Resist Me(23)

“Who ya texting?” James asked as he looked over my shoulder, catching me off guard.

“Flash is worried.”

“Fuck Flash. Put that phone down.” He grabbed my hand, plucking the phone from my grip.

“He’s my friend,” I said, glaring at him.

“He sold you out and left you at the hands of the MC. That’s no friend I ever want.”

“You don’t know him.”

“I know enough about him. Do not respond to him. If you never listen to me again, Izzy, please do on this one thing.” He ran his fingers through his hair, taming the strands that had wandered when he had put on his shirt.

“I know he’s a pussy. Trust me. I’m pissed the fuck off at him, but I want to tell him that I’m fine.”

“You wait to do that shit when I have you on the other coast and in the protection of your family.”

“You worry too much,” I argued, grabbing the phone and pushing it in my back pocket.

“You don’t worry enough.” He lifted his bag, touching the small of my back as he opened the door. “Let’s go.”

I squinted when the bright Florida sun hit my face as we walked out of the dank motel room. I hooded my eyes and looked around. We were in the middle of nowhere and far from home.

“This is going to be a long-ass ride.”

“You make it sound like a bad thing,” he said as he walked to his bike, grabbed the helmet, and held it out to me.

I approached, ripping it from his grasp. “Three hours on the back of your bike doesn’t sound like a joyride.”

“You say the word and I’ll pull over and give you something to smile about,” he murmured as he touched my cheek.

With my free hand, I batted his away from my face and put the helmet on, cinching the straps tight. “In your dreams,” I huffed out, standing next to the sleek Harley V-Rod Muscle bike. I’d spent enough time around boys with their toys to know my Harleys. It wasn’t traditional, but it matched his personality perfectly—strong, sexy, and loud.

“It’ll be my reality. Just you wait, beautiful.” He climbed on, twisting his body before patting the back seat.

I stared at the sky, closing my eyes and making a silent plea to put distance between us. Why had I fucked his brains out the night we met?

Holding his shoulder, I adjusted myself. Wrapping my arms around his torso, I smashed my tits against his back and smiled. I’d make the ride just as uncomfortable for him as he always made me. I’d invented games.





Chapter 6 - Unforgettable





The girl had game and mad fucking skills. I’d never met a female who was as full of shit as I was. Izzy was everything I’d ever wanted in a woman—fierce, strong, driven, and full of attitude.

Riding with her on the back of my bike for over three hours should’ve been boring and tedious. I was finding out that nothing we did together could be described with those words.

She’d taken every chance to brush against my dick when we were stopped at a light. Running her hand down my thigh, all in the name of stretching her back. She hadn’t just held me to stay on the bike. She’d felt me up and I fucking knew it.

As I pulled into her drive, I could feel my semi-hard dick I’d been sporting for the last twenty miles start to stiffen. It wouldn’t happen today. I had shit to do, including a long ride back to Daytona.

I parked the bike, securing it in place before turning off the engine. Izzy pushed off using my shoulder and plucked the helmet from her head. Leaning over, she shook out her hair, flipping it like a wet dream. She was a fucking tease.

“Thanks for the ride.” She smirked, holding out the helmet.

“Can I use the bathroom before I head back?” I asked. I figured I could have a little more fun with her before I walked out of her life for a short time. I knew I’d be back. No one could keep me away from Izzy Gallo.

She rubbed her face and stared at the ground. “If you must,” she mumbled, bringing her eyes to meet mine.

In the sunlight, her eyes matched the color of the Gulf on a sunny day. Turquoise with hints of sky blue. They were lush and big for her face. I didn’t speak as I hopped off the bike and stretched.

She walked away, heading for the door, and I followed behind, admiring her ass. Looking over her shoulder, she glared at me before stopping in front of her door and unlocking it.

The house sat on a canal, the Gulf of Mexico not far away from the multistory dwelling. The façade was white with muted orange trim, and it stood three stories tall. Following her inside, I took in the beauty of the living room. It was like Izzy—loud and unforgiving and alive with vibrant color. Large windows lined the back of the house as the sun cascaded through the room and shone on the dark wooden floors.