by Sophia Gray
“Well you aren't, and I want you to let me go!”
“That's not happening,” says Richy, leaning that much closer. Their lips brush against each other. “You got a boyfriend lurking somewhere?”
“I…what?” Victoria pulls back as far as she can, taken aback, not just by the question but by this entire turn of events.
Richy repeats himself. “You got a boyfriend somewhere?”
“Yeah,” says a newcomer. “Actually, she does.”
He leans onto the table like he owns it, this picture-perfect look of rugged perfection. The stubble on his chin seems more purposeful than anything, and his untucked Raiders shirt has a certain charm about it Victoria cannot explain.
Richy groans. “Don't be a dick, Matt. I saw her first, all right?”
“She's not a piece of meat, Richy. You don't get to call dibs on her.” The man, Matt, holds out his hand. “Miss? Why don't you come join me at the counter?”
Victoria gives them both a wide-eyed sort of look. “Okay? I don't…that sounds fine.”
She stands and picks up her empty glass. Matt chuckles, hooks an arm around her waist, and leads her towards the front bar. He smells like motor oil and dollar store cologne, like he's spent too much time sitting around in someone else's smoke.
“Just up here?” she asks, even as she takes a seat.
“That's right,” says Matt, “just up here. You looked a little spooked by him. I hope you don't mind me stepping in.”
Victoria shakes her head. “No, not at all. I just wasn't sure what to do, really.”
“Richy likes to talk big, but he's mostly harmless,” assures Matt. “Here, why don't you let me buy you a drink?”
“He's been buying me drinks.”
“Then take one more, on me this time. Miss?”
“Tori,” she says, because she might be out here to get a taste of freedom, but she's smart enough to know it won't ever come should her true title get out.
Princesses don't get to have their own freedom, only that which is placed upon them by others.
“Tori.” The name rolls off his tongue like molten silver. It sounds right falling from those lips. “Well, you can call me Matt.”
“Matt. I like that name. It suits you.”
“Oh? How can you tell?”
“I just can,” laughs Victoria. “You look like a good person, and that's a good, strong name. Matt, like Matthew, like the apostle.”
Matt raises a brow. “You're a religious girl?”
“I'm the daughter of a religious girl,” says Victoria absently. “I don't know if I really believe it all myself.”
“Well, I can assure you,” Matt flashes her a blinding smile, “I'm nothing like your apostle.”
“Oh?”
He hums. “Nothing. Trust me on that.”
“You were helpful back there,” says Victoria.
Matt shakes his head. “Being a decent person doesn't mean you're a good person.”
“I think they're both the same thing. And trust me, I know when I'm around a decent person.”
“Like Richy?”
“I never said he was decent,” huffs Victoria. “I just didn't know what to say to him. It's called being caught off guard!”
“Oh, is that what you're going with?” Matt snickers and waves over the waitress, ordering them both another drink. “All right, I'll let you have that, if you tell me what you're doing out here.”
“I'm getting a drink?” Victoria gestures to the glass being clanked down in front of her, filled with a dark blue liquid and chunks of partially frozen fruit.
“No,” says Matt, “out here, in this part of town. You look more like you should be at the Ritz than out here.”
“Oh.” Victoria casts around, still half expecting her parents to come busting into the small building. She leans close to Matt and, in a hushed voice, says, “I'm running away.”
“Running away? From what?”
“My family,” says Victoria. “My mother, mostly. She's overbearing in a way that I cannot even begin to explain. I just want to get out of there for a little bit. I just want to be able to be myself.”
“I'd like to get to know that person,” says Matt with a low hum. “Someone who’s running away—you must have some pretty big shoes to fill at home.”
“You could say that.” Victoria gives a tittering, nervous laugh. She brushes her hair behind her ears, first the left one, then the right. Then, in a habit that she cannot ever hope to break, she untucks them. “I really just want to get away. I know I cannot vanish forever but...”
“But even a little bit of time is enough?”
“You sound like you understand.”
“I've got a few demons to be running from.”
Victoria sips down the last of her drink. She gives the waitress a small smile. “Could I have another one, please?”
“Of course, sweetheart. Give me just a moment. What about you, Matt? Should I keep them coming?” Meg nods at the still partially full bottle of beer.
Matt laughs. “Just keep us matched up tonight, Meg. I don't want to out-drink my little friend here.”
“That's sweet of you,” says Victoria. “It's hard to imagine someone as nice as you having problems.”
Matt laughs again, louder this time. He wraps an arm around Victoria's shoulders. “Baby, you wouldn't believe the problems I have.”
“Tell me?”
“You'd be here all night,” warns Matt.
Victoria says, “That's exactly what I was hoping to hear.”
Chapter 3
As the minutes drag into hours, Victoria finds herself completely taken with the handsome stranger. It's hard not to be swept up by his charm, not to let him rest a hand on her thigh, or lean close when he says sweet things.
Everything about Matt makes Victoria feel hot, makes her skin tingle. She laughs too loud and talks too much, falling sway to the conversation like she hasn't spent her entire life trying to be a proper lady.
But those lessons fall away in the wake of a grime and smoke-filled room. They fall away when Matt smiles at her, all crooked teeth and nicotine-tinged breath.
“You're beautiful,” he tells her, long after the last bell has rung. Aside from Meg, there's no one else around. “You are absolutely stunning. Tell me, you're running away from your parents? Are you headed to someone else?”
Victoria shakes her head. “I don't know where I'm going. That's why I'm here, I guess. I just didn't want to be there anymore, stuck in the same old rut. I want to live! I want to do something risky, for once, do something other girls my age would brag about!”
Matt glances at the clock, then at Meg. The barkeep waves her key ring at them, a clear sign she's about ready to leave. He asks, “Like to ride a motorcycle?”
“Like...do what?”
“A motorcycle.” Matt taps the leather vest that he's wearing. “I ride. I thought, if you're just trying to live a bit tonight, that might be a good place to start. It's safer than just running around in the dark, alone. That's not smart, Tori.”
“I know it's not,” she says. Rationally, she knows going for a ride with a stranger is just as dangerous. Irrationally, there's a fire raging between her thighs and a storm in her chest and the longing to do something insane biting at her brain.
She gets up, pulling a folded-up bill from her pocket. Victoria lays it on the counter, enough to cover the tab for the night and then some. She holds her finger to her lips, begging the other woman to be silent.
Wide-eyed, Meg nods in agreement and holds the folded-up bill to her chest. “You two be safe out there. You're good to drive, Matt?”
“When am I not?”
“Two nights ago, when I had to clean your ass up off the floor.”
“I'm fine,” grouses Matt with a wave of his hand. “Don't worry yourself over it. Come on, Tori. I parked out at the side.”
# # #
The parking lot is dimly lit. A beat-up truck sits in one lot, and a we
ll-cared for motorcycle sits in another. Victoria knows very little about motorbikes, but she's positive this is an expensive one, that it's taken care of just as well as her father’s favorite sports car, which he pays someone to maintain. “It's amazing,” says Victoria, dragging her fingers over the smooth, black paint.
Matt grins. “She is pretty great, right?”
“She? How do you know it's a girl?”
“I can just tell,” says Matt. “So, you ever been on one before?”
Victoria shakes her head. “No. I've never even been this close to one!”
“All right, it's pretty simple. I'm going to get on first.” Matt does so, moving like the motion is second nature. “Now you get on behind me. You're probably going to have to push that skirt up pretty high…”
Unashamed and maybe even a skewered attempt to flirt, Victoria hikes up her skirt until her panties are only just hidden and slips onto the motorcycle. It's strange, having her legs straddle the giant piece of machinery. She feels unbalanced and uncertain. “Like this?”
“Yeah,” says Matt, fumbling to get the keys out. “Just like that. Now, you're going to want to put your arms around my waist. There we go, hold on real tight. I don't have seat belts on this thing, so you're going to have keep a good grip on me. Probably best if you lean forward, too.”
Again, Victoria listens. Her breasts press against his back. She shifts about on purpose. “Okay, I think I'm on well enough. Where are we going?”
“Where do you want to go?”
“I don't know anything out here.”
“Just pick something, anything!”
Victoria says, “Your house?”
Matt throws his head back and laughs, hard and loud. It's a nice, rolling sound. “My house? All right, I think that one might be feasible.”
The motorcycle starts up with a deafening roar. Victoria squeals when it starts to tremble and buck against her thighs. Her grip on Matt's waist turns to iron, white-knuckled and clenching.
“Hang on,” he bellows.
And just like that, they take off down the street. The vibrations spread through her thighs and along her spine, where they settle at her very core. It's like nothing she has ever felt before. She presses her face against the side of Matt's neck, belatedly realizing that neither of them are wearing helmets.
That's dangerous, isn't it? Victoria is certain it's dangerous. She doesn't know much about motorcycles, but any intelligent human being can tell that careening around corners at such a high speed isn't safe. And, still, it's exhilarating.
Victoria has never felt like this before. Her chest is tight, and her skin is tingling. The places where she's curled up around Matt's body feel hot and light, as if she's floating. The vibrations make her loins hot and her panties damp. She's wearing a pair of silver satin panties that suddenly seem like an awful, horrible, wonderful thing.
“This is insane,” she shouts, raising her voice to be heard over the crashing wind.
Matt shifts. His muscular back rolls against Victoria's front; her breasts press against his leather back, her hands clutch against the man's front, just above his jeans. “Just hold on! I'll make this quick!”
“Make it long,” shouts Victoria, in turn. “I don't want this night to ever end!”
Chapter 4
Matt's apartment is on the other end of town. It's a small, ramshackle thing. For the first time in a long time, he's almost ashamed to be bringing a woman up to his room. The elevator doesn't work, and they have to take the stairs.
Thankfully, his young friend doesn't seem the least bit bothered by the peeling wallpaper or the dank smell in the air. “It's charming,” she says, after a botched and half-formed apology on Matt's part. “I think it's real charming.”
“I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or not.”
Victoria looks surprised. “Why wouldn't you?”
“Most people say it to be sarcastic,” says Matt, with a laugh. “You seriously didn't know that?”
“I don't get out very much,” says Victoria. “And I'm not really from around here.”
“I can tell from the accent. England, right?”
“Close.” Victoria smiles at him, wringing her hands together nervously while he fiddles with the key to his apartment. The front door has several gouges in the wood near the bottom, like an animal tried to get inside.
Matt catches her staring. He laughs and says, “The neighbor's dog got out of her apartment last winter. It spent, like, four hours out here trying to get inside. The place is sort of a mess.”
Victoria gives him a soft little smile. “I'm not over here to see the place.”
“Oh, so you do have something in mind?”
Her cheeks burn hot and red. The blush spreads out over her neck, stains the back of her knuckles. Victoria's naturally pale skin flares up and she laughs, but the sound is too loud to be anything less than nerves. “Maybe? I guess it depends on what you have in mind.”
“A lot,” says Matt, pushing open the door to his room. “I have a lot in mind.”
The apartment isn't a complete wreck, but it's far from clean and nice. A window air conditioning unit has been wedged into one of the windows, and pieces of wood have been duct taped up on either side to try to help keep the cold air in. Piles of dirty laundry have been sorted out next to the television stand.
It's Matt's turn to laugh. He rakes a hand through his messy hair. “Laundry day's coming up. I always put it off to the last minute, you know?”
Victoria doesn't, but she agrees anyway. “It's always rough.”
The conversation turns stilted. Victoria knows nothing about living outside her royal quarters, no matter how much she longs to be free, to go get a dorm at fashion design school. It's more apparent than ever that this isn't her life, that it will never be her life.
Matt takes the sudden lack of conversation as nerves. He gets a hand on either side of Victoria's waist. “You don't do this very often, huh?”
Victoria bites her bottom lip. She shakes her head. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only when you're looking.”
“And you are?”
“Honey, I've been looking since you first walked into that bar. Everything from that pretty face down to that lovely, little ass of yours has held my attention. All I want from you is to get my hands up under that skirt and really look you over. I bet you're beautiful without anything on.”
His words send fire through Victoria's veins. Her hands are trembling and she tries to hide that reaction by looping them around Matt's neck, running fingers through his hair. It's slightly greasy, like he hasn't washed it in a while. The wind is still clinging to his skin, adding an otherwise undeniable layer of freshness to the rest of the night.
Slowly, Victoria stretches up onto the tips of her toes—an awkward feat considering her choice of footwear—and presses a kiss against his chapped lips. They taste like nicotine, and it takes everything Victoria has not to giggle.
She's never smoked before, but she's always sort of wanted to give it a try.
Right now, secondhand seems to be almost as good.
What starts as a chaste kiss quickly changes. Matt is overpowering, overwhelming. He kisses like it's the only thing he knows how to do, until his breath is twisting in Victoria's mouth, until she feels so small that the entire world seems painless.
Her eyes flutter shut, only to snap back open when one of Matt's hands moves to rest on her ass. He gropes her through her dress, fingers rough and unyielding, even though the kiss seems almost tender.
Teeth nip at her lower lip. Victoria gasps, and Matt takes that opportunity to delve into her mouth. His tongue swipes over her teeth, her gums, and her cheeks, like he's trying to taste every part of her. Victoria cannot stop the moan that bursts from her, fingers tightening in Matt's hair.
Then, suddenly, she's not standing on the ground anymore. Matt's picked her up, one arm under her ass, one around her shoulders. It seems to be no effort at all
for the biker to carry her. She finds herself slammed up against the wall of the living room. Dust rattles off the shelf above her head and clings to her lashes.
She tries to blink it away but fails. There's no chance to brush it away, either, because Matt is ravishing her mouth again. This isn't sweet. This isn't tender. But it still makes Victoria think, this is it, this is the one.
With the wall helping support her, Matt has no problems letting go of his grip on her shoulder. Instead, he presses his hand against the side of Victoria's face, drags his palm down until he's able to wedge a thumb between her painted red lips.
