by Dallas Cole
“Sounds to me like our baby Jagger might actually have some feelings. What a Christmas miracle,” Elena says.
I sigh and pop my aviators down over my eyes. I’m so not in the mood for this shit. “It’s nothing. Seriously. She’s got her own baggage to deal with, or something.” Or something is right. She’s hauling all those bags around, but won’t even let me glimpse at what’s inside. “Whatever.” I force myself to smile again. “Plenty of other fine pieces of ass in the sea, am I right?”
Drazic bursts out of the main shop door and hops down the steps to the garage bay, a triumphant grin on his face. “And that’s the last piece of gear sold off. Thanks to Jagger and Cyrus.” He points toward us each in turn. “We’re going to have to do some more work real soon.”
Elena wrinkles her nose in disgust. I think she knows exactly what kind of ‘work’ her uncle’s talking about, but she tries not to get involved, all the same.
“You like the darkweb shit me and Jagger set up?” Cyrus grins. “I told you, we’ll be moving it faster than you can count it.”
“It gets the job done, all right.” Drazic walks over to me and Cyrus and crosses his arms, his beefy muscles bulging from his waffle shirt. “When do we want to make our next haul?”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. I wonder how Sophie would feel about me doing this kind of work. It’s not like we rip off anyone who can’t afford it. But I’m sure she’d have some bullshit psychoanalysis response to me and my ‘skills.’ Something about my broken childhood, need for validation, blah, blah. Worst part is, she wouldn’t be wrong.
“Let’s focus on the semifinals this weekend, first. I know all three of us have some work to do to tighten up our circuits, and I don’t want any distractions.”
Drazic nods. “Fair enough. You free to run some circuits tomorrow afternoon?”
“You got it,” I say.
Elena pokes her head out from under the car she’s working on. “Lennox and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Excellent. See you boys and girls then.” He winks at his niece and heads back for the office.
I grab my gear to go—I’m feeling like a few circuits on my own might be just the thing to clear my head—but Elena taps me on the arm. “Hey.”
“What’s up, sis?” I spin toward her with another easy grin.
“You really dig this chick, don’t you?” she asks. Her voice is soft, low enough the other guys can’t hear. “You’re worried about what she might think of you.”
“Fucking hell. It’s not like that,” I grumble, then shove my hands in my jean pockets.
Elena laughs, bright and hard. “Oh, my god. I knew it. I fucking knew it.”
I exhale loudly. “It’s really not worth talking about.”
“C’mon.” She straddles a workbench, boots dangling just off the ground. “Try me.”
I lope toward her and plop onto the bench next to her. “Look, she just keeps getting . . . spooked, I guess. She’s afraid of something, and I—”
“Listen.” Elena smiles. “If she’s really worth it to you, if she’s as scared as it sounds like she is, then just be there for her. She needs someone to hold her hand through it.” Elena nudges me with her shoulder. “Sounds like the perfect role for you.”
Someone to hold her hand. Hold her baggage. I don’t know the first goddamned thing about doing any of that. But I suppose I can try. I pat Elena’s thigh and pull myself to my feet, ready to call Sophie. “Thanks.”
Sophie’s waiting for me with her arms wrapped tight around her when I pull up at her sister’s place. She’s wearing this simple blue wrap dress that looks ridiculously hot against her creamy skin and red-gold hair, hugging her tits and hips like a vice grip, and it’s all I can do not to think how it might look when I unwrap it. But her expression is lethal—a stone wall perfectly designed to keep out invaders, complete with arrows and hot oil. All I can do is deploy Rockstar Jagger Swagger and hope for the best.
I climb out of the car, walk around, and open the passenger’s door for her. “You look incredible.” I give her a peck on the cheek as she slides into the passenger seat, though what I really want to do is bend her over the fucking diner counter. “Though I’m pretty sure you’d make a paper bag look hot.”
She smirks. “Thanks.”
I close the door for her and climb into the driver’s seat. “Thanks for agreeing to this.” I ease us onto the neighborhood road and wind my way along the Ridgecrest hills.
Sophie sighs and stretches her arms out in front of her. “Yeah, well . . . I know I haven’t been the easiest person to get along with.” When I laugh, she grins and adds, “Understatement of the fucking year, yes, I know.”
“You said it, not me.” I wink.
She eases back in her seat. “You’re a good guy, Jagger. Well, maybe not ‘good’ in the sense of well-behaved, clean, or remotely appropriate for human consumption . . . but good. Honest. Direct. A hell of a lot better than I’m used to.”
I raise one eyebrow. I don’t get that too much from chicks, but I’m not about to tell her that now.
“I don’t mean to take you for a ride,” she continues. “I just have a lot of shit to work through right now. None of it’s your fault, but it’s still a lot of shit.”
“Well, I’m here for you if you want to talk about it.” I slide my hand up her thigh. “Or, y’know, provide you with a distraction.”
She laughs and swats my hand away, but she’s smiling while she does it. I guess we’re okay, then. For now. I grip the gearshift as we head downhill, and Sophie laces her fingers into mine on top of it.
“Thank you. Seriously,” she says. “Now . . . Where the hell are we going?” she asks.
I grin. “I believe you still owe me some French toast from Peg’s Diner.”
Peg’s Diner is as old school a diner as they come, but with a distinctive high-desert twist. Southwestern omelets that are actually fresh, chicken-fried steak that’s actually made with real chicken, just enough grease on everything to keep you honest, and coffee that’ll punch through even the fiercest hangover. I save Sophie, narrowly, from catching the hem of her dress on the cacti in the entryway and usher her to an open pair of stools at the dining counter.
“Cute,” Sophie says, looking around at the décor. Pueblo knickknacks and turquois everything lines the high shelving that runs along the walls, interspersed with sparkling cut quartz, rose rocks, and baby cacti.
“Peg’s is a classic. I’m surprised you haven’t been here before.”
I’m prying and I know it, but I’m just trying to give her an opening. She obviously has some family ties to Ridgecrest.
“I went to school on the other side of the mountain, in Eagle’s Plain. Hung out with all those preppy kids . . .” She trails off. I get it. Her life was a hell of a lot more charmed than mine. Rich hippies and retired stockbrokers. Explains the nice house her sister’s got. And Sophie’s nearly finished grad school degree.
I order my usual—French toast and bacon—but Sophie opts for a slab of hanger steak and eggs. “Fuck. You weren’t lying about the French toast.” She moans after I let her try a bite of mine, drizzled with Peg’s bourbon vanilla maple syrup. “I know what I’m getting next time.”
“I know all the best dives on this side of the mountain.” I wink.
Sophie’s gaze turns serious while she nurses her coffee. Every time the front door chimes, her eyes would dart that way and her shoulders would tense up, and she’d catch me noticing it with a nervous laugh. “Listen . . . I guess I owe you a bit more of an explanation.”
I lay down my fork. My first instinct is to pop off with something smart, as usual, but I’m trying to reel that in.
“I got out of a bad . . . situation pretty recently.” She lowers her head, letting her soft curls drape in front of her face.
“Situation?” I raise one eyebrow. “That’s a pretty broad word.”
Sophie nods, looking down.
“What’re
we talking about, Sophie? Crushing debt? Head stuck in a peanut butter jar? Bad relationship?”
Sophie laughs at the peanut butter jar one. “Okay, so it was a bad relationship.” She blows out through her lips, sending one curl billowing. “I know, I know. So fucking cliché, right? But it’s true.”
“Hey, we’ve all got our shit to work through,” I say.
But Sophie shakes her head. “It wasn’t just bad. It was . . .” She huffs out her breath. “I’d been seeing Tyler since my junior year in college. At first he was really great—showering me with gifts and affection, making me feel like the luckiest girl on earth. He treated me like a queen.” Her hand starts shaking as she grips her coffee mug. “But then he made sure I knew who was the real royalty. Who was really in charge. And if I tried to resist, even a little bit . . .”
I grit my teeth, fuming. “I’ve seen a few guys like that—think a woman isn’t special unless they own her wholly, right?” Sophie nods. “Yeah. Those assholes know exactly what they’re doing, too. They brag about it to the other guys, like they’re so fucking clever by messing with someone’s head.”
Sophie smiles sadly. “Yeah, that sounds about right. And Tyler was the worst kind—the kind with just enough power to back up all his bravado. He was all too good at maneuvering the world around me, keeping me trapped in his sick little world.”
“I’m sorry, Sophie.” I realize I’ve made a fist, and I force myself to relax it. “It wasn’t your fault. It can happen to anyone.”
She curls one hand over my knee. “I know. Hell, I’m a psych grad and I still let it happen to me. Let him control who I was friends with, when and how I saw my family, stripped everything away all so I could try to appease his temper . . . it took me way too long to see it.”
I swear to myself right then if I ever meet this fucker, I’ll punch him in the mouth.
“But, hey. Here I am—free of him, right?” Sophie looks into my eyes. “I’m taking a break from it all, trying to heal up and forget it.”
I shove my plate aside and wipe a bit of syrup from the corner of my mouth, then toss my napkin down. “I know what always helps me forget,” I tell her with a grin.
Sophie laughs. She sounds so brassy, so gutsy, and it turns me on so goddamned much to hear her this fearless, despite everything she’s been through. “I think I’m familiar with it,” she says.
I shake my head. “No, no.” Not that I’d mind bending her over the Firebird’s hood and watching those ripe tits press against the galaxy paint job, but . . . “Actually, I have something else in mind.”
The high desert sky is painted in cool oranges and pinks shot with purples as day turns to night. There’s a lukewarm breeze rising off the desert, whipping into the Firebird as we drive with the windows rolled down. Sophie’s a little rusty with a stick shift, but she makes the best of it as she angles us toward the straightaway on Highway 12.
Sophie drums her fingers against the steering wheel. “God. This is awesome. It’s like something from one of those sexy old TV shows, you know, with the high-tech cars . . .” She laughs. “Okay, so maybe I have a complex. But seriously—this is so cool.”
“Driving fast is the best way I know to clear my mind. You feel the wind whipping over you and the engine purring beneath you. There’s nothing like it.”
Sophie tightens one hand on the steering wheel. “You’re sure I’m okay to do this?” she asks. Her hand caresses the gear stick and I wince, wanting very badly for her to grab my quickly hardening cock that same way.
“You’ll be fine. Just climb her up the RPMs, nice and steady, and then let her fly.”
Sophie guns the accelerator, her dazzling blue eyes widening in momentary terror. The Firebird rockets forward, all those horses galloping hard. Sophie sucks in a deep breath, then lets out a whoop of delight. Seventy, seventy-five, eighty . . . I look from the odometer to her with a proud grin. The wind tears through the cabin and her golden hair curls around her pale throat, adding to her look of unbridled joy. The engine is purring and Sophie is steering us down the straightaway as fast as she can and it is our night.
It’s the kind of moment where the possibilities feel limitless.
But whether they have the potential for good or bad, it’s hard to say.
7
Sophie
I laugh and crash into Jagger’s chest. “Whoops. Sorry. Hard to see.”
“No need to be sorry, babe.” He nibbles at my lower lip, sending a fresh shock of ecstasy through me. “Just watch where you step . . .”
I slide my rump onto the hood of the car, the engine’s warmth still radiating through the metal, and pull Jagger’s hips between my legs. “There. No more tripping.”
“Good idea.”
There’s only a sliver of desert moon hanging over us, but there are so many stars it’s like a silver candlelight, gleaming against every hard, hot plane of Jagger’s body. A fire stokes in my belly at the glimpse of him, tugging me like a magnet toward him. After he let me hotrod across the desert a few times, we pulled over to an observation area, and Jagger being Jagger, I couldn’t keep my hands off him for long. He kisses his way down my jawline, my skin tightening up like he’s made of ice at each sensation.
Jagger trails one finger beneath the hemline of my wrap dress and coaxes one breast free from my bra. Warmth radiates from his touch. “You look so fucking incredible,” he murmurs, his mouth pressed up against my skin. He lavishes attention on my nipple with his mouth, sending a fresh frisson of pleasure straight to my core.
I shudder and press him closer to me. His touch, his mouth, is like a warm summer beach, all freedom and gentle waves . . . Being with Jagger is nothing like my life was with Tyler. The cold prison cell that I always felt locked inside whenever Tyler deigned to show me some affection. I just want to bask in Jagger’s glow forever.
Jagger slips one hand between my legs and teases a slow, torturous circle over my silken panties. Delight shivers through me. I suck in my breath, catching my lower lip in my teeth, and stifle a moan. Then wonder what I’m stifling for. I can be free, unbidden, with Jagger. No need to hide who I am.
“Good girl,” Jagger purrs, right in my ear. He catches my earlobe in his teeth and sucks, drawing another deep moan from the fire inside of me. “Look how nice and wet you are. I’m dying to feel that hot pussy around me, dripping on me . . .”
“Good,” I manage to respond. “Because I want that granite cock of yours inside of it.”
Jagger’s gaze turns feral, dark in the starlight, as he seizes me by my shoulders. My entire body is clay in his hands, just waiting to be molded by his touch. He spins me around and forces me over the hood of the car. The warm metal radiates through my torso as I brace my arms against the hood; his hands glide over my ass as he pushes up my dress and shoves my panties to one side. I tense, anxious, eager, unable to contain my lust for him. I need him to fuck me now.
But he’s taking his sweet-ass time.
“Come the fuck on,” I say, unable to keep from whining. “Just fuck me already.”
“So impatient. I just want to admire the view.” He grazes his fingertips over the curve of my ass once more. Then, finally, he parts my thighs. The cold night air pricks at my skin. I grit my teeth, waiting . . .
And then he thrusts into me like a goddamned battering ram.
“Oh, fuck.” I tense around him, feeling every fucking inch. He eases out and slams back into me, each thrust like an engine working overtime. He works steadily, but his heat radiates through me, each drive full of power . . .
And it’s so easy to get lost. To feel the heat, feel the delirium like I felt his Firebird roaring beneath me as the high desert road roared past.
“That’s a good little slut.” I laugh, a dark joy burning in me. There’s a playfulness in his tone that’s turning me on so bad, that’s nothing like when Tyler would say it and mean it.
Jagger grips my hair in one hand, keeping me pressed against the hood. “Do you like bein
g a slut for me? Like making me so hard?”
“I fucking love it. I like seeing you so filthy . . . so raw . . .”
But then words leave me. My orgasm is like an undertow and it’s dragging me under. As filthy as he talks, as goddamned filthy as he fucks, he is everything I never felt with Tyler. Safe . . . secure . . . loved . . . warm. And sexy. Like the sexiest thing on two legs.
Sure, Jagger has his problems. He comes with his own danger. But isn’t this bliss, this unchained freedom a start?
Jagger shudders as he comes, his hips digging into my ass, the icing on the fucking cake. “Goddamn.” He bends forward to plant a kiss on the nape of my neck, then between my shoulder blades, then on the small of my back. “I could do that all fucking night.”
I draw a deep breath, exhausted, but willing for more. “So could I.”
He eases out of me and slumps next to me on the hood. “We could always go back to my place,” he says. He grins and nestles a kiss on my temple. “It’s a little bit roomier than yours.”
I smile back. “Good. There’s plenty more I’d like to try.”
I awake to harsh sunlight streaming through the blinds in Jagger’s apartment. His warm body is wrapped around me, far outweighing the scratch of his cheap sheets, and all I want is to nestle into it and—
Shit. What time is it? It looks like it must be at least ten o’clock, and I’m supposed to be at the youth center by two to help with the after-school crowd. I was hoping to get some work done on my thesis paper, grab a shower back at my place . . . There’s still time, but if I lie in bed with Jagger any longer, I know I’m going to let myself get dragged into another far too exciting round of—well, the possibilities are limitless.
I slip out from under Jagger’s arm and tug my dress on. The clock on his alarm reads 10:12. Not as terrible as it could be. I take in one last look of his lean, limber form stretched out across the mattress. Man, I hate to interrupt that view . . .
