by Laura Wright
Lisa blinks, slightly confused. “Oh. Well, Vegas I guess. Right?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
She chews her lip, maybe deciding what she should say. “What’s Rush say?”
Rush…he’s said nothing. He hasn’t even mentioned it. “We haven’t talked about it. I don’t even know if he’s coming to graduation.”
“So ask him.”
I study the floor of the airport for a second. “Maybe.”
“Come on, Addy, the guy loves you.”
“I know.” I grab my boarding pass and try to kill the conversion by looking anywhere but at Lisa.
She doesn’t go for it. “Okay. What are you thinking?”
My eyes can’t help themselves. They connect with hers again. “What if he’s having second thoughts? What if he’s not that into me anymore? What if what happened between us five weeks ago was just leftover sparks that needed to be released?”
Lisa stares at me like I’m nuts. “Jeez, no wonder you failed your final.”
“Right?” I return with a pathetic laugh. “I need to back off a little, don’t I? Stop putting so much pressure on us? Play it cool before I lose him to my madness. I don’t want that to happen again. Besides you, he’s the only family I got.”
Before Lisa can answer, the customer service rep comes over to check my ticket. “Any bags?”
I hold up my carry-on. “Just this.”
“Enjoy your flight,” the woman says coolly before walking away.
“First Class again,” Lisa says.
I glance over at her. She’s stolen my boarding pass and is looking over it with her x-ray vision. “Every time. The boy’s got skills, that’s for sure.” She hands it back to me. “Listen, girlie, I don’t blame you for holding on tight and getting freaked out when you think he’s not. After how you grew up, it’s understandable. Probably to Rush, too. But may I suggest, instead of playing, maybe you should just be honest with him.”
I release a heavy breath. “So show him my crazy? You said it yourself, psycho bitch isn’t sexy.”
“Come here.” Lisa gives me a hug. “I love you, mama.”
“Love you, too.”
“See you tomorrow night?”
I nod against her shoulder. “You know, Lis, I can totally take a cab—”
She pulls back and gives me her fiercest mock glare. “Don’t make a beeyotch cut you.”
“You’re not a beeyotch. You’re a whore.” I smile broadly. “I better go. Text me about your date, ‘k?”
Her fierce expression fades a touch, but she rallies and tosses me a kiss and a quick wave before heading for the door. I guess we both have our issues to deal with.
I turn and make a beeline for security. In a few hours, I’m going to see Rush. And in turn, he’s going to see me. But the calm-cool-collected-and-completely-unconcerned-about-the-future me. Not the crazy chick who feels like her world is falling apart when she’s not around him.
Rush
Something’s doing in my gut as I stand outside the Vegas airport in the slowly diminishing sunlight and watch Addison’s plane come in for a landing. It’s like a dozen furry little creatures are running around in there, banging up against shit. It’s not a totally unfamiliar feeling. It usually happens right before I see my girl. Along with the twitchy hands dance, and the cotton mouth bullshit. Yeah, that’s right, my body misses hers something deep and awful. It couldn’t give a shit about all the sex text and phone fondling we do. It wants her soft heat right up on it or it’s just not happy.
The plane lands nice and safe, and with a stupid-ass grin attached to my face, I head inside the terminal and go wait in my regular spot at baggage claim. She knows the spot real well. Will be expecting to see me there. Though today I got a little surprise up my sleeve. Or in my pocket.
I roll my eyes. Don’t know if it’s douche-like or romantic, but maybe I got a small piece of white paper with her name on it in my back pocket. And maybe I’m gonna take it out and hold it up above my head like a goof when she starts my way. And then, maybe, when she sees it—and me—she’ll come running. She’ll run at me and jump on me, wrap her sexy, long legs around my waist and just hold on tight. Hold on forever. And, fuck, as her ankles cross right above my ass, her mouth’ll cover mine and make me happy to be alive again, make the crazy in my belly recede.
Someone barks out something on the loudspeaker, and a few yards away the carousel conveyor belt kicks into gear and starts spitting out luggage. My peepers jack around, looking for her. That beautiful long brown hair and those mismatched eyes, all housed in the hottest, tightest, tastiest body on the planet.
It’s only about five minutes later that I spot her, behind a guy in a business suit and a couple who are clearly jazzed to get hitched by Elvis. Like a teenager in heat, my heart drops south and my dick starts to swell. I never realize just how badly I miss her until I see her face.
I reach around, fumble into my pocket and grab the paper, lift it above my head. It’s nothing much. Just some notebook scrap. But I want her to know how nuts I am to have her here. Back with me. Shit…home.
Dressed in jeans and a bright pink tank, her hair loose around her shoulders, she looks hot, as drop dead gorgeous as the motherfucking sunset outside, and I can’t wait to have her in my arms. But as she gets closer, I also see how tired she looks. Bone weary, as the songs say. Or is it stressed? I can’t tell. I push away from the wall I’ve been holding up and curse. I hate it. Want to wring its neck. Whatever it is that’s made her this way. School, me, late nights, parties—I stop myself right there. I stop myself because my gut is going tight. Like pissed, jealous, controlling-dude tight, and I don’t like that guy. He’s weak and an embarrassment to all who have dicks.
The couple headed for Elvis and wedded bliss take off to the right, and Addison’s gaze shifts to the very spot I’m standing in, her eyes instantly locking with mine. She stops inside the very center of the departing crowd, her face and her expression completely unreadable to me. It’s not her usual look, and something ice cold moves down my spine. I remember that she was quiet this morning on the phone, kinda distant. I’d chalked it up to nerves. She’d been rushing off to her econ final. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe there was something more to it.
Slowly, her gaze travels up my heavily inked arms to my face, to the scrap of paper above my head. She blinks for a second, staring at it. Then like the goddamn sun ripping out from behind the clouds, she smiles—so wide and so bright, I fucking die from relief. I’m about to slip the paper back in my pocket and jog over to her, grab her bag and haul her into my arms, kiss the shit out of her for about ten minutes, when she drops the black leather duffle at her feet and takes off toward me.
Around us, shit is happening, people are staring, that chick on the loudspeaker is announcing something. But we don’t care. I don’t care. Nothing exists except me and her. It’s always been that way with us. And I’m starting to believe it’s both our strength and our vulnerability.
“Rush!” She barrels into me, her arms going around my waist, her cheek hitting my chest.
But I got to see her, need to see those eyes, one blue, and the green one that belongs to me, up close and personal. I gotta see that she’s okay, that the stress I noticed earlier isn’t about me or us. My hands plunge into her hair, one curling around to cup her neck. With a whimper, her head drops back and she stares up at me with a look so frantic and hungry and lust-filled I’m thinking it’s a mirror to my own.
“Oh fuck, baby, I missed you,” I manage to get out before I drop my head and feast on her.
Addison
I’m lost. In him. In his tongue and his teeth, his mouth and his breath, and the way he whispers my name between every kiss as we practically stumble out of the airport and over to where he’s parked his bike.
I know we’ve got to separate at some point to get out of here, get home, but my entire body’s on fire, screaming at me to find a dark corner and just unzip.
; I feel cool metal against my hand as Rush rips his mouth from mine. We must be here. In the parking garage. And hey, there are lots of dark corners. But before I can suggest it, Rush lifts me up with a growl and places me on the black leather seat. Breathing heavy, my lips already deliciously swollen, I watch as he straps my bag onto the back of the bike. Every inch of my skin is vibrating and I’m squeezing the black leather with my inner thighs. I’ve never felt so manic. Like if I don’t get my hands on him soon, feel his hot, hard, inked skin against mine, I’ll lose my sanity.
So much for my plan to keep it cool.
“Stop looking at me like that, Addison,” Rush warns, grabbing his helmet.
I smile innocently. “Like what?”
His green eyes liquid fire, he leans in, close to my ear. “I can’t fuck you here. Too many people. Too many cameras.” He licks the shell of my ear and I shiver deliciously. “And no one sees you come but me. So, sit tight, baby. I’m taking you home.”
He slips the helmet over my head, then climbs on in front of me. For just a second, I take him in. My badass boy with the combat boots, ripped jeans, faded black t-shirt, oh-so sexy disheveled hair and plentiful ink. That beautiful ink I dream about every night. That ink wrapped around my body. I shiver again. All the way down to my toes.
“Arms around me, baby,” Rush calls, starting the engine.
He gives me less than a few seconds to do as he says before ripping away from the space and hauling ass out of the parking structure. He’s such a skilled maniac, the way he takes every curve and slides in and out of lanes. I love it. I get off on it.
We’re just merging onto the freeway when my insides calm down enough to enjoy the ride and the desert wind on my skin. Shit, could I move here? Live in Las Vegas, in the desert, with him? Yes, I could. I know that. I want that. But does he? Does he understand that if we did that, things would be crazy for awhile? That I’d be job searching for weeks, maybe months while I worked temp jobs to pay for an apartment? Because I’d be paying for my own shit. Or…would he fight me on that? Like he fights me on the plane tickets? And if I gave in, would that screw with our dynamic?
I roll my eyes inside my helmet. I’m getting way ahead of myself here. He hasn’t asked. He hasn’t even mentioned it. Maybe he’s content with this…seeing each other when we have time. Flying in and out, weekends when it’s cool. Maybe I need to just stop this head trip I’m on and enjoy my time with him.
Rush takes a hand off the handlebars and places it over mine, which are tightly wrapped around his waist. The move, the contact of his skin on mine, completely unravels me again. And as Rush exits the freeway and hits the two lane road that leads to his house, I inch closer, press my breasts against his back and squeeze my thighs around his hips. I feel him inhale sharply. Around us, the pink sun is going down, and without thinking, my right hand abandons his waist and starts to descend.
“Addison.” I hear the warning-laced call on the wind, but I’m barely registering it. I want him so badly I can’t see straight.
He groans as my fingers brush lightly over the top of his burgeoning erection. I want it. I want to slip my hand inside his jeans and make him as hard as the red rocks around us.
“Baby, I’m going to crash,” he hollers back, his voice strained.
I know. I hear him, and I know what he’s saying is true. Shit, I know what I’m doing is totally freaking dangerous. But I don’t care. I swear to god, I want him so bad I don’t care if we crash.
What the hell is wrong with me? And how can I make it stop?
With a hard jerk to the right and a squeal of tires, Rush pulls off the road. I curl into him, holding on tight as he speeds into the desert, hauling ass until he spots a large palo verde tree about quarter mile out. He guns for it, and once there, jerks the bike to the right, then brings it to an abrupt, dust-clouded stop before killing the engine. He’s off the thing in two seconds. Has me on my feet in one. And rips off my helmet with a curse and look so fierce, I shiver and erupt into flames.
“That wasn’t very smart, Ads,” he says, unbuttoning the top of his jeans.
My breath catches in my throat. “I know. I’m sorry.”
His mouth twitches, but the humor doesn’t reach his eyes. He sends his zipper down a few inches. “No you’re not.”
“You’re right, I’m not,” I say as he moves closer until his body is flush against mine. “I want you. I’m not going to apologize for that.”
He leans down, kisses my top lip super gently, then bites it.
I hiss and my belly clenches.
“We’re not making it home, Ads. Not like this.” He reaches for me. Quick and easy, he unbuttons and unzips my jeans, his fingers moving downward. “I’m hard and you’re…” He fiercely cups me through my jeans. “Wet.”
I groan and push against his hand. Hell yeah, I’m wet. I need him so badly, need him to touch me, put me out of my misery so I can think clearly again.
“I’m going to have to fuck you right here, Ads.” His eyes meet mine. “Is that what you want?”
I can barely breathe. “Yes.”
One eyebrow lifts. “Anyone could see us.”
I shake my head, lick my dry lips. “I don’t care.”
He grins. “Shit, baby. We could get arrested.”
I grin back, my heart slamming against my ribs so hard it’s painful. “Then you’d better hurry up and get inside me.”
“Oh, that’s a great answer.” In one effortless move, he flips me around to face the bike, then hooks his thumbs inside of the waistband of my jeans and sends them to my ankles. “Perfect answer.”
The cool desert breeze blows across the skin of my legs and ass as he bends me over the leather seat of his bike and kicks my feet apart as far as the denim will allow. I’m dying. Fucking dying to have him inside me. I hold my breath, every inch of me so sensitive that when he does touch me, when he slides my thong aside, when I feel his hand moving down the seam of my ass, then slowly—oh-so erotically slowly—entering me with one long, thick finger, I convulse.
Rush lets out a groan and holds me steady with his free hand. “Oh, baby, you’re so wet.” He inserts a second finger and drives it up all the way up to the knuckles. “How long have you been like this?”
Breathing heavy, nipples beading, fingers digging into the leather seat, I manage to utter one word. “Hours.”
He pumps me slowly. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt you this wet.”
“I tried to take care of it on the plane.”
“Where?” he demands.
I feel his cock against my ass. It’s hard and warm and ready. “The bathroom.”
Rush stills, then spreads his fingers wide inside of me, stretching me. It’s delicious, and I moan. “Did you touch yourself, Addison?”
“Yes.”
He slips his fingers out of me and finds my clit. When he brushes over it with his thumb, I gasp and clench. “Here?”
God, I’m going to die. “Yes.”
“Did you stroke yourself? Pinch yourself?”
My nails dig into the leather seat as he does both with his clever fingers. “Yes.”
“Did you come?”
I shake my head. I can’t breathe or focus.
“Good.” The head of his cock is right against my opening now. I arch my back, silently begging him to fill me. “You won’t do that again. Got it, Addison? I make you come. Only me.”
Without waiting for a response, he pushes inside me. Not all the way, just an inch or two. “Unless I’m watching.”
My eyes fill with tears. I’ve never wanted anything so bad in my life. “Rush, please!”
“In fact.” He slips in another inch, then two. “When we get home, you’re going straight to my room.” He pulls out, and I cry and let my head drop forward. “You’re going to get naked.”
“Yes, yes, please Rush, I can’t—”
“You’re going to get on my bed.” He slams into me, so hard and so deep I gasp for air, grip the bike t
o hold myself steady. “You’re going to spread your legs so wide I can see every inch of you. Then you’re going to fuck yourself.”
His hands clamp around my hips and he thrusts inside me with deep, wonderfully punishing strokes.
“But right now, baby, I’m fucking you.”
My brain is a blank screen, and my throat is only allowing moans and sighs and cries to escape. Under the slowly darkening sky, with the sounds of the wind, and the traffic in the distance, Rush works me over, his hands splayed on my ass now, his thumbs opening my cheeks wide, so he can get inside me even deeper. It’s heaven, and I never want it to end. But my body is betraying me. The build started the second I saw him with that sign above his head at the airport, and the cocky grin on his face when he saw me. So when leans over me, gets close to my ear and whispers, “I love you awful, baby,” I break. My walls contract around him, my legs shake and I cry out into the night-blooming desert.
Rush curses and squeezes my hips. He stays by my ear as he pounds into me. He whispers my name over and over as he too lets go. It’s been so long since we’ve been together. For a week, our skin, our tongues, our insides have been running on memory and withdrawal. We needed this. Quick and hard and wherever we could find the space.
Rush doesn’t linger inside of me. Night’s coming on fast now and I’m getting cold. With gentle hands, he pulls my jeans back up, even zips and buttons me, then handles himself before straddling his bike and gesturing for me.
“Get on, Addison. We need to go home.” His sexy, jade-green eyes heavy with lust, he revs the engine at me. “That only made me want your ass more.”
I don’t need to hear anything more. I’m his. Whatever he wants, and whenever he wants it. I yank on my helmet, then settle in behind him, my arms wrapping around his waist. He takes off back toward the road, kicking up desert dust, and I realize that for the first time in a week, I can finally breathe right.
Rush
