The machine rumbled beneath her thighs, and the scent of leather was heady, and not only that, the power that she saw in Vengeance as he rode was heightening every single one of her senses, and she couldn’t stop the pulse between her legs.
There had never been a time that Constance could remember being aroused. She wasn’t some squeaky clean virgin, but she also hadn’t felt desire … ever. Brando had told her that it would come in time, and that she needed to relax and to learn to trust him.
She had trusted him, so completely.
The sex hadn’t been a problem. It had been her. Brando had to use lubrication to help her. It was strange thinking about sex right now with a complete stranger. Brando had been everything a girl needed for her first time, and her love. He had been her one and only, and she had loved him. Of course she had. He’d been the guy that every girl wanted. The problem was, he’d been sweet, kind, caring, and perfect in every single part of their life. He’d not wanted to ravish her. When he kissed, she couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking about how her parents would approve.
He had loved that, her parents’ approval.
Time passed, and her thoughts of Brando didn’t fade, not at all. Finally, Vengeance stopped at a long strip of track.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“A race course, or what remains of one.” He held his hand out. “Pass me the helmet, and I’ll give you the ride you really want.”
She thought about sex, and all the dirty things in between. Removing her helmet, she handed it back to him.
“Can I ask you a question?” she asked.
“Sure.”
“Sex, is it good?”
He paused and glanced at her. “What?”
“Forget it. Forget I said anything.”
“What’s with the talk of sex?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’m just curious about what you do, with your women?”
He smirked. “You do not need to worry about that.” He placed the helmet on the ground. “You better hold on tight. I’m going to give you the ride of your life.”
She let out a squeal as he jerked forward, to which they both laughed. She quickly wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly. She was ready for the ride of her life.
8
The feeling of her arms wrapped around his waist, her body pressed tightly to Vengeance’s had arousal slamming into him. The arousal certainly wasn’t misplaced, and he wanted Constance, but the truth was he could tell she was fragile.
She could break, just snap in half. He was a rough biker, liked sex a certain way: rough, nothing held back, and doing any of that with Constance could make her crack even more.
“Oh my God,” she cried out, her voice high-pitched, her excitement clear.
He accelerated, going faster, taking the turns sharply, hugging the edge. He felt the wind in his hair. She held him tighter, her inner thighs pressed tightly to his outer ones.
Vengeance didn’t slow, didn’t stop. He kept going around the track, letting the feeling of being free wash over them. It was only when he felt her body loosen behind him that he slowed. He pulled around the track at a slower pace, then stopped completely.
He dismounted and helped Constance off the bike. She started laughing, and that had him grinning.
“That was…” she said, but stopped and ran her hands through her hair. “That was incredible.” She turned around, the smile on her face huge, her excitement clear.
God, she was beautiful, so fucking gorgeous he couldn’t stop myself from pulling her close, grabbing the back of her head, and claiming her mouth.
She felt his lips on hers, strong, masculine, yet soft, sweet. A rush of heat and arousal slammed into her, and Constance breathed out, feeling that warmth spread through her. It felt good, incredible even.
He pulled back, his lips slightly red, the scruff on his face reminding her that he was on the rougher side, dangerous. But she wanted that. With Vengeance she felt alive, felt like she was breathing again.
She was wet between her thighs, her nipples hard, this arousal something unusual but pleasant, welcome.
“How was that?”
She reached up and touched her lips, this slight tingle spreading through her.
“Did that cross the line?”
He seemed genuinely concerned that maybe he’d pushed her too far. This side of him went up against his outer appearance, the hardcore biker he was.
“It was…” God, how could she explain it? How could she even tell him what he made her feel, how he made her feel like she wasn’t in this box again, trapped, suffocating?
“Fuck,” he said, his voice gritty, harsh. He ran a hand over his face, glanced around, and finally exhaled.