by Leah Wilde
“Just the ride,” she confirmed. There was a tone to her voice that made me think she had no intentions of letting me stop at just the ride, but before I could ask her what exactly she had in mind for me, Micah leaned back towards us.
“Everything alright, ladies?” he asked.
“Just peachy,” Katy shot back right away. “Paris is excited. Which way’s your bike?”
He straightened upright and cracked his knuckles. “This way,” he said.
“Excellent. Paris, we’ll see you in a little bit. Have fun, you wild child.” She winked. “Hawk, let’s go find a drink.” Without waiting to say goodbye, they zipped off into the crowd.
Then I was alone with Micah.
He smiled at me again. I’d never known why girls in the movies always seemed to swoon when the handsome hero gave them a grin. But when Micah did it, I suddenly understood. I felt a rush of blood to my head and I got a little wobbly. I wanted to blame the liquor, but I knew what—or rather, who—was really in charge here.
He put his hand on the small of my back again and steered me towards the exit. As we pushed through the crowd, him guiding me around clusters of drunk Darkness members and their groupies, I could only focus on the heat of his touch. It seemed like it was spreading from the actual points of contact to cover my entire body in one big sheet of fiery goodness. I felt hot and cold and hot again. My body was going haywire. The mission control in my nervous system had completely abandoned its post, and now I didn’t know what to do with myself. Had my hands always felt this heavy and weird? Had my feet always been so hard to pick up and move?
Snap out of it, Paris. Stop acting like such a clown. He’s just a man. Yes, he was just a man, but he was unlike any man I’d ever seen before. To use one of Katy’s favorite phrases, I needed to get my shit together.
The cool air of the night outside hitting my face brought me back to earth a little bit. I felt my pulse settle down a notch and my throat open up to let normal-sized breaths in for the first time since Micah had barged into my life.
“What a night for a ride,” he said. “Come on, I’m right over here.” He let his hand fall from my back. I was surprised by how much I missed it right away.
We turned a corner and there it was—a gleaming, intimidating hunk of intricately worked metal that looked capable of fighting a war or maybe even taking off into space, depending on the skill of the person riding it. Judging by how Micah walked over and began expertly flicking switches, I had no doubt that he could make the motorcycle do anything he wanted.
I stood a few feet away, looking at him as he checked a few things on the underside of the engine. I glanced back at the party. Lights poured from the windows. The muffled groan of music and voices battling it out in the crowded building seeped through into the night.
“Do you always chew your nails when you’re nervous?”
I whipped my head back around. Micah was leaning back on the seat of the bike, arms crossed, looking at me with an amused expression on his face. I hadn’t even noticed that I’d started chewing my nails again. In fact, I’d been doing everything in my power not to succumb to the awful habit in Micah’s presence. But apparently, this awkward purgatory wasn’t yet over, so he’d caught me in the act yet again.
I dropped my hand from my mouth and blushed. “It’s the worst habit,” I said.
“It’s cute.” He laughed. “C’mere, I’ll help you on. It’s a big seat for a little girl like you.” The way he said little girl sent a flash of heat between my legs. Maybe I was imagining things, but he’d said it almost hungrily, the way someone might look at a steak and call it juicy. But why on earth was that a turn on?
I crossed the distance to him and took the hand he held outstretched. “Put one foot here,” he said, pointing at the peg on the lower part of the bike. I balanced on it as best as I could in my mile-high stilettos and carefully swung my other leg around. My butt found the leather seat. Micah climbed on gracefully in front of me.
“You ready?” he asked over his shoulder.
I nodded, then realized that he wouldn’t be able to see me. “Yes,” I called through a raspy throat. “Ready.”
He turned the bike on. It came roaring to life between my legs. The engine growled like a massive monster, snarling, spitting heat and vibrations out in every direction. Compared to it, I felt small and fragile. But somehow, Micah seemed even more comfortable in its presence. Instead of shrinking him, it made him seem bigger, more powerful. It fit him.
I shivered. The thoughts running through my head made no sense and yet I couldn’t do anything to stop them. Wild, unbidden thoughts came one after another without pause. Micah touching me. Micah kissing me. Micah slowly peeling my jeans down my hips as I lay on my back in front of him.
The sudden jolt of motion brought me back to reality. Micah had pressed the clutch and rolled quickly onto the throttle. The bike shot out from the sidewalk onto the asphalt. It took me by surprise. My hands flailed in the air. I felt myself tipping backwards, my center of gravity sending me over the rear of the bike. Just before I completely lost balance, I found a grip on Micah’s leather jacket. I pulled myself upright.
What was that bouncing in his back? Oh, he was laughing at me. “Hold onto me,” he said over the low growl of the motor. “Put your hands on my sides.”
I couldn’t believe that I’d almost been tossed off the bike just seconds after we started moving. I put my hands on either side of his torso. Through the slick leather jacket and the t-shirt he wore underneath, I could feel his muscles flexing as we took every little bump in the road. The smooth hills of his abs were hard beneath my fingertips. He must be absolutely ripped. Of course, I thought to myself sarcastically, just what he needed: another element to add to his perfection.
We picked up speed and I found myself clinging tighter to him. The wind whipped by. It blew my hair out behind me and tugged at my clothes with sneaky little fingers. As scared as I was, though, there was a little part of me that was loving the sensation of the vibrating motorcycle between my legs and the solid, unyielding muscles of the man in front of me. It settled into my bones in a way that just felt right.
We snaked down a quiet side street and then emerged onto a long avenue free of any traffic in either direction. Micah brought the bike to a smooth stop in the middle of the blacktop. He twisted around to look back at me.
“How was that?” he asked.
“Okay,” I said with a hint of uncertainty in my voice.
“Well, that was just the warm-up. Now we can really have some fun. Are you up for it?”
I wanted to bite my nails, but I forced myself to keep my hands on his sides. Touching his abs wasn’t such a bad alternative. “I guess,” I said.
He could tell I was fearful. I expected him to make fun of me, to tease at how clearly afraid I was of this powerful machine and its mysterious, cocky rider. But he surprised me. His face looked somber and deadly serious. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll never let you fall.”
He gazed at me after he stopped talking. His words hung between us in the quiet night. His face was a foot away from mine, maybe less. For one crazy second, I thought he might kiss me. I wasn’t sure yet what I’d do if he tried.
But he left that question unanswered. He turned back around to face forward and revved the engine a couple times. It thundered down the empty avenue. Then, he let go of the clutch as he yanked back hard on the accelerator. We took off like we were shot out of a cannon.
The night was flying past me on either side. Buildings and transmission lines looked like blurs. My eyes were tearing up from the wind. In front of me, Micah let loose a wild, delirious howl. I wanted to laugh and scream at the same time. Instead, I did neither. I just held on for dear life.
“Do you trust me?” he roared over the deafening engine.
“What?” I yelled back.
“I asked if you trust me!”
“I just met you!”
“You either do or you don’t
!”
I hesitated. I’d barely known this man for a few minutes, and yet here I was, desperately hanging onto him as we rocketed down the street at over a hundred miles an hour, if the speedometer was to be relied upon. But he was right. You either do or you don’t. I knew which one it was.
“Yes!” I yelled. “I trust you!”
His entire frame tensed beneath me. I didn’t know what the hell he was about to do, when all of the sudden he jerked back. The front wheel came off the ground. I couldn’t even scream anymore. This situation had gone from ridiculous to flat out unreasonable. There was no possible way I could be awake. I was either dreaming or in a coma or dead, and this was all a figment of my imagination. It just defied common sense to think that I could ever be on the back of a motorcycle with a stranger, doing a wheelie at top speed at midnight. No way. Paris Jenison would never be here.
But I was.
# # #
The silence when Micah cut off the engine was weird. The sound had worked its way so deeply into my eardrums during our short ride that I’d completely forgotten what it was like to not have that deep rumble surrounding me at all times.
We were back outside the clubhouse. The party had died down some. I saw people leaving in ones and twos, most of them on very unsteady feet. It had all the signs of a successful party.
Micah leaped off, then turned and offered a hand to help me down. I leaned against it as I climbed off unsteadily. My legs felt wobbly on solid ground.
I fished my phone out of my back pocket to check the time. I saw that Katy had texted me nearly half a dozen times since we’d left. The vibration of the bike must have masked my phone buzzing. I flicked through the messages.
Are you okay?!?
Let me know when you’re back!!
Go get ’em tiger ;) xxxx
Paris!!! Where are you??
Text me when ur back here <3
I texted her to tell her that I was back. She immediately replied, Thank god!! We went to get pizza. Be back in fifteen minz. Love u.
I tucked my phone away again and looked up at Micah. He was studying me with a cool gaze.
“Have fun?” he asked softly.
I nodded my head yes. “Thanks for the ride,” I said.
“My pleasure. Do you want me to take you back to your friends?”
“They went to get pizza,” I explained. “They’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“I see.” He drew in a slow, steady breath, then released it. “Well, I don’t want to leave you standing out here alone. Not safe for a pretty girl like you to be by herself with all these drunk assholes around.”
“Didn’t you say you were one of those?” I joked.
“Guilty as charged,” he said with a grin. He fell silent. His eyes never wavered from mine. They were steady and calm. The vibe rolling off of him was the same—unrelenting, powerful, irresistible. He was so close that I could smell him. Leather and whiskey, the smoke of the motorcycle engine, and underneath, a different scent, subtler and more masculine, that came in and out, teasing me. It was like a drug. I felt dizzy. Whether from the ride, the shots, or Micah himself, I wasn’t sure.
“I’m glad I met you,” he said in a quiet voice.
“I’m glad I met you, too. I don’t get out much.”
“Well, good thing you chose tonight.”
“Yeah. Good thing.”
Then his hands were on my hips and his lips were on mine. It was as sudden and stomach turning as the acceleration of the bike had been. But this time, my feet were planted firmly on the earth. So why did I still feel like I was racing through the night?
He tasted exactly like he smelled, the same swirling combination of dark and light, strong and soft. His beard rasped against my face, but his fingertips rested gently on the waist of my leather jeans. Even in my ridiculous heels and with him folded over towards me, I had to stretch to reach his mouth.
His tongue slipped past my lips and touched tips with mine. It was an easy, gentle kiss. I was surprised by how deft he was with his tongue. I would have thought that he would attack me, dominate me right away.
But he didn’t need to. He claimed me without any show of power. A simple kiss and the last of my resistance fell away.
He pulled away slowly, but his hands never left my waist. “Do you want a drink?” he asked me.
I nodded, unable to find the words. He took my fingers in his grasp and led me back inside the clubhouse.
Indoors, there were a few groups of late night survivors scattered across the various chairs and booths dotting the room. Most people were deep in the stages of alcohol- and drug-fueled mania, quickly hurtling towards sleep or unconsciousness. I saw many couples with their tongues down each other’s throats. There was even a threesome in one corner. A heavily pierced Lethal Darkness member was locked in a three-way kiss with two scantily clad brunettes. As we passed by, I saw the girls slip their hands down the front of the biker’s jeans.
I drew closer to Micah. This was so far out of my comfort zone that I couldn’t even begin to decide what I should be feeling. I was rattled, I knew that much. But it was hard to say whether I’d been that way from the start or if the man holding my hand had been the one to shake me out of what I considered normal. After all, I was clinging to him like it was the most natural thing in the world to be doing—him, Micah Youngblood, the president of the Lethal Darkness MC, owner of a Greek god’s body and an archetypal bad boy’s face. If only Daddy could see me now.
I shuddered. I hadn’t thought of Daddy all night. On the way over, Katy had made me swear up and down that I’d do everything in my power to banish all thoughts of Papa T’s revenge, to file it away in the “Worry About It Later” folder in the back of my head. For the most part, I’d done a good job of that, albeit not without significant help from my friend Jack Daniels. But now, with the wind of the bike and the thrill of Micah’s kiss coursing through me in equal measures, I was having a hard time keeping much of a lid on anything at all.
I followed Micah to the corner of the bar where we’d taken the shots earlier. He retrieved the same bottle of whiskey and went to pour two more drinks, but he paused halfway with the bottle lingering in the air.
“I forgot—you don’t like this stuff, do you?”
“Not my favorite,” I admitted shyly.
He screwed the cap back on and tucked it away again. “Yeah, I should probably lay off it, too. Killed my old man and it’s certainly doing its best to lay me down in the dirt right next to him. I’ve got a bottle of wine in my room, if that’s more your speed.”
“That sounds good,” I said.
But instead of turning and taking me to his room, Micah paused for a second. He eyed me with an unreadable expression on his face, then suddenly reached out to pull me against his chest and kissed me deeply once more.
I melted in his arms. His warmth, his strength, surrounded me and took me in. My mouth went soft to accept his teasing tongue where it flicked against my teeth. His lips were surprisingly soft.
Then, just as suddenly as he’d kissed me, he pulled away. Only an inch, though. Just enough to introduce the tiniest sliver of air between my mouth and his. He stayed close enough for our breath to mingle in the space there, for his eyes to consume almost all of my field of vision. When he spoke, his voice was a low growl.
“Listen, Paris,” he said. “If you were any other girl, I’d have you bent over in my bed right now. I wouldn’t have bothered with all this bullshit—the bike, the kiss, all that. No, I’d have cut straight to the chase and ripped that silly little shirt right off you, left your ass raw and red from a good spanking. And I might do that to you anyway. But I’m not gonna rush it. I want to take my time with you. You’re not like the others. When I make you come, I want to remember it.”
I stood still in shocked silence. Who in their right minds talked like that? Make me come? Take his time with me? Was this man out of his freaking gourd? I felt dizzy, like everything was happening too fast and I
didn’t have the slightest bit of control to slow it down, not even one tiny notch. I’d been suppressing thoughts of Daddy all night and now they came tumbling out at me in a flood. He’d skin this man alive if he heard a single word of that speech. I’d seen how deep that anger ran in my father, and while I didn’t know the details, I knew he was capable of some scary things, both to me and to Micah.
But then what was it about Micah that made me want to risk it all? This night had been a risky adventure from the start. It was as much about spiting my dad as it was about having fun in its own right. Before I knew it, though, that had all been morphed into a wild adventure I never saw coming. I must have swallowed too much oxygen on the bike ride, because instead of sprinting away from Micah as fast as I could, there was only one option left on the table that made sense to me. I never in a million years would have predicted the way this night was gone, but taking everything into consideration, there was only one thing I could say that made sense. Fuck my dad. Fuck the rules. Fuck feeling awkward, feeling silly, feeling clumsy. Right now, I felt like I could pop a wheelie and ride into the distance forever, as smooth and perfectly balanced as anyone had ever felt in the whole entire history of guys looking at girls the way that Micah was looking at me this very second. I said the one thing left to say.
