn’t do was give people a ride home myself.
But Gigi. Fuck. I’d seen her there in that slip of a dress and pictured her wrapped around me, the feel of her pussy pressed hot and tight, her bare legs spread around my thighs. I couldn’t turn that down.
Riding with her behind me? Goddamn. I adjusted myself in my briefs. I’d had a lot of girls behind me on a bike. I’d grown up with my dad in a fucking MC. It wasn’t exactly a new experience. But hell if Gigi didn’t make it feel that way. The way she gripped me, he
r pretty pink fingernails pressing into my chest. The pale, smooth skin of her slender legs. She had the legs of a dancer, graceful and toned and I bet she’d be flexible and spread real wide for me.
With a low groan, I slipped my hand down my waistband and palmed my cock. I’d been lying awake for the better part of an hour, horny as hell and unable to stop thinking about Gigi, but I hadn’t jerked off. It was like I knew it wouldn’t make any difference. No matter how many times I stroked myself, pictured sliding that slip of a dress off her gorgeous body and burying myself in her, it would never be enough. I’d never be satisfied with just the fantasy.
But I couldn’t help giving in, closing my palm around my shaft, slowly pulling, stroking in rhythm as I closed my eyes and sank into it. Gigi. Her hair was soft and blond with a hint of red. I’d never seen a color like it before. And last night I’d let myself dig my fingers into it, caress it like priceless silk.
I shouldn’t have kissed her. I almost made it through without doing it. I didn’t kiss her when I helped her off my bike and caught the briefest flash of her panties, pink like I knew her pussy would be as I licked it. I didn’t kiss her as she looked up at me all flushed and aroused and gushed about how much she loved riding on my bike, pressing up against me, clinging to me like she wanted to all night.
I was a borderline dick to her when I learned she was home alone. But the thought that I had her all to myself made me nearly blind with lust. Knowing I could step through that door and fuck her against every wall, any piece of furniture I could reach, watch her suck my cock in the shower and eat her out again and again right on the kitchen countertop? That made my blood boil so hot I practically had steam pouring out of my ears.
Then she’d stood there at the base of the stairs, her eyes wide and trusting, her berry lips slightly parted. I’d tried not to kiss her. I knew I shouldn’t.