Undeniable: Dom & Gigi

by Callie Harper

  “Party at Brock’s,” Penny told me, squeezing my hand as she climbed into a car with some friends.

  “I thought we were headed to Chelsea’s?” I called after her. There was always an after-party, and sometimes an after-after party. Chelsea’s family was never in town and we’d already made a habit of heading there on several nights. After-parties at Chelsea’s ran toward the all-girls, ramen-noodle giggle-fest variety, just my speed. But Brock’s house? Somehow I didn’t see us all changing into T-shirts and sweatpants, putting our hair up in scrunchies and watching Twilight for the hundredth time.

  “Got room for you in my car.” Right on cue, Brock appeared at my side. Alcohol practically oozed out of his pores. Even sober, Brock’s leering aggressiveness made me shudder. Late at night, drunk behind the wheel to head to his house? Not going to happen.

  “Oh, no thanks,” I refused, stepping to the side and away from his large hand trying to grasp mine. I approached the car Penny had entered, but it was already packed. Plus, it was headed to Brock’s.

  “Looks like you’re with me.” Brock declared victory and wrapped his hand around my upper arm with a bit too much force.

  “No,” I said loudly. In response, he started leading me toward his car.

  “She’s got a ride.” A low, commanding voice called out from behind me. “Let her go.”

  “What the fuck, man?” Brock’s voice sounded whiney, but he dropped my arm quick. He winced and rubbed his shoulder where my hero had clearly gripped him in a vice.

  “You heard her. She’s not going anywhere with you.” Dom took a step and placed his large, intimidating frame between me and Brock. I loved him there, so close and protective.

  “Who the hell are you?” Brock sounded wounded, all bark and no bite.

  “I’m the one making sure she gets home safe. Now get out of here.”

  “Fuck this!” Brock turned tail, kicking a can someone had dropped in frustration.

  “I’ll go with you!” I heard a girl’s voice call out. She rushed over to his side, accompanying him to his car. Such was the power of good looks and money. Brock could easily fill his passenger seat. But not with me.

  I gazed up at Dom, grateful and relieved.

  “You OK?” he asked, cupping my elbow and looking down where Brock had squeezed me. In stark contrast, Dom’s hands were gentle as he held me, his thumb lightly grazing my skin where, sure enough, red marks revealed the likelihood of a bruise the next day. “Motherfucker,” Dom muttered, dropping my arm and turning in the direction Brock had headed.

  “Dom, I’m OK.” I reached out and placed my hand on his forearm, corded with muscle and tense with his hand in a fist. Brock wasn’t worth a fight. We stood and watched as he sped out of the parking lot, heading out into the street and flipping the middle finger at Dom as he peeled out.

  “He shouldn’t have touched you.” Dom nearly growled, looking like he wanted to chase down the car. I half expected he could catch it, maybe with his bare teeth.

  “I’m all right,” I assured him again, stroking his forearm. He looked down at my hand on him, then up with heat in his gaze. I stepped closer, feeling so drawn to him, as if it were inevitable he would wrap me in his embrace, hold me close, crush me against him and kiss me deeply, passionately. Instead he cursed, stepped away from me and ran his hand through his thick, black hair.

  “How are you getting home?” he asked, sounding angry. I bit my lip, suddenly feeling awkward. My friends had all left, clearly assuming I would drive over with Brock. Sometimes my life felt so pre-arranged I wanted to scream.

  “I’ll get an Uber.” I pulled out my phone and started tapping to open the app.

  “I’ll get you home.” He sounded resigned as he spoke, not enthusiastic.

  “It’s fine.” I shrugged, wondering how I’d gotten myself into this situation. Even Penny had driven off and left me with Brock.

  “Let me get you home, Gigi.” He reached out and touched my shoulder as he spoke. I looked up into his eyes, getting lost in the shocking silvery gray. Damn it, I would say yes to anything he asked.

  “Don’t you have to work?” I remembered his words from earlier, implying I was a spoiled little rich girl. And now I stood there, ditched by my friends. He must think I was a real winner.

  “Give me a second.” He walked over and spoke briefly with another guy in a black T-shirt. They both nodded and he returned, beckoning for me to follow him to the parking lot with a tilt of his head. After a brief discussion about where I lived—only about ten minutes away, sadly, I wished we had more time together—he stopped at a large black motorcycle.

  “Ever ridden one before?” he asked, unzipped a pack on the back and pulling out a helmet. I shook my head no. “You trust me?”

  I looked up at him and with no real reason why at all, I answered, “Yes.” Completely. I’d hop on the back of that bike and ride anywhere with him.

  I reached out and took the helmet. “Is what I’m wearing OK?” Heels and a skimpy dress, that wasn’t exactly what people wore when they rode motorcycles, was it?

  “You’ll be fine,” he assured me, helping me get the helmet on properly, slipping my clutch into a zip pouch then putting a helmet on himself. He showed me the pipe I shouldn’t touch with my ankle in case it got too hot. Then he straddled the bike, turned to me and extended his hand. “Climb on.”

  Hesitant and shy, I did my best to hop on without flashing the entire world. Then I placed my hands awkwardly along his waist.

  “Hold on tight.” He pulled my hands fully around him. I scooted closer on the bike and my bare thighs pressed against his jeans. My skirt rode up and I was sure I was a sight, but all of a sudden I didn’t care. I wanted him to take me for a ride. He started up the engine with a roar, and we sped off into the night.

  The rush of adrenaline coursing through me had something to do with the night air, the speed, the exhilaration of my first motorcycle ride. But it had more to do with being pressed so close against Dom, my arms and legs wrapped around him. I knew it was naughty, but I swear between the warm vibrations of the bike and the pressure against him, by the time he pulled up at my front gate I was practically panting. It felt so good, rushing through the night, following his lead, clinging to him.

  “You got a code?” he asked after he killed the motor.

  “Oh right.” I’d become so enraptured, so caught up in him and our ride together, I’d forgotten we’d need that for entry. He stepped off the bike with more fluid grace than I might have expected possible from a man who probably weighed close to 200 pounds, then practically lifted me up and off. He kept his hands around my waist as I got my feet underneath me, literally and figuratively. I steadied myself, hands on his biceps, my eyes wild and pulse racing.

  He unfastened my helmet, helped me out of it and asked, “You all right?”

  “That was so amazing!” I couldn’t help exclaim, knowing I probably sounded like a kid who’d just gone for an amusement park ride. I should probably try to play it cool, act like it was no big deal. But I couldn’t. I was me.

  “Yeah?” He gave me a lopsided smile after he removed his helmet. I gushed about how exciting it felt and how I’d loved it and he watched me, seeming to enjoy my reaction but not saying a word until I remembered he was probably waiting for me to open the gate so he could drop me off. I approached it, slightly uneven on my feet, but he was right there by my side to steady me.

  I entered the code, the gates swung open and I offered him the opportunity to leave if he wanted. “So…thanks!” I said, brightly.

  “I’ll walk you to the door,” he insisted. He kept his hands in his pockets as he walked by my side along our driveway.

  Would he want to come in? Should I invite him in? No one was home but me. I shouldn’t, should I? I didn’t really want to say good night, but I didn’t actually know him at all.

  “What kind of security do you have here?” He eyed the property, not seeming to like what he saw around our expansive
, perfectly-manicured estate. “Who do you have keeping an eye on this place? You’re not alone here, are you?”

  “I am this weekend, but my father and brother are around sometimes.”

  “You’re by yourself in this house?” He sounded appalled. How romantic, he was dismayed by the idea that he might have me to himself.

  “Well, we have a caretaker. And a housekeeper. They’re around almost every day.”

  He shook his head. “Not right now they’re not.”

  “I’m fine.” Frustration crept into my voice. Didn’t he find the thought of getting me alone even slightly appealing?

  “Sure you’re fine.” He shook his head at my vulnerability. “Just like you were fine when some shitfaced asshole almost pulled you into his car tonight.”

  “I was not going to get into that car with him.”

  “Next time you go clubbing you should drive yourself,” he insisted. “Then you don’t have to rely on some jerk. You stay sober. You get yourself home.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” I rolled my eyes. This had to be the least flirtatious conversation I’d ever had. Too bad it was with the sexiest man I’d ever met. Stupid me, I kept on talking. “I don’t even know how to drive.”

  Where was the ability to rewind in real life? We stood there in front of my front steps, him looking at me like I was a complete idiot and me feeling like one. Why the hell had I just confessed that to him?

  “You don’t know how to drive?”

  “I’m going to learn this summer!” I protested, defensive and embarrassed. “I haven’t gotten around to it yet. But it’s not like… I mean, I can just call a car when I need…” I trailed off, feeling too self-conscious to continue. Words from one of my favorite movies flashed through my mind—Alicia Silverstone in Clueless protesting “everywhere I want to go has valet!” Was I that spoiled and clueless?

  “You should know how to drive,” he declared.

  “I know,” I acknowledged. So much for a romantic moment with my hero. This kept getting worse and worse.

  “How old are you?”

  “18.”

  He exhaled and swore, as if I’d just said I was 13. “Almost 19,” I hastily added.

  Glancing away and looking pissed off, he sounded as if he regretted it even as he said, “I’ll teach you.”

  “What?” I couldn’t have heard him correctly.

  “I’ll teach you,” he repeated, sounding resigned but meeting my eyes again. “Sunday morning. We can go out to an empty parking lot. It shouldn’t take long. Give me your phone.”

  I handed it to him, still feeling somewhat stunned. The tattoos, the muscles, he had bad boy written all over him, but here he was expressing concern over my safety and offering to teach me to drive? Who was this guy?

  After he entered in his number, he gave me back my phone. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  “Um, thanks?” My gratitude had a whole lot of confusion in it.

  He shook his head, looking down at me in front of my front door in the moonlight. “I can’t believe you don’t know how to drive.”

  “Well, it’s not like I’m 48. I’m 18!”

  “I could drive at 13.”

  I looked up at him in disbelief. “But that’s not legal.”

  He cracked a smile at my naiveté. I blushed and looked down, but he brought his hand under my chin, tilting my face up again, caressing my cheek softly with his large thumb.

  “How old are you now?” I managed, my curiosity strong enough I could still form words even though his touch felt so good a large part of me just wanted to purr and nuzzle my face into his palm.

  “A lot older than you.”

  “How old?”

  He kept caressing my cheek lightly with his thumb, gazing down at me, his fingers weaving into my hair. “I’m 23.” His voice sounded husky and deep.

  “That’s not too old.” My words had a bit too much of a pleading quality to them, as if trying to convince him there didn’t have to be so much separation between us. But it was how I felt, as if he kept putting up barriers between us and all I wanted was to be in his arms.

  He leaned in slightly closer, but he murmured, “Yes, it is.”

  I swallowed and my eyes flickered closed for a moment, his touch felt so good, so sure and right as he cradled my head, his thumb traveling down to my chin, then sweeping up along my lower lip.

  “These lips look like they’ve never been kissed.” He spoke in a hushed whisper, almost sounding reverent.

  My eyes opened, defensiveness kicking in again. Sure, I was innocent but it wasn’t as if I lived in a convent. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t kiss me. “I’ve been kissed,” I protested. “Just not, you know…” I met his heated gaze. He knew what I was saying. I’d been kissed by guys, but not by him. Somehow I knew what he could do to me would be like no other.

  “You’ve never really been kissed,” he concluded.

  I shook my head no, my breathing picking up, a shiver of anticipation traveling down my spine. He made me feel so small, standing next to him, so close I could feel the heat from his hard body.

  He leaned in closer. But still he murmured, “I shouldn’t kiss you.”

  “Please.” The word slipped past my lips, shameless in my own neediness. With a growl he slipped a hand to the small of my back and claimed my lips with his. Demanding, rough, he didn’t waste time with tentative or polite exploration. My hands up to his shoulders, I moaned into his mouth as he tipped me back. Opening to his tongue, I drank him in, wanting more. He tasted like some dark secret I hadn’t even know I was dying to discover. I could get drunk on this man, his kisses, his hands.

  But just as suddenly as he’d started, he stopped. Both hands firmly on my waist, he placed me a few feet away, then took another step back.

  “Fuck.” He cursed under his breath, raking a hand through his hair. Shaking, I missed his warmth, his lips, his hands on me. I almost started to take a step toward him, but then he barked, “Go inside.”

  I froze, rejection stinging sharp.

  “Do it now, Gigi,” he insisted, not even looking at me. I made my way up the steps, unlocked the door and headed into the house without once looking back.

  Everything about that exchange had been the exact opposite of what I was accustomed to. Usually guys pulled out all the stops to sweet talk their way into my pants while I fended them off, keeping them at arm’s length. They wanted me drunk, would have loved to get me alone inside an empty house. Now here I was with a man literally pushing me away and telling me to get lost and it was all I could do not to run back out there and throw my arms around his neck, bury myself in him and beg him to come into the house and take me, teach me, ruin me in ways I didn’t even know about yet.

  4

  Dom

  Saturday I felt as restless as a tiger in a cage. My shift at the country club didn’t start until four. My roommate Tom and I were going to head to the gym around one. But there I was, ten in the morning, wide awake and hard as a fucking rock for one reason and one reason only.

  I shouldn’t have given her a ride home. It was enough to stop her from heading into a car with that little shit. My fist balled at the memory of him grabbing her arm. Fucker had a world of hurt heading for him if he so much as mussed a hair on her head ever again.

  I should have let Gigi call a car, maybe stayed until it got there to pick her up. Some nights it seemed like half my job at that club was getting drunk people behind the wheel of a sober driver. What I didn’t do was give people a ride home myself.

  But Gigi. Fuck. I’d seen her there in that slip of a dress and pictured her wrapped around me, the feel of her pussy pressed hot and tight, her bare legs spread around my thighs. I couldn’t turn that down.

  Riding with her behind me? Goddamn. I adjusted myself in my briefs. I’d had a lot of girls behind me on a bike. I’d grown up with my dad in a fucking MC. It wasn’t exactly a new experience. But hell if Gigi didn’t make it feel that way. The way she gripped me, he
r pretty pink fingernails pressing into my chest. The pale, smooth skin of her slender legs. She had the legs of a dancer, graceful and toned and I bet she’d be flexible and spread real wide for me.

  With a low groan, I slipped my hand down my waistband and palmed my cock. I’d been lying awake for the better part of an hour, horny as hell and unable to stop thinking about Gigi, but I hadn’t jerked off. It was like I knew it wouldn’t make any difference. No matter how many times I stroked myself, pictured sliding that slip of a dress off her gorgeous body and burying myself in her, it would never be enough. I’d never be satisfied with just the fantasy.

  But I couldn’t help giving in, closing my palm around my shaft, slowly pulling, stroking in rhythm as I closed my eyes and sank into it. Gigi. Her hair was soft and blond with a hint of red. I’d never seen a color like it before. And last night I’d let myself dig my fingers into it, caress it like priceless silk.

  I shouldn’t have kissed her. I almost made it through without doing it. I didn’t kiss her when I helped her off my bike and caught the briefest flash of her panties, pink like I knew her pussy would be as I licked it. I didn’t kiss her as she looked up at me all flushed and aroused and gushed about how much she loved riding on my bike, pressing up against me, clinging to me like she wanted to all night.

  I was a borderline dick to her when I learned she was home alone. But the thought that I had her all to myself made me nearly blind with lust. Knowing I could step through that door and fuck her against every wall, any piece of furniture I could reach, watch her suck my cock in the shower and eat her out again and again right on the kitchen countertop? That made my blood boil so hot I practically had steam pouring out of my ears.

  Then she’d stood there at the base of the stairs, her eyes wide and trusting, her berry lips slightly parted. I’d tried not to kiss her. I knew I shouldn’t.