by D. K. Combs
If he wanted to lay a hand on her, so be it.
He could even do more—if he dared.
Which, she realized as his hand deftly moved to the zipper of her slacks, he did. He would definitely dare. And the quicker, the better—though, she didn’t care much for her “date”, she didn’t want him to notice what was going on. She didn’t want anyone to notice what was going on.
If anything went on.
The dude could easily stop what he was doing, but a glance at his face told her she would be lucky if he stopped. His face was stoic, yet she could see the determination in the crinkles of his deep brown eyes. She could see the rigid set of his jaw, the determination creating a strain that hadn’t been there before.
He put that determination to use because, in seconds, the button and the zipper of her slacks were undone. She kept her purse on her lap, above his hand. Despite herself, her head fell back into the chair as excitement coursed through her—excitement, and something more.
Anticipation.
Desperation.
Need.
It all swirled inside of her like a hot, intoxicating mess, causing her to do something she’d never done before—open herself to a stranger in a dark movie theater with Chris Pratt’s voice playing overhead.
She closed her eyes, her breath falling in short gasps. With every movement of his fingers as they went deeper into her pants, her heart threatened to leap from her chest. His elbow had to bend at an angle, resting against her shoulder to keep her pants from being shoved down. And when he skipped through the panty play and went straight to her skin, she wanted to moan.
Belatedly, she realized the blonde man beside him had stood and left, going God knows where, leaving just the two of them and a few other people in the theater. Luckily, they were a few rows down and the chairs were so bulky that it was impossible to see anything without standing directly in the row.
She thanked God for that, because as his fingers brushed against her clit, the sensation nearly had her flying out of her seat. Instead, she funneled that energy into his arm, her nails digging mercilessly as that first touch shot through her entire body.
When he moved a finger lower, the tip testing just outside of her core, she felt him inhale sharply.
“Fuck,” he growled, his palm bearing down to press against her clit.
She knew what he felt. He felt the immediate wetness, how drenched she was. How hot and dying for this she was.
His finger slid inside her effortlessly. Smoothly. Deeply. Despite how awkward of an angle it was for him, he managed to get his middle finger inside her completely, all the while rubbing his palm against her clit. She couldn’t stop the soft, desperate moan of pleasure, couldn’t stop the way her body reacted to him.
Such simple touches, and yet he was wringing such amazing pleasure from her—
He stopped. With quick, confident movements, he pulled his hand out of her pants, reached across her, and pressed the button that would make her seat recline. As the foot rest came out and she was forced to lean back, his hand went back right to where it was—and she almost wept from the relief.
There was no stopping now, and if he did, she would never recover. At least, not until she went home and found release on her own. It would tide her over for a little, but masturbating had never done it for her.
This wasn’t close to what she needed, but it definitely felt like it was.
When his finger pressed against her, she shuddered, every part of her body trembling in anticipation. Her legs opened for him, her body instinctively telling him that she had to give him more room, had to get more pleasure from him. Her purse stayed on her lap—somehow. She kept forgetting it was there, and when she gyrated against his hand in encouragement, she barely grabbed it in time before it fell.
“You’re wet,” he whispered, shocked, his voice a lot closer than she had anticipated.
Without realizing it, her body had shifted to the side, her cheek resting against his shoulder as she panted and strained against him. How pathetic was it that with just the few touches he had given her, she was already so close to climaxing?
She wanted to be disgusted with herself, but she couldn’t be.
She needed this. Wanted this. Craved this. Would die for this—and she was so close to coming.
With a stranger.
In a movie theater.
While she was on a date with another person.
Regardless of the fact that the date was a complete sham, it was still the principle of it all...and she found she actually kind of really liked it. She liked the excitement, the change. Her routine for the past five years had been bar surfing until she found the right guy, every month, once a month, all year long.
He pulled back his finger, only to add another one. As they slammed inside of her, his palm rubbing dangerously hard against her clit, she pressed her face into his thick shoulder to muffle her moan. Her legs shook. Her body ached with the need to release. Her hands grasped for him desperately.
Even though this was all taking place in a manner of seconds, she felt the release build inside of her. He pumped his hand steadily, forcefully, against her core, wringing sighs and soft, desperate mewls for completion from her.
When it finally hit her, like a dam had been released, the climax washed through her. She felt every pulse, felt every inch of his fingers as they continued to pump steadily.
She inhaled sharply, her head falling back into the chair once again as she fought for breath, fought to make sense of everything.
That...had actually happened.
As he extracted his hand from her pants, she struggled to lift her gaze to his—but she did. The grin on his face was pure arrogance, pure male pride. She let out a soft laugh, closing her eyes as the last of the orgasm surged through her.
He was kind enough to fix her slacks, even going as far as to take her purse off the ground and set it on her lap. She looked between him and the purse. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember it falling off her lap—but she couldn’t care less.
That had been one of the quickest, hottest orgasms of her life—and it had been in a movie theater, with a stranger, while she was on a date with another man.
If she hadn’t known she was already on a path straight to hell, that would definitely have been the tipping point. She should be gathering herself up to leave, to get away from him, but she didn’t, and neither did he. He made no move to leave—shit, he was settling himself into the chair like he was top dog.
He must have sensed her looking at him, because right as the catfish returned to his seat, the hot stranger gave her a slow once-over, the approval telling her that he knew exactly what he’d done, how he’d done it, and that he had enjoyed every minute of what he’d done, just as much as she had.
But, as much as she loved it, it wasn’t enough.
She wanted more.
She wanted him.
And the ever-present voice that haunted her conscious was quiet.
Chapter Five
As the Chevy truck pulled up to the open bay door, he swiped the grease from his hands onto his jeans and stood. He’d just finished the oil change on the dropped off Kawasaki, despite the buzzing in his pants. As much as a distraction as it was, he was starting to get used to it. For the past thirty minutes, his phone had been ringing off its rocker.
He had a strong feeling about who was calling him, but he wasn’t ready to deal with her. No, Noah had a lot more important things to deal with—like Chase. He hadn’t seen the man since last night, getting nothing but a vague text that he was leaving the theater to meet up with some chick.
He hadn’t read the text until after the movie, but he hadn’t cared.
The woman had definitely turned the tables on Noah and Chase’s bet. Not only that, but getting her off in the theater had been probably one of the hottest things he’d ever witnessed. The fact that her date had no clue, and that she had seemed a lot more relaxed afterward, only made it better.
&nbs
p; Plus, he had won back half of his loss.
“Hey,” he called out when the truck shut off. Chase climbed out, a pensive glare on his face even before his foot touched the ground. “Did you bring my money?”
“Ha. You don’t even want to know what the second part of the bet is before demanding payment?”
Noah shrugged, reaching into his back pocket for the rag he kept there. As he rubbed his greasy hands onto the rag, he nudged a few tools out of the way with his foot and met Chase halfway.
“I’m sure you’ll tell me in due time—but we both know you’re a man of your word. Pay up, fucker.”
“Who said anything about paying? You have to do the second part of the bet to win it all.”
“I don’t remember that being part of the terms,” he grunted. It was whatever. Chase was always good on his word, and Noah had won the bet fair and square. He cast a glance at the bike he’d just finished, then looked at Chase. “Hey, could you help me with something, actually?”
“Depends,” Chase said, pulling his phone out. He tapped on the screen and then started going through it, a grin spreading across his face.
“I just need you to follow me over to a drop-off. It’s out in the commercial district. I think the lady said Roderick Rhodes? It’s that building they tore down and rebuilt about twelve years ago.”
“Yeah, yeah, not a problem.” Chase was barely paying attention. He was too invested in his phone, his thumbs moving over the screen quicker than Noah could blink.
“Uh, anyway, I’ll ride the bike over and give it the test run on the way there if I can hitch a ride back to the shop with you after. Otherwise, I’ll have to load it up on the flatbed.”
“Sure, whatever,” Chase said. He slid the phone back into his pocket. “Hey, so last night, I met these two women. They want to go out tonight. Are you down?”
“Yeah, sure, as long as the second bet doesn’t involve fingering anyone in a bathroom.” As hot as last night had been, he didn’t want to make a habit of that. He liked to take his time with women, liked to pleasure them completely. A quick orgasm like that did nothing for either of them. Shit, he almost felt bad for not finishing the job with the redhead last night, but it was what it was.
Chase laughed. “Don’t worry. Your fingers are safe. We are going at about eight tonight, to the cocktail bar on Seventh. Does that work for you?”
“Yeah, it doe—” He paused, head cocking to the side, eyes narrowing. Less than a block away, he heard the rattling, clunking sound.
By the time he recognized what the sound was, it was too late, and dread instantly weighed on his shoulders.
Son of a bitch.
The sun glared off the hood of the old Crown Vic and when the door popped open with a groan, he shared in its despair. Chase gave him a side glance, then retreated to the truck with his tail between his legs.
“I’ll take off when you do,” he said quickly before slamming the truck door.
That was the last back-up Noah had. Chase knew what was coming. He knew who this was. And he knew that if he valued his balls at all, he would hide them—and himself.
Too bad Noah didn’t have that same luxury. This had been a long time coming. He was actually surprised she hadn’t shown up a few days ago, because normally, by the second day of him not responding to her, she would hunt him down and force him to talk to her.
Or fuck her.
Whichever one she wanted at the time.
Country music flowed out of the car, the speakers so loud they almost had the old block of metal jumping on its four wheels, but that’s not what he focused on.
Nope. He focused on the hundred and sixty pounds of pure, angry, sexually frustrated woman that was storming toward him with her hands fisted at her sides. He could only imagine what she was here for this time.
“I’ve been calling you,” she snapped, her legs somehow carrying her to him faster than her voice did. It was incredible to watch Alex get so angry that her face turned red—at least, it would have been if it hadn’t been aimed at him.
“I’ve been busy,” he said, resting his ass on the bike and trying to roll the tension out of his shoulders. He might as well settle in for the long haul, there wasn’t much he could do to escape short of climbing on the bike mid-conversation and riding off.
Which was something he probably should do, if he valued his sanity.
Obviously, though, he didn’t. He stayed right where he was, arms crossed over his chest, as Alex came face-to-face with him. It was hard not to give her a once over—her body had been the main reason they’d been together. Actually, no, it had been the only reason they’d been together.
Alex was hot, but she was also crazy. Their whole relationship had been a mess of arguments and explosive sex. Somewhere down the line, they’d separated, but that didn’t mean she stopped acting like she had a claim on him.
Sharp, cat-like eyes ran over him with a hot look, but it was quickly replaced with a glare. Like always. She had never been able to balance the anger and the horniness very well. Almost every argument ended in sex, whether he wanted it to or not.
This time was different, though.
This time, he was done.
“For the past week? You’ve been avoiding me, Noah. I don’t know what’s wrong with you, or why you’re being an ass, and I don’t care. What the hell have you been doing?”
“Alex,” he warned.
“No, seriously. Don’t talk down to me, Noah. What the hell have you been doing that’s so important you can’t return a simple text? Or call? We might not be together but we’re still friends.”
“Yeah?” he said, raising a brow. “Friends send twenty texts a day? Try to Facetime at night? Alex, seriously. This has to stop. Whatever is going on with you… It has to stop, or at least stop involving me.”
“What is your problem?” she snapped, eyes flashing. He braced himself, clenching his jaw. Alex had a temper—a temper that most men would have knocked her down for.
Noah didn’t believe in hitting women, even when they hit first. Repeatedly.
He knew her past, knew why she was that way, and he’d never held it against her—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t prepare himself and get pissed when she took a swing at him.
“I just think this is too much for you,” he said, the words coming from weeks of debating. This was going to end in an explosion. He could see it. Even with those few words coming out of his mouth, her eyes were flashing with confused fury.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, though the look that came over her face said otherwise. As the confusion replaced it, anger took all the reigns. Her hands clenched at her sides. He waited, ready to catch her fist the second she swung.
“Yeah, you do. I think we should really take a break, Alex. I’m trying to do my job and all of the calls, texts, the random pop-ups that always end in sex... it’s ridiculous. I can’t afford to deal with all of that right now.”
She stared at him.
“This business of yours is why we fell off in the first place, and now you’re letting it consume your life. Why are these bikes so much more important than me? Why, Noah?” The demand was met with silence.
He knew exactly why it was so important, but he would be damned if he told her. All that would happen would be another argument, and that’s the last thing he wanted to deal with right now.
Noah had a love-hate relationship with his shop. It was stressful, but bikes were his first and only love. From the day his dad had introduced him to dirt bike racing, the speed and thrill of it had gone straight to his head.
At six years old, all he had wanted was to go fast. He wanted to be like his dad; racing, fixing things, getting down and dirty and learning how everything worked on any engine thrown in front of him. When Christmas had rolled around that year and he’d gotten his first dirt bike, everything had fallen into place.
While his mom was off drinking herself into a stupor, his dad had started the shop around that time an
d had managed it until just a few years ago. He’d passed away from a stroke at the age of fifty, and Noah had gladly taken over, turning it into something bigger, better. Instead of just people in the neighborhood, he dealt with all kinds of clients—MC’s, cops, gangs, daily riders, celebrities that wanted a mod only he was trusted to do—no matter who they were, it was the bike that mattered, the engine, the speed.
This shop was his legacy, and he would be damned if some woman tried to convince him otherwise—and so far, there had been a lot that had. Alex was only the latest in the long list of women who had tried to come between him and his work, and that was when they found their way to the door.
He doubted there was a woman out there who could handle his dedication to his work, who wouldn’t mind his long hours, who wouldn’t mind him coming home covered in oil. He highly doubted he would ever be lucky enough to meet that woman, and Alex was just solidifying that.
He’d known things with her weren’t going to work out from the beginning. He’d seen the signs—the jealousy, the way she glared at any woman who looked at him, the way her hands fisted the second something didn’t go her way. He had seen the violent side of her a long time ago, when they had first been introduced to each other through a mutual friend.
When she had confessed her past to him, everything had made sense—but he had never put up with her shit.
And he never would.
Noah had enough of his own to tread through, and he didn’t need hers as well.
“Why?” she demanded again. “Tell me why. I deserve that much.”
He shook his head and moved away from her, tucking his helmet under his arm. “Alex, I have to go.”
“You can’t just walk away from me,” she snarled, reaching for him. He deftly moved out of her way and shoved the helmet over his head, pushing the visor down.
“Sorry, Alex. I can’t be late for this drop-off.” He mounted his clients BMW and started it. As the black beast came to life, he couldn’t help the small sigh of relief. A ride was what he needed, exactly what he needed.
