Page 38 of Red Flag Bull
He gestures for me to head toward his garage, where we left his bike this morning when we got back from ’Cinda’s place.
I stand between the Ducati and his truck, not wanting to assume which we’ll be taking.
“Get on.”
I climb onto his bike and hold onto the handle at the base of the passenger seat again, like I’ve been told. The position, with my arms behind me, thrusts my chest high and forward, like I’m proudly presenting my breasts.
Jason watches me closely, and I squirm under his attention. In my slippery, cum-soaked panties. God, I’m such a dirty bitch for loving it, but I’ve always been filthy for him.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.
“I’ve ruined my new panties.”
“You didn’t like them? Is that why you didn’t say thank you?”
I frown. “I meant to,” I say quietly. “I swear I’m not the entitled rich girl I was before we met. You’re just very distracting. And so are my soaking fucking panties. I haven’t ruined them beyond repair; they’re just… Thank you.”
“I’ll get you a new pair when I think you’ve stewed in your juices long enough.” He sets my helmet onto my head and tightens the strap. He then pulls on his own and slides down the black visor that hides his face. He remains where he is a while longer. Is he still looking at me?
Eventually, he walks behind the bike, pries my fingers from the handle, and stows it away, before he takes his seat in front. “Hold on to me.” His words are a little muffled, but he doesn’t have to ask me twice.
I wrap my arms around his waist and ease myself up against his strong back, as the powerful engine purrs to life between my legs. The vibrations run through my fucked pussy and make everything throb in the best way. If we’re riding more than a few blocks, I’m going to absolutely destroy these fucking panties.
Luckily, Jason pulls into a parking lot behind a string of stores after about ten minutes.
“I’ll be back soon.” He glances in the vague direction of the stores before giving me all of his focus. “Will you stay? Or do I need to chain you to my bike?”
I was just snuggling up against him, like a magnet to metal. Why would he ask that?
“Will you trust me if I say I’ll still be here?” I ask, testing.
“Should I?” he counters.
I wrap my arms over my stomach, to smother the hollow, wounded feeling, gnawing me there. “Yes.”
“The last time I trusted your yes, I spent twenty years getting over you,” he says without flinching.
“Nineteen,” I argue, my hurt turning into annoyance. “And you’re still not over me,” I throw at him.
He gives an amused-sounding grunt and pulls a set of cuffs from inside his leather jacket. “Never said I was. Hands behind your back, Princess.”
He checks I’m securely bound, leaves me perched on his bike, and disappears down an alleyway. Five minutes later, he reappears, shoving a brown paper bag inside his leather jacket. Without a word, he uncuffs my wrists, stows the restraints, and reclaims the empty seat in front of me. He sits there a moment, and then reaches back and pulls me hard against him, so my legs are forced further apart to accommodate him.
I’m still sensitive, and I gasp at the rough treatment, but as I settle into him, everything feels even better than before. Especially when he wraps my arms back around him.
He starts his engine and heads for the motorway, taking us out of the city.
North. To the mountains?
My insides give a nostalgic flutter, and I take one last look at the city, because I don’t think I’ll ever be back.
Mountain Lake Falls is where it all started, and one way or another, it’ll be where it all ends.
15
JASON
When I stop for gas, I let Mandi off the bike to stretch her legs.
