by Lacey Black
“Go out with me,” he says, drawing my attention to bright brown eyes. I open my mouth to speak, when he cuts me off. “Dinner on Thursday. It’s my weekend to work, and I’ve got extra shifts this week to cover for a guy at the bar. I’ve got Thursday free and I want to take you to dinner.”
“Like a date?” I whisper, my throat suddenly turning dry, my tongue heavy with nerves.
Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been on a date? I’ve been with Chris since our senior year of high school, and even then, our dates weren’t like adult dates. They were juvenile ones with pizza parties and football games. And when I attended cosmetology school and he went to State, our limited time was spent at our apartment, studying or working to cover the bills.
“Yeah, like a date. If I’m going to prove to you that my sperm is perfect for your future baby, I need to spend as much time with you as possible. You gave me a week, and well, unfortunately, I’m busy as hell this week at work. So, I’m going to steal as much time with you as I can, when I can.”
I pretend to think it over, but my decision is already made. Truth is, I want to spend time with him too. That thought both terrifies and excites me. It’s too soon, right? Yet, I find myself saying the only word I want to say. “Okay.”
“Yeah?” he asks, his eyes lighting up and the sexiest little smile crossing his lips.
“Yeah.”
I’m lost in his eyes, in the contentment he makes me feel, and the overwhelming excitement of this coming Thursday. Suddenly, he’s moving. Or I’m moving. Whatever. Our lips meet in the middle, hungry and savoring, and he kisses me like his life depends on it.
He’s really, really good at this.
He stops the kiss before it gets out of hand once more. And by that, I mean before he can slip his hands back into my pants, or I can return the favor. Because right now, I’m really wishing I was returning the favor.
“Come on,” he says all raspy and breathy. “I’ll walk you home.”
“Wow, such a noble and chivalrous gesture,” I reply, fighting a smile.
“Don’t confuse me with nobility, sweetheart. I’m two seconds away from hauling you off to my bedroom and tying you to my bed, where I’d keep you, moaning and screaming my name, all night long.”
Yes, please!
He chuckles. “Next time, Firecracker. Definitely, next time.”
Linkin helps me off his lap, takes my hand, and leads me to the door. In the hallway, he waits for me to get my key and unlock my own door. When it’s open, I turn to face him and almost stumble at the amount of desire radiating from his eyes.
“God, I can’t wait to see you again,” he whispers. His large hands gently grab my face as he tilts my head slightly, and devours me in another amazing kiss. The way his tongue slides against mine makes my entire body tremble with need.
“I could kiss you all night long,” I confess as he trails tender, wet kisses along my jaw.
“I will. It’s inevitable, baby. Soon, I’ll kiss you all night long. I’ll taste and tease you. I’ll fuck you. All.” Kiss. “Night.” Kiss. “Long.” Long, tantalizing kiss that leaves my knees weak and my core clenching. His kisses make me completely forget that my pants are still undone.
Then, he’s gone.
Linkin pulls away, leaving my body cold and yearning for more. He takes a step back, that knowing smile on his gorgeous face. “I better get back over there before the boys rip the curtains off the walls.”
Laughing, I step towards my doorway. “Good night, Linkin.”
“Night, Lexi. I’ll be in touch,” he says, turning and heading towards his own place.
We watch each other, neither of us wanting to be the first to look away. Our eyes remain locked until the last possible second. You know, until you have no choice but to break the contact and close your door. He gives me one final smile before disappearing through his doorway completely.
When I shut my door, it’s with a smile on my face and the memories of our couch tryst to keep me company in bed tonight.
* * *
“What’s going on with you?” Grandma asks from my chair.
I’m spending my Monday afternoon off at the salon, trimming and setting Grandma’s hair.
“Nothing,” I tell her, placing another roller in her soft, gray hair.
“You can’t fool Grandma,” she chastises. I can feel her eyes on me through the mirror, and I do everything I can to keep myself from squirming like I used to as a child.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell her happily. Probably a little too happily.
“Has that man you were married to signed the papers yet?”
“No.” Dammit. Chris is still dragging his feet, even after my earlier call to my attorney. My attorney has made several phone call inquiries to Chris’s lawyer, to no avail.
“Maybe I should stop over and see him. I can be very persuasive when necessary,” she says sweetly, but the thought makes me shudder.
“Please don’t. I’m having enough trouble with him refusing to negotiate the divorce without you getting on his ass. He’ll stall even more, just out of spite.”
“Humph,” she grumbles. “I’ve never been on his ass, Lexi Lou. It wasn’t that nice of an ass to begin with. Not like Linkin’s. Now that boy has an ass that would make a nun give up the habit.”
I choke on air. “Grandma!”
“What? Tell me what’s going on with him. Are you playing hide the salami yet?”
Groaning, I finish placing the last curler in her hair. “We’re not playing hide…anything.” My face blushes like Abby’s; I can feel it.
“Tell me.”
I glance at her in the mirror. No! No, Lexi! Don’t make eye contact!
Before I realize what’s happening, my lips are moving. “You know I want to have a baby, right? Well, he offered to help me conceive.”
“Conceive?”
“You know. His sperm. My egg.”
“You’re going to have the sex, right?” she asks, her eyes wide in anticipation.
“Yes.”
“I’m glad,” she says softly, happiness glistening in her wrinkled eyes. “You haven’t been having enough of the sex, and at your age, you should be doing it at least two, three times a day. It’s so good for your complexion, you know.”
“A day?” I gasp.
“A day, Lexi Lou. That’s why I knew that Chris wasn’t right for you. You have my blood in you. We’re very sexual creatures. Just ask your grandpa.”
“I’d rather not,” I grumble, helping her stand and walking with her towards the dryer.
“Mark my word, Lex. When you and that beefcake of a man start to have the sex, it’ll be two or three times a day.”
Why does that prospect excite me? Probably because it’s been a long damn time since I had the sex, let alone multiple times a day.
“Anyway, am I crazy? Am I completely off my rocker for even considering this?” I ask, suddenly needing her approval and understanding.
“Absolutely not,” she tells me adamantly. “You’ve wanted a baby since you were old enough to carry around baby dolls. You’re an adult; he’s an adult.”
“He wants to be a part of the baby’s life.”
“As a real man should,” Grandma says, “And that one is all man, Lexi Lou. Hard, chiseled, muscular man. I say do it. Do it a lot. You know, because practice makes perfect.” Then she throws me a wink.
Rolling my eyes, I say, “You make it sound so easy.”
She shrugs. “Maybe it is. Maybe it doesn’t have to be difficult. It’s not like you had a one-night stand and got pregnant. You’re both prepared and understand what this is going to take going into it. So what if it’s not the traditional way to have a baby. Phooey! I say you do what you want to do, and screw everyone else.”
I blink at the woman who helped raise me. She makes a valid point, one that, in my heart, I know to be true. It’s my life, my d
ecision. And if Linkin is willing to help give me the baby I’ve always wanted, then why not grab a hold of the dream? Why question and stress about it?
She’s right. It’s what I want.
And I’m taking it.
“And besides, I bet that man is a stallion in the sack,” she whispers with a wide smile, eyes sparkling like diamonds in the sunlight.
“You’re horrible,” I tell her turning on the dryer and ending the conversation.
But I’m pretty sure she’s right. I bet sex with Linkin is going to be way more than I bargain for, in all the right ways. If the man fucks the way he kisses–passionately, deeply, thoroughly–then I have a feeling I’ll be left boneless and satisfied, yet yearning for more.
And more will hopefully mean one thing: Knocked up.
* * *
At six-thirty on the dot, there’s a knock at my door. I’ve been anxious for tonight, thinking and wondering about what his plans are all day. We’ve texted daily, sometimes early in the morning after he’d close down the bar. One of his messages last night was a simple request for this evening: wear jeans, sweatshirt, boots, and a jacket.
I’ve been a mixture of eager and excited all afternoon. My last appointment was at five-thirty, which left me a little bit of time to change and freshen up all the girly bits that need freshening.
Except that Aunt Flo came to visit me last night.
On one hand, I’m saddened because that means I can’t expect anymore of Linkin’s magic fingers for a few days. On the other, that means that I’m one step closer to ovulation, and that means a baby. So if this deal between Linkin and I is going to proceed, we’re already one step closer.
When I open the door, words completely flee my vocabulary. Looking at him in dark jeans that hug his powerful thighs and dangerous hips, a gray Henley under a worn leather jacket that molds to his arms and chest like a second skin, and a smile that makes my panties practically useless, makes my heart try to crawl from my chest. He’s breathtaking, if it’s okay to say that a man is breathtaking.
But, my God, he is.
“Hi,” I squeak out, finally finding a two-lettered word to speak.
He doesn’t speak. Instead, he steps inside and drops a big bag on the floor. Then, he gently grabs my right hand, placing a kiss on my knuckles. Without a word, Linkin turns the hand over and kisses my palm. I shudder. And since he’s clearly in the mood for a little kissing, he steps forward, grabs my jaw, and places the most perfect kiss on my lips.
Lips that have been missing him for four long days.
“Is it crazy if I tell you I missed you?” he whispers, placing soft, sweet kisses across my lips. He took the words right out of my mouth.
“No. I’ve missed you too,” I confess, feeling lighter for some reason just by stating those words.
“Are you ready?” he asks, taking my hands in his. They’re big and warm, and memories of the wicked things they can do to my body flash through my mind.
“Yes.”
“Excellent,” he says with a naughty grin. Bending down to pick up the bag he dropped, he pulls a small black helmet out and holds it out for me to take.
“Ummm?” I say, extending my hand slowly, as if the helmet were a snake ready to strike me.
“We’re going for a ride.” Linkin pulls a second helmet from the bag and shoves it in the crook of his arm.
“It’s December,” I say deadpanned, stunned that I’m even considering this.
“It is. All month, actually. I’ve been told there’s thirty-one days total.”
“Smartass,” I grumble.
“Listen, if you don’t want to go, we don’t have to. I just thought that it’s a pretty mild night and would be a great time for a ride. But if you don’t want to go, we can take my truck.”
Actually, I realize quickly that I do want to go. I really, really want to. I haven’t been on a bike since my wild and crazy days in high school. You know, before Chris. My heart is racing, but it’s not from nerves or fear. It’s excitement. I feel energized. Free. And even though it’s cool, and yes, December, there’s only one answer. “Let’s go.”
With one hand gripping the helmet and the other encompassed by Linkin’s, we head down to where his bike is stored. He leads me behind our building, past the lot where we park our cars, and towards a large storage shed. “The manager lets me keep my bike in here for very little extra rent each month,” he offers as he unlocks the padlock on the door. Inside, the shed is filled with lawn tools, different things for building maintenance, an old riding lawn mower, and a black motorcycle. I recognize it instantly. He was riding it the day I cut his hair.
Why does the thought of climbing on that with Linkin make me all giddy?
“Ready?” he asks, turning and helping me zip up my coat. When his hands brush my breasts, he smirks and gives me a wink. My blood starts to heat and warmth floods between my legs.
“Did you just feel me up?” I ask, feigning offense.
“Not at all, Firecracker. If I was going to do anything offensive, I’d do this,” he says just before his lips plaster to my own. My mouth instantly opens, his hot tongue sweeping inside and stroking my own. His hands wrap around my ass as he gently lifts my feet a few inches off the ground, bringing me flush against his body.
The kiss doesn’t last long enough. Not by a long shot. When he puts me down and pulls back, he moves his hands to my face, stroking and caressing my cheeks. “Come on. Let’s get you suited up before I decide to forget the ride and take you back to my apartment and ravish you from head to toe.”
Yes, please!
Without another word, he reaches for my helmet and places it on my head. It’s a tight fit and makes me wonder who exactly this helmet was purchased for.
“Does it fit okay?” he asks, gently slapping the top and making my head shake.
“It’s a little tight,” I confirm, trying to keep my ears where they’re supposed to be.
“It’s Jack’s. He insisted you wear his because Jeff’s smells like cheesy farts,” Linkin says with a big smile. My God, that smile. It could disarm nuclear weapons from dangerous foreign countries.
“What?” I gasp with laughter.
“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t,” he says as he places his own helmet on his head. “At least, I hope not. He just wants the pretty girl to wear his.”
Smiling, I watch him slide onto the bike and back it out of the shed. When he has it where he wants it, his long legs holding it up, he extends his hand and helps me climb on. Suddenly, I realize I’m cradling Linkin’s large body between my thighs, and I’m about to wrap my arms around his torso and hold on tight.
My Lord, riding a motorcycle is so sexy.
“Ready?” he asks, slipping his helmet onto his head.
“Ready.” And I am. Ready for the ride. Ready for whatever is brewing with this sexy, infuriating man. Ready to let go of everything; live in the moment.
My blood starts to hum as he fires the bike to life, giving it a little more gas and revving the powerful engine. Grasping his jacket, I hold on tight, exhilaration sweeping through my body, as he gooses the throttle. A squeal of excitement rips from my throat as I tighten my hold on his large body.
The evening air chills me, but I ignore it. I focus on the way my body vibrates against the machine, my heart races in my chest, and the hum between my legs that has nothing to do with the bike, and everything to do with the proximity of Linkin. I want him, there’s no denying that, but I want him more than just in my bed (or his…I’m not picky). I want to spend time with him, get to know him, and see what happens.
Never did I expect to feel this way again, especially so close to leaving my husband. But Linkin brings out a side of me that I haven’t seen in a while. He makes me want to be fierce, feisty, and flirty. He makes me want to be daring and ride in the rain. He makes me want to be the woman I’ve always been destined to be; not the woman I’ve hidden behind Chris’s need for p
erfection.
We ride up the coast for about twenty minutes before pulling off the highway into an old dive-looking building with faded blue paint and a pothole-laden parking lot. It’s been years since I’ve been to this place, and my stomach rumbles at the thought. The Shack is known for their outstanding seafood and not the ambiance. It’s an old building with wobbly tables and creaking floorboards. The dim lighting helps cover the fact that the walls are still what’s left of the 1970s groovy gold and electric blue colors that were popular back when the building was first built.
Linkin parks the bike in a spot by the door. I climb off slowly, my legs shaky even from the short ride. My fingers fumble with the chinstrap, unable to release the little clasp for some reason. Before I get frustrated, Linkin’s there with his big hands and warm fingers. How they’re not cold from the ride, I’m not sure, but when they graze against the underside of my chin, heat sparks through my veins and zips through my blood. Of course, maybe it has nothing to do with the temperature of his hands but everything to do with the closeness of his body and his touch.
Yeah, probably that.
When the strap is released, he helps me pull the helmet off my head. My hands instantly go to my hair, flattening the flyaways and taming the helmet-head.
“Don’t,” he whispers, his voice all husky and deep. It reminds me of sex, and I have to clench my legs together. His hands push my hair from my face, but he keeps those dark eyes locked on mine. They’re so expressive and wild, and I can see everything he wants to do to me in those intoxicating orbs. “I like your hair all crazy and free.”
“Really?” I ask, thinking about all the times I made sure my hair was perfect so that Chris wouldn’t comment.
“Fuck, yes. It reminds me of bed, which then makes me think about sex, and in return does bad things to my body as I picture you naked, hair all wild, and panting my name.”
