He glances at me. “Well, let’s hit a beach. Not here, though. Need some miles between us and LA. You think of somewhere else you wanna go, you tell me.”
I wrap my arms around him. It feels natural, in a way that it should not. It is wrong. It is forbidden. He is American, a rough, dangerous man, an outlaw, a soldier, a wild man who rides an antique motorcycle without a helmet, and sleeps alone in the desert, and was perfectly willing to fight six armed men with his bare hands.
How exciting!
Eat your heart out on this, Pappa and Mamma.
The motorcycle jolts forward, and I cannot help a squeal of joy and wild freedom as the wind blows my hair back, and the speed makes my stomach do flips. His big body is so solid in front of me, and holding on to him, I feel utterly safe.
Pressed against him, holding him, my body on his, I feel other things.
Dangerous, forbidden things.
They confuse me, scare me, worry me. I do not know what to do with them.
He does, I would wager.
I wonder if I can trust him with those things, as well?
I am going to find out, I think.
4No Lies
Kane
Itake us south, to San Diego. She clings to me for dear life, and I don’t mind. Not at fuckin’ all.
God, her body is…shit. I don’t have words. When she put on the jeans and T-shirt, she was transformed. From an Indian goddess, to an exotic American supermodel. She may have complained about them, but she wears the jeans like they were made for her. The ones I picked—at random, I admit—are tight and stretchy, and fit her like she was sewn into them. They wrap like a second skin around her shapely calves and sleek thighs, and cup a tight, firm, round, heart-shaped ass. And the shirt, shit.
Those tits. Fuck me, those tits. Not huge, not small. Hell if know cup sizes, I just know, based on how they looked in that killer, pre-faded Rolling Stones shirt, they’d fill my hand, just barely. A nice, tight, plump, perky little handful. Once she had the bra on, they looked a little bigger than they probably are, and I’m not complaining.
She makes my mouth water, makes my cock permanently semi-hard. Having her crushed up against me isn’t fucking helping.
And that kiss?
I’m so fucked.Sofucked.
She had no idea what was going on. What I was doing, what she should do. But damn me if she didn’t respond like a natural, lifting up, pressing deeper, opening her mouth for me.
She’s a virgin.
Not just a virgin, either; I’d bet my last dollar she’s never kissed anyone before. Shit, I bet she hasn’t even been as close to another male as she’s getting with me.
What the hell am I gonna do with her? Bring her back home to Vegas? I can’t do that. See it in her eyes, hear it in her voice, whatever she’s running from, it isn’t good. I won’t be the one to send her back to that.
Never had a choice in anything. Never asked what she even wants, in the simplest things.
But I’m drawn to her like a moth to a flame. I can’t resist. I’m gonna kiss her again. Gonna hold her. Touch her.
I want more than I want my next breath to feel her naked body, to taste her sweet juices, feel her come apart on my tongue.
Fuck, fuck.
I can’t.
She’s pure and innocent.
I can’t take that away from her. Not a man like me.
