Love: In the Fast Lane

by Rie Warren

  “A drink? I have water—bubbly or still—hot tea, sweet tea . . .” She crossed her arms around herself.

  I gently pried her arms open, gathering her hands. “Just a good ol’ glass of cold tap water would be perfect, darlin’.”

  There was one photograph of her folks on the obsidian mantle of her fireplace—the deceased parents she never spoke of even after I’d opened up about mine. Her mom had the dark-haired gypsy look of Cat and Boomer, their dad the goldilocks Brodie had inherited.

  I moved to a full-to-bursting bookcase kitty-cornered in her living room. I smiled, seeing my novels all lined up, and scowled when I noted those of my rivals. I’d have to burn those when she wasn’t looking. There was a desk set into an alcove. I wandered over to it. It was an antique, well used, completely out of keeping with the rest of her furniture. Scanning the surface, I noticed a newspaper clipping I recognized. It was my interview in the City Paper.

  I smirked but let it slide.

  Nerves shivered through Cat when she approached me. She handed me the glass of water that shook in her hands. I set it down without taking a sip.

  With my fingertips resting against one side of her neck, I kissed along the other side gently as a whisper. “Let’s go to bed. I want to hold you.”

  Up the stairs and down the hall, she stood to the side when I entered her bedroom. Two colorful bedside lamps covered in scarves created a kaleidoscope pattern on the deep blue walls. The bed was a king, heaped in a disarray of rich-colored quilts and knitted blankets. The furniture was timeless.

  When I turned one-eighty, I stopped in place. The far wall was painted in one huge, swirling mural of flowers, birds, and filigree words. The impact nearly knocked me off my feet. It was like her tats, on a grand scale.

  This was Cat.

  Playing it cool was out of the question. “Holy fuck. Did you paint that?”

  She approached the wall and dragged her fingertip along one twisty vine from which bright orange trumpet flowers burst. “I hired someone. The same person who made my stencils.”

  I watched her fingers graze the calligraphy. It was too stylized to be read at any distance, but my bet was on that one word found among the ink on her arms.

  Remember.

  I kept it casual instead of letting on how honored I was she’d finally shown me her place, because Cat looked like she was about to jump out of her bones. “Can I clean up?”

  “The bathroom is through there.” She pointed to a second door, chewing her lip.

  “Want to join me?”

  Her hand trembled when she placed it in mine, but she nodded. In the bathroom where everything was once again tidied away, I turned on the shower. I unzipped her dress and helped her out of it, but I didn’t linger on her breasts or try to kiss her. After the water got hot, I watched her enter the double shower then quickly shucked my clothes.

  Under the spray of water, I shampooed her hair and conditioned it. I soaped up my hands and cleaned her with leisurely strokes that weren’t meant to excite but to calm her, care for her.

  In turn, Cat washed me with something deeper in her eyes than I’d ever seen before. She stared at her hands on my chest and stepped closer to reach my back. My head fell against the tile. A long shudder worked through me. Her palms slipped down my ass and along my flanks. Moving to the front, she massaged my cock and balls in soapy foam.

  Getting too close to losing my control, I stilled Cat’s hand. “I don’t need to come again. I will if you keep that up, but that’s not what I’m after.”

  Her eyelashes were spiked with drops of water when she peeked up at me. “I know.”

  “You do, huh?”

  “Yep.” She splashed me.

  I laughed and splashed her back.

  Later in her bed, snuggling under the quilt, I pulled her tight. “I’m glad I’m finally here.”

  “Does that mean you’re going to bring a toothbrush over?” Cat squirmed even closer. Her thigh rolled across mine.

  “Maybe. Are you asking me to?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Hmm,” I murmured. “That means yes in Cat-speak.”

  “Does it?”

  “Yeah. I’m an expert in it now.”

  “Well, I’m glad you learned a new tongue.”

  I couldn’t stop myself from running my hands all over her naked skin. I gently played with the silken strip of black hair above her mound, just touching, just feeling her. I took her breasts in my hands and thrummed the beaded plum-colored peaks, tempted by the silver chandelier piercings strung through them. Twisting her nipples between my fingers, I watched as her head fell back and her mouth dropped open.

  Inhaling a shaky breath, I pulled my hands up to her shoulders and through her hair. “I wanted to say something to you before things got crazy at the wedding.”

  A flush painted her cheeks and excitement exploded in her eyes. She dipped her eyelids, but not before I saw it.

  “But I’m not saying it unless you look at me.” Cat blinked up at me. I pushed the hair from her face until it spilled down her back and over my arm. “I’m in love with you.”

  “I think I might. I think I might be . . .” She traced the curve of my lips as if she could find the words she struggled to say there.

  “You don’t need to.” Resting against the pillows, I pulled her down with me. I nestled her head beneath my chin. “I just need you to let me in, Cat.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Two-On-Two, One-on-One

  ON HER RETURN HOME from their honeymoon at the beginning of December, L had arranged the release of Ride It Hard to coincide with my Witches.

  I’d spent the intervening week whipping up a frenzy of foaming-at-the-mouth prerelease exposure for my latest, raciest series. Long nights generating press releases, arranging blog tour spots, and keeping up with the constant social media buzz meant I had less than no time to sleep. It also meant when Cat came around I was hashtagging away on my iPhone, and my brain was one big hash patty.

  For ten days straight, I fell asleep across my keyboard with my cell in hand. If I left the house at all it was for the essentials: food for man and beast, release-month-medication aka booze, plus I squeezed in one or two muscle-cramping workouts because the writinghood and sitting on my ass all day was a recipe for lazy.

  And that was just the pre-book extravaganza.

  I ladled out emails like a fry-cook at a downhome diner.

  Viper finally figured out the dog run was a viable option. I managed a shower once a day. I counted that as a victory then returned to my machine.

  Marjorie sent me my daily orders at exactly seven o’clock every morning, and she handled as much grunt work from afar as she could, while trying to keep me halfway sane.

  Any chance of returning to the sexy intimacy I’d shared with Cat the night of Josh’s wedding was off the table. I didn’t even know if I had a fucking table anymore. It was all about Witches, Witches, Witches. Still, she showed up. She plucked the key from under the planter and let herself in. She found me with papers and spreadsheets all over the den floor as I simultaneously worked on my laptop, iPad, and cell phone. She sweetly answered my grunts that meant Hey, darlin’. I miss you.

  Once or twice during the endless nights, I shifted half-awake on the leather sofa. Cat would be tucked against me. She’d hum in her sleep and slide closer. In the morning, I’d wake to the scent of coffee, the feel of Viper-slobber on my cheek, and a handwritten note on my desk. It was those little touches, the important ones, which kept me feeding the fire.

  Not many people understood the whacked-out weirdness of a romance writer who got high creating stories and characters and creatures. A lot of folks thought we existed in a different world as untouchables. Truth was, we were so real—just like Cat—we worried over every word and every decision we made for our books/brand/career.

  Nothing about this was glamorous except for the eye-catching book covers and the flashy blurbs. And that was a far cry from the reality of chew
ing my pen cap and wondering if I wrote just the right word for just the right scene at just the right time for my series arc.

  The joint launch party for Ride It Hard and Witches was an excuse to catch a little buzz and catch up with everyone I hadn’t seen since the Thanksgiving wedding. After hours at Stone’s, a lot of lowcountry folk showed up for the meet, greet, get drunk.

  “How’s Bitches coming along, babe?” Leelee asked, bright and perky.

  Ugh. Newbie.

  “Fucking great.” I stifled a yawn as I sat at one of the benches outside.

  I’d made it through the crowd of people, let Jules take photos in red-carpet style, signed whatever was shoved under my nose. My head swam from exhaustion, and I felt like I’d eaten a full tray of pot brownies when I’d only had two beers.

  Cat took my hands and brought me to my feet. “He’s tuckered out, Leelee. I’m going to take him home.”

  Is she? Awesome.

  Viper performed infinity rings around our ankles once we got inside my house. I lazily petted her neck. “Can you—?”

  “I got it. You just go lie down.”

  That sounded like a plan. I managed to shrug out of my clothes and hit the bed sideways. I must’ve fallen asleep because I woke with warm bare skin heating mine. The caress of Cat’s waist-length hair slid across my torso, snagging my senses awake.

  My lips found hers. “I wanna make love to you.”

  “You can hardly talk, let alone move.” Her fingertips pressed against my mouth. “Shhh. Let me take care of you.”

  “You sure?”

  “You’re so tense, hon. Let me release it.” She slipped the sheets back so I could watch her.

  My well-maintained two-day stubble had grown into a soft raspy beard a week ago. “I like this.” Her fingers traipsed over the whiskered landscape of my jaw, her tongue following.

  My nipples became tight tabs of sensation when she licked and laved them. Her fingers dragged tickles from my armpits and along my abdomen. My abs rolled in waves beneath her tongue.

  “Something’s not feeling relaxed,” I grunted.

  “Don’t be greedy. I’m getting there.” Cat thwapped my cock against her cheek, sending vibrations down my erection.

  She dipped down and slowly suckled my cock. The feeling of her hot wet mouth wrapped around my aching dick made every muscle in my body tense. I beat my head back against the pillows and forgot how to breathe.

  “Ahh. Fuck. You sure are.” My hands roamed through her hair. I piled it on top of her head. All the better to see.

  Her darting pink tongue dug into my slit then rolled off the tip. “Told you.”

  “C’mere. Gimme you.” I tapped her thighs.

  Straddling my face until her pussy hovered above me, Cat drove back over me. She squeezed and rolled my balls then her mouth followed. She sucked each testicle into her mouth and my cock jerked within her slowly stroking hand.

  I snared her ass in both hands and brought her down hard on my face. I ate her from pouty lips to the tiny point of her clit. I buried my tongue inside her tight heat, trying to get closer. She pushed her hips against me. Streaming saliva over my cock, she pumped with her hands and pulled me fast between her lips. I added two fingers to my tongue inside her, always flicking the hot bud above.

  I crammed my cock up into her mouth. Her gasping mouthful of moans sent me into sensory overdrive. We came together, her on my mouth, me in hers. The screaming release shattered me into a million pieces as I lapped every last bit of juice from her.

  Cat milked me with her warm tongue and soft lips. She nuzzled her nose into my balls. She crawled up my body and kissed me with one lazy slip and slide of come between the two of us.

  “Can’t move.” She snuggled against me with a satisfied smile.

  “Me either.”

  “Night, hon.”

  “Mmm.” I folded my arms around her. “Night,” I whispered.

  ****

  I may have been a pro at book release madness, but I was fucking wiped out for a week afterward. Sending a book into the world took drive, determination, and skin as thick as rhinoceros hide. Cat’s special brand of aftercare helped. I’d never been taken care of like that before. She steered me away from running myself ragged on the never-ending hamster wheel of the World Wide Web and found much more interesting ways to occupy my time than obsessing about sales and rankings.

  I finally dragged myself into Stone’s to work on the Chief the end of the second week of December. I finalized the bike with the quintessential white Indian head motifs on the black fuel tank. I polished the black leather saddlebag seat and wiped my fingerprints off the triad of headlights that marked this motorcycle for a classic. Everything was perfect from the red pinstripe to the nickel plating and lacquer finish to the high-gloss aluminum rack. Low-slung and sleek, she gleamed.

  It’d taken me three months to restore her with some outside help for the finishing touches. The same amount of time it took to write a book.

  Dusk fell. The blinding lights inside the garage spread out to the emptying parking lot and the hiss-purr of air tools sounded like music to my ears. I made one more pass with the wax and sat back on my heels.

  “She’s done,” I whispered. I wiped the last smears of oil and grease from my hands and stood up. “She’s done, y’all!”

  “Fuckin’ A.” Josh had been checking off clipboards. He strode forward to backslap me.

  Gerald ran a grubby rag around his face. “Yeah, man.”

  Mick, Javier, and all the rest followed me out to the lot. Ray brought up the rearguard for a do-over from my failed attempt last time.

  I straddled the bike. Josh stood beside me as I zipped up my leather jacket.

  Pride swelled through me. Everything that shouldn’t have worked together somehow ended up fitting like a perfect jigsaw puzzle: Witches was racking up sales on ’Zon. My bike was restored. Wildcat was my woman.

  I leaned over and gave it a try. This time when I turned the ignition, the Beast’s engine roared to life with thigh-gripping, throat-choking, ripped-to-hell metal heat and loud lungs for exhaust.

  Fuck yeah.

  I grinned like a motherfucker as I engaged the clutch and gave the Chief more juice from the throttle.

  The booyas and whistles from the boys barely registered above the thunderous rumble of my bike. Josh handed me the helmet. I pulled on Daniel’s old leather gloves and kicked that bitch into gear. Hightailing from Stone’s lot, I hit 17 North for a fucking victory lap. She growled between my legs. The engine howled when I hit the throttle. I ignored all the speed limit signs. Strip malls and farm stands streaked past me as I flew down the highway. The engine snarled when I held the bike stationery at a stoplight, loud and road-hungry. The Chief was a beast to be reckoned with.

  I headed back down the road, heat pulsing between my thighs because this ride was almost as sweet and wild as Cat. After I pulled into Stone’s, I gunned the engine a couple times before cutting her off. She ran smooth as glass.

  I jumped off, tossed the helmet over a handlebar and slicked my hair back. Breathless, I grinned until I thought my cheeks would crack. The guys smacked my ass, slapped my bike, caressed her pipes.

  “She’s mighty fine. Mighty fine.” Josh aimed a smile at me.

  “Hell on wheels, mijo, hell on wheels.” Javier loped back to the garage a few minutes later with the other gearheads—after they’d all molested my machine—to finish up for the night.

  Left alone on the forecourt, Josh rubbed the back of his neck. “You think maybe you got a minute to talk in my office?”

  My chest pumped like a V8 engine, and I could barely take my eyes off the Chief, but I nodded.

  Inside, Josh left the door of his office cracked. I sat on the couch, unable to do anything but stupidly smile because I’d finally fucking finished my dream bike.

  “Leelee wants a kid,” he muttered.

  “She already has the kid.”

  “And a hissy-bitch-bust-my-bal
ls cat, man.” White-knuckling the desk as he leaned against it, he stared at the floor. “She wants a baby.”

  “Oh.” Holy hell.

  “Yeah.”

  “So?”

  His face screwed in on itself. “I asked her if she was on the rag.”

  “You what?” I jumped to my feet. “Fuck’s sake, dude. You’re lucky your nuts are still attached to your body.”

  “Yeah. She kinda flipped her wig.” His smirk in reference to L’s wig-wearing armor swiftly fled.

  “That was a dick thing to say.”

  He took my place on the two-seater couch. He planted his elbows on his knees and buried his head in his hands. “I know. But it’s bad enough with two people to worry about. Imagine what the fuck kind of crazy bastard I’m gonna turn into when I have a daughter with Leelee.”

  Practically hyperventilating, he peered up at me.

  “You’ve always been a great dad, Josh.”

  “Because I had to be.”

  “So? Imagine your life without JJ. Without Leelee. How about instead you imagine it with another person in it.”

  He groaned, shaking his head. “Someone else to own my heart and soul? Heart attack in the making.”

  “Bullshit. You already think it’s gonna be a baby girl, said so yourself.”

  “Ain’t happenin’.”

  I sat beside him. “How’d the fight end?”

  “After she threatened to do it without me, I told her if any sperm was gonna get her pregnant, it’d be mine. Not some fucking turkey baster bullshit.”

  “Nice one, bro. All romance there.” He’d already decided to do it but was too damn hardheaded to realize it, as usual. “An apology might be in order.”

  His gaze swung to mine. “I hate you.”

  “I know. I love you, too. And PS. You are beyond whipped.”

  He shoved himself into one corner of the couch and slung an arm over the back. “Says you. I heard tell one Miss Catarina Steele can’t get enough of you, she loathes you so much.”

  “Eat me.” I squirmed in the hot seat.

  “Not my style.”

  I kicked his foot as it encroached into my space. “Probably already got her pregnant by proximity.”