I leaned my head back, and let the wind whip my hair around me, savoring the open air that skimmed across my bare skin. We rode for what felt like eternity, yet not long enough before he pulled the bike down a dark path into a clearing. In the distance, the city lights of Seattle reflected off the calm waters, and it was breathtaking. I glanced around, but couldn't figure out where we were.
I took the helmet off, and kicked my leg over the bike. "This place is beautiful," I said, taking in the tranquil sound of the water lapping against the shore, and the gorgeous city skyline across the way. "Do you come here a lot?" I asked, and, as soon as the words came out, dread paralyzed me in place.
What if he brought me here to kill me? I bet I could scream, and nobody would hear me. I just stepped into a trap. I shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, and tried to remember what I learned in that one self-defense class I took my freshman year.
"I come here to think sometimes," he said with a particular coolness to his voice that managed to soothe my worries.
Besides, he wouldn't kill me in the place where he went to think. Or would he … "You're not going to kill me, right?" I blurted out before I could stop the words from firing off my tongue.
He laughed, rubbing the five o'clock shadow on his chin. I wondered what the stubble would feel like beneath my fingers. William never went without a clean shave, and, since he was the only guy I had ever been with, I had no idea what it was like to feel the rough stubble of a man against my skin.
"I'm not going to kill you. Though, I could if I wanted to." He winked and I assumed it was his way of making a joke even if I didn't think death was a laughing matter.
He might not kill me, but being feet away from him with a gun so casually placed on his person it was the most danger I had ever been in.
"But, you wouldn't," I said for the reassurance.
He shook his head, and then pushed his long dirty blonde hair out of his face. "No."
"Good to know."
"So, that guy back there," he said, but didn't finish.
"William?"
He nodded.
"An ex boyfriend that won't let it go, but let's not talk about that. Let's talk about you."
"I don't talk about me," he said with more gruff in his voice.
He finally got off the bike, and walked over to me. No longer sitting on a bar stool or his bike, he was much taller than I realized. He towered over me, as his muscles pulled tight against the black t-shirt he had beneath his vest. Tattoos completely covered both of his arms, and I couldn't help myself. I reached out wrapping my fingers around his wrist, and held it up for me to admire. Biker boy inhaled a quick gasp at my touch. There was a current that sparked between us as I studied his artwork.
I ignored the sparks that were flying between us as I continued to admire his tattoos. It was a collage of skulls, stars and tribal bands with flames, weaving in and out until turning into swirls of smoke. The intricate details and the well-crafted design made it equal parts terrifying and beautiful.
"Do you have any more?" I asked, tracing my finger along the lines of a star, and dragging my hand across his chest to his other arm. His other arm was just as stunning, and I followed a wisp of smoke up his arm to his shoulder, pushing the sleeve of his shirt out of my way. I glanced up at his face and his eyes were filled with something I had never experienced before -desire. This man was hungry and that hunger was for me. It thrilled and frightened me because every part of my being was begging for him to do something, anything to alleviate my own growing desires.
I looked away and continued to run my finger across the black ink of a motorcycle, a bald eagle wrapping it in a banner that read, "You saw me take my first breath, and I saw you take your last." Beneath it were two dates, and the last one from only a couple years ago.
"Who is this for?"
His eyes snapped to the skyline in the distance, and he looked as if his mind went somewhere else for a moment. The desire from moments ago, turned to pain that etched into the hard lines of his face, and filled his eyes with sadness and emotion that just did not seem to fit this hardened tough guy. This wasn't just a tattoo. This was a memorial to someone he loved dearly.
"My old man," he finally said.
"How'd he die?"
He grabbed my wrist and forcefully removed it from his arm. "I told you. I don't talk about me."
"Can you at least tell me your name?" He looked at me, but didn't say anything, so I gave him a cute smile. "Please."
He ran his fingers through his hair, displaying the letters to the words ride and die written across his knuckles. "Cash."
"Cash. I like that name. It's different. And I'm sorry about your dad."
He nodded, and continued to look out across the water.
"I bet you were close with him. I'm close with my dad. He's like my best friend."
"Of course he is," Cash mumbled.
"What is that supposed to mean?" I asked, straightening up.
"You just seem like the type. That's all."
"And, what type is that?"
"A goody. So pure you might as well have a damn halo over your head and wings springing out your back."
He was right. He had me figured out from a few shared words and, yet, other than his name, I knew nothing about him. He was a complete and total mystery to me, but I would bet that, beneath the tattoos and leather, there were a million stories. A gentle soul who cared far more than he would like to admit. I could tell by the way he punched William for me, and, how hidden away from the road in this secluded place, he hadn't once tried to touch me.
I don't think I would resist if he did. From the minute I stood next to him at the bar, I wondered what it would feel like to be his. By the patches on his vest, I could tell he was in a Motorcycle Club and, though I didn't know much about them, I knew their women were their property. It sounded barbaric, but it was also intriguing and, to be honest, it wasn't much different from what William expected of me.
I looked up to Cash. I didn't want him to think he had me figured out so easily. "I'm not a goody," I stated.
Cash leaned down, his lips a mere inches from my ear. "I bet your daddy paid for you to go away to some Ivy League school. You probably called home every night after studying to check in and assure them that you were being a good little girl." He walked around me, his warm breath brushing against my skin as he pushed my hair to one side. "I bet the only sex you have ever had is lying on your back while some guy slowly slides his cock in and out of you, so he doesn't blow his load too quickly."
I sucked in a ragged breath at his words, surprised at how they shot through me like an electric current leaving me with an undeniable yearning to be touched and ravished by this complete stranger.
He moved around me ever so slowly, dragging his finger along my bare skin as he went. Chills coursed up and down my body, leaving a fiery hot path of desire as he continued his assault on my senses. "I bet you've never had an orgasm. Never sat on a guy's face while he buried his tongue deep inside your tight little pussy, flicking your clit, and tasting your juices as your body screamed for release."
Little did he know my body was already screaming for release, and he had barely laid a hand on me. I shook at his suggestive words as wetness pooled in my panties, practically begging him to stop talking and just show me what I'd been missing. I inhaled deeply as if that would satiate the overwhelming craving this crude, disgustingly hot guy was imbedding in my core. He was stirring up feelings that I never knew existed. I wanted it all. Everything he was telling me. I wanted to experience it and feel it, and I wanted it with him. Screw the rules I was raised to live by. Rules were meant to be broken and what better way to do that than with this tattooed bad boy.
He continued to circle around me, stopping in front of me. He reached out his hand and gripped my chin between his fingers, urging me to look at him. My heartbeat picked up speed and pounded against my chest. My breaths turned to shallow pants as I let him control me. My body was weak with desperation, and I grabbed onto his hand to keep from dissolving into a puddle.
"Am I right?" he asked, his tongue dabbing his bottom lip suggestively.
"Maybe," I breathed.
He stepped away, his hand falling from my face. I missed his touch immediately, and felt like an errant child that was being taunted. It was like being given a taste of the most delicious, decadent dessert and having it ripped away from you just as you were going in for the first bite. My mouth salivated, thinking about what he would taste like and if I would get to know before the night was over. I never wanted to be kissed, touched and immersed in a person as much as I did in Cash at this moment.