Текст книги "Incandescent "
Автор книги: River Savage
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INCANDESCENT
River Savage
INCANDESCENT
© 2014
Incandescent is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading and sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
First eBook edition: August 2014
Edited by Becky Johnson, Hot Tree Editing
Cover design © Louisa Maggio at LM Creations
Image: stockphoto.com
Formatting by Max Henry at Max Effect
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Prologue
The rumble of a motorcycle wakes me from my sleep, stirring the once peaceful night. Reaching out to Zane, my hand finds the coolness of the empty sheets.
“Zane?” I whisper into the darkness. Looking toward the red light of his alarm clock illuminating the otherwise pitch-black room, the clock numbers blink incessantly.
A shiver of alarm runs through me as though ice just replaced my spine. My heart beats double time, the rhythm now matching the rapid blinking of the clock. Something doesn’t feel right.
Grabbing my robe from the end of the bed, I wrap it around myself and creep out of the bedroom in search of my fiancé.
“Zane,” I whisper again as I walk down the long darkened hall.
The burning stench hits me first, its strength potent enough to overpower my taste buds. A wave of heat blankets me as it takes a moment to register the dangerous flames dancing before my eyes. The front of my four-bedroom home burns rapidly, engulfing everything in sight.
I stand fixed, mesmerized by the bright orange cinder, as if the seductive blaze calls to me.
The house shudders; the explosion knocks me off balance, forcing me down to the shaky ground. Dazed, I drop to my hands and begin to crawl my way to the back door, the hallway now swallowed by the blackened smoke. The open flames lick out as I force myself to the only available exit.
Reaching the door, my fingers close around the brass handle. The metal singes my skin but doesn’t stop me in my escape. Panic stirs when the handle doesn’t turn. Frantically, I pull harder, wrestling with the lock.
Inky darkness fogs my view as I struggle to fill my lungs. My breathing labors, my fight slowing.
I don’t want to die.
Chapter One
Kadence
Three years later.
Sitting at my desk, I hold in my frustration. This meeting is not how I wanted to end my workday. I look across at the angry brown eyes of one very upset father. Mr. Hill leans forward, just as irritated at the wait.
His son, Tommy, sits by his side, the black eye he earned in class today is almost swollen shut.
Zayden Knight sits on the opposite side of the room waiting quietly for his mother to arrive. His dark, overgrown hair hangs over his forehead, covering one eye. Zayden is the last person I’d expect to deliver the punch. If I hadn’t had seen him with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it.
I requested both parents meet me at three; it’s now quarter past the hour. The classroom clock ticks over, another minute that she’s late. Mr. Hill clears his throat and I look up, about to apologize again for the delay, when the door pushes open.
My eyes do a quick sweep of the tall man as he walks forward, but the sound of his motorcycle boots squeaking on the vinyl floor draws my attention. The fact that a man just walked into my classroom unannounced doesn’t register to me; instead, the leather riding boots hold me captive, sending me back to the night that I don’t ever want to relive. I force my eyes up, the leather of his cut pushing me deeper into the memory, and for a split second, I think he’s someone else.
Anger slowly creeps its way up my spine. My eyes frantically sweep his chest; the patch sewn on the left side of his vest comes into view reading Knights Rebels MC. Exhaling a breath I didn’t know I was holding, I will my erratic heart to calm. It’s not them.
Everyone in Rushford knows who the Knights Rebels are. Years ago, our small town feared them; known to run on the wrong side of the law, people kept their distance. The Rebels ran this town the way they saw fit. Guns, drugs and women, they went above and beyond the law. I’m not sure what happened, but a few years back, they started cleaning their act up and they now hold the respect of most of the town. Charity runs keep them active in the community; their crazy parties keep them popular with the women, but most importantly, keeping the drugs out of town earns them that respect.
I keep my distance. Associating with them is something I’ve never done, even if they have cleaned up their act. After what happened with Zane, my asshole ex, I avoid people like them. I know all too well what they’re capable of, the reminder branded on my skin.
Pulling my thoughts from the past, I look up at the man who just barged into my classroom.
“Hello, can I help you?” I address him, standing from my chair and walking around the front of the desk. He ignores me and goes straight to where Zayden sits.
“Hey, buddy, how you doin’?” he squats down to Zayden’s level.
“Hey, Dad.” Zayden carefully looks up, a glum expression on his face. He lowers his head, and I wonder how much trouble he will find himself in tonight.
I had no idea Zayden’s dad was a part of the MC. The name Knight clicks in my head and it all falls into place. Shit, he’s not just part of the MC. His family is the MC.
The man eventually looks up at me, finally giving me his attention. His watchful gaze follows the length of me before he stands to full height. His dark hair is a sexy mess, as if he just ran his hand through it. The five o’clock shadow over his tense jaw shows signs of graying; not in an old man kind of way, but that of a sexy, hot, older guy. His piercing green eyes, the color of jade, make me look twice.
Smiling at me, the man takes a large step toward me, his presence overpowering at the sheer height of him. I falter, a little shaky on my heels and look up at him. I feel short on the best of days, wearing heels to keep my head above most people’s chins, but standing in front of him with his at least six-foot frame towering over me, I feel like a small child again. Extending my hand toward him, he takes it in his as I greet him. “Hello, I’m Miss Turner, Zayden’s teacher. I was expecting Mrs. Knight,” I rush out like a fumbling schoolgirl. Oh, my God, kill me now.
He stares down at me, his green eyes never leaving mine nor saying anything; his large calloused hand still firmly grips mine.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” he finally responds, breaking our weird moment. “Z’s mom only just called me about the meeting; she's been held up.” He clears his throat, like it’s a lie, but continues, “I came when I got the call.”
He finally releases his awkward hold on me and takes a step back. With the loss of his grip, I have to move my hand to the front of my desk to support my unease. For some reason, other than stupidity, I have no idea what he said so I just nod my head. He grins, noticing my reaction, and I smile back, lost in his.
Jesus, Kadence, get it together, you’ve met good-looking men before.
I take a deep breath, shaking off the stupid look I’m sure I’m wearing. I’m surprised and appalled by my attraction. I’ve never reacted to someone like this before.
“Well, in that case, let’s get started shall we?” I ask, hoping my voice doesn’t give away his effect on me. Yeah, ‘cause the stupid grin you just had on your face didn’t?
Walking back around my desk, I take a large breath, hoping it calms my beating heart before sitting. I watch as he folds himself into the small grade-school chair, and I hold back a smile at how ridiculous he looks. I address Zayden’s dad first, not certain if his wife relayed what I told her over the phone.
“I’m not sure what your wife has told you, Mr. Knight.”
“Ex-wife,” he interrupts me, his tone telling me that I need to remember that.
“Right, okay,” I continue, ignoring the pleasure I get from hearing he isn’t married.
“Well, as I was telling your ex-wife, Zayden was involved in an altercation with another student today,” I tell him, looking over at Mr. Hill and his son. “Ending with Tommy’s black eye.”
“This true, Z?” Hot biker dad turns, looking at his son.
In my head, hot biker shouldn’t be in my vocabulary, but with his long legs outstretched in front of my desk, the sexy-as-sin riding boots crossed over at the ankle, and the way I hear the leather move when he turns to look at Z, I can’t help call him anything but.
“Yeah, Dad,” Zayden replies, his eyes lowered.
“Your son is a menace just like your club, Knight, and I won’t allow him to bully my kid in class. I want something done about it!” Mr. Hill yells, standing from his seat.
I’m not surprised by Mr. Hill’s outburst; he’s been sitting on the edge of his seat, ready to chew someone’s head off for the last twenty minutes. Yeah, I value my time too, but that’s not Mr. Knight’s fault; he came when he found out. I don’t know why I’m siding with him. I should be more concerned for Mr. Hill’s wellbeing when Mr. Knight stands from his own seat and takes a rather large step toward him.
“Excuse me, I was talkin’ to my boy. I'll address you when he explains to me why he saw fit to put his hands on your son,” Mr. Knight pushes out with gritted teeth. Fuck, he even speaks sexy biker. What the hell is sexy biker? Get it together, Kadence.
Sensing the situation could get out of hand, I stand. “Mr. Knight, Mr. Hill, please sit down,” I demand, hoping the slight tremor I feel doesn’t show.
Mr. Hill sits first, obviously realizing he is in over his head with the fuming badass.
“You wanna give me a moment to talk with my boy?” Mr. Knight asks, looking over at me. I don’t know why I do it, but I nod my head and sit back in my chair. I watch him spare one more look at Mr. Hill, a silent warning to keep his mouth shut.
Jesus, how can he be the one in control right now?
“Now, you wanna tell me why you put your hands on someone, Z?” He squats down in front of his son’s chair, arms stretched out to keep him steady, his muscled arms bulging under the strain of their position. I can make out the large Knights Rebels tattoo and I wonder what else he has hidden under his clothes.
“Tommy was pulling Sarah’s hair, told her she was a whore like her mom. I told him to quit it but he started on me. You always said if someone puts their hands on me, I’m allowed to stand up for myself,” he responds quietly, calmly, given that the two hundred-pound man is squatting in front of him, scowling something fierce. I look at Tommy and see his face is ashen at Zayden’s confession.
“Is this true?” Mr. Hill turns to look at Tommy, who sinks further into his chair.
“I was only saying what you told me,” he answers back.
Mr. Hill looks up at me; a small amount of embarrassment fills his cheeks as I raise my eyebrows.
Sarah’s mom works over at Bare Assets, our local strip club in town. I have no problem with the place. Holly, my best friend, likes to drag me along sometimes for ladies' night. It’s a well-respected establishment, and as far as I know, Sarah’s mom works the bar, not a pole. What an asshole.
Awkward silence fills the room as I look between the two fathers. Mr. Hill looks down at his hands while Mr. Knight holds my gaze. His eyes show anger, no doubt at Mr. Hill, but I’m drawn to the intensity of it, like a fond memory pulling me in. I drag my eyes away, needing to break the connection, not prepared to let those feelings back in.
“Okay, well, regardless of the reasons, we still have a policy here that fighting is not allowed. Because both boys engaged in the fighting, they will both be given afterschool detention for five days.”
Considering both boys have never been in trouble for fighting, I thought I would give them a chance to sort it out here before taking it to Principal Wilson. That guy is a real schmuck, no doubt suspending them on their first offense. Yes, Z was defending himself, but Tommy is the one with a swollen eye. Sending them home for three days off won’t fix the problem.
Mr. Knight scoffs and then shakes his head, clearly not happy with the punishment. He looks over to his son, giving him a wink before turning back to me. His blatant disregard for the rules don’t surprise me, and I can’t help but call him on it.
“I hope from that wink, Mr. Knight, you're not condoning this behavior?” I challenge, cutting him off before he can begin to argue my decision.
“Listen, Mrs. —”
“Miss Turner,” I correct him the same way he did me.
“Miss Turner.” His deep, gravelly voice exaggerates the Miss and I hold back the need to roll my eyes at his insinuation.
“No, I don’t condone violence. I will, however, be proud of my son if he stands up for someone who can’t stand up for themselves.”
“He gave another student a black eye,” I shoot back. “Not to mention disrupted my class.”
Pulling two eleven-year-old boys apart in the middle of the classroom is harder than most would think. For one, they’re almost the same size as me. My five-foot-two frame is no match for two angry boys when they nearly put me on my ass.
“So? He was defending the girl and defending himself. I would have done the same,” Mr. Knight continues to disagree with me. His anger confuses me a little. What does he expect me to say? Sure, it’s fine your son clocked another student and left him with a swollen eye?
“Yes, I don’t doubt that. However, the school board doesn’t see it that way. Using violence against each other gets us nowhere.” I stop myself from saying our school rules are probably different to the rules he follows.
I stand from my chair, trying to end the conversation before I come to blows with him. Something inside of me wants to argue with him, my quick temper often getting me in trouble, but this is more. The thought of pushing him sends a tingle down my spine. I need to stop this. I force myself not to engage with him anymore; the rules are simple, there’s no point arguing. He obviously lives by his own set of rules. Unfortunately for his son, he must abide by the school’s.
“My son has a right to defend himself. Where were you when all this was happening?” He stands, clearly not done with this battle, now questioning me.
“I was dealing with another student.” I find myself on the defensive. “These boys are eleven years old, Mr. Knight. Old enough to be trusted and know violence is no way to handle things. Using your fists does not make you a man. He should have walked away and come and told me,” I tell him, feeling small again under his height and gaze.
He laughs out loud, his eyes flashing with annoyance, evidently not agreeing with me. “Lady, you got no idea what makes a man. Someone puts his hands on me, I sure as hell will respond the same way.”
Knowing I’m not going to get anywhere with this infuriating man, I straighten out my hand to shake his, ready to be out of his presence. My behavior is irrational I know. I’ve gone from feeling a spark to wanting to slap him for arguing with me.
“My decision is final, Mr. Knight. The boys will start their detention tomorrow. I hope I don’t have to take this further next time,” I say, hoping I don’t have to see him again. Something about him gets me riled up. Sure he’s hot, but his arrogant attitude is starting to annoy me. He stands quietly for a moment, not moving, not speaking, his eyes silently assessing me. The tension in the air is electrifying around us. I begin to feel a little uncomfortable with my hand outstretched before he takes it, the heat of his grip wrapping around mine.
“Well, Mrs. —”
“Miss,” I snap at him this time and wince at my tone.
“Yes, of course.” He smiles, like he wanted to hear it again. I try to pull my hand back but he tightens, pulling me forward, my free hand going to my desk as his thumb strokes the inside of my palm. The intimate move is not lost on me. Oh, God, I’m bipolar, now I want to keep my hand here.
“Thank you for your time, Miss Turner.” He leans in close, the warmth of his breath just skimming the side of my ear before he lets go and moves back. I steady myself, unbalanced by the loss. What the hell was that?
Reaching out, he clicks his fingers to get Zayden’s attention. “Come on, Z,” he says, waiting for him to stand. He then follows him out the door without a backward glance.
Following Mr. Knight’s lead, Mr. Hill stands, his expression now somber. For a moment I forgot he was still here, lost in the impulse that was that man.
“Thank you for your time, Miss Turner. I’ll have a word with Tommy about what he thinks he heard.” He nods, not giving me his eyes. At least he has the good sense to look embarrassed.
Grabbing Tommy’s bag, he wishes me a good evening and then turns and leaves, Tommy following close behind.
Falling back into my chair, I let out a shaky breath, glad that it’s over. I can’t believe I let Zayden’s dad get to me like that. No man has ever instilled lust and anger just by looking at me. His presence screams confidence and testosterone, right down to the way he ran his eyes over me. I know he probably acts like that toward all women, yet the thought that he felt it too excites me.
It takes me a few minutes to calm my breathing and stop all lustful thoughts of Mr. Knight before I can even begin to pack up and gather my belongings. Shutting down the lights for the day, I lock up the room and walk down the hall to the teachers’ lounge. I’m stopped in my tracks when I look up ahead. Standing by the lockers, I observe Mr. Knight kneeling in front of Z. His hand outstretched, around his neck, their heads leaning into each other, talking quietly. Zayden nods and smiles before his dad leans in further and kisses the top of his hair. The sight of this man being fatherly stirs something in me, more than his touch did. He exudes this type of power over people with his presence, but watching him talk with his son makes him vulnerable. I have no right thinking of him like that. The man is off limits, not to mention a walking smartass, but standing there at a distance, I can see how much he loves his son. The affection in his eyes leaves me with a sense of longing. I want that.
Shaking off the thought I turn into the teachers’ lounge, impatient to get home to a glass of wine, thus cutting all thoughts of one Mr. Knight, aka arrogant ass, aka sexy hot biker.
Chapter Two
Nix
Pulling up to the town square, I cut the roar of my engine and wait for the rest of the boys to pull up. The yearly fair in Rushford is in full swing and I’m regretting signing us up to hold a stall. Brooks’ old lady, Kelly, is on the town’s organizing committee and suggested we get more involved in the community. I don’t know how much more involved we can be; the club’s by-laws allow us to do a few charity runs a year that we already use to give back to the town. This new idea they’ve come up with should pull in enough dough to help pay for the new town library opening in a few weeks.
Beau, the club’s VP, pulls up beside me, shutting down his bike. The women organizing this gig stand around checking us out. It always happens at these types of events, something about the leather and bikes have the women falling over themselves to get a ride.
Beau already has eyes for a pretty blonde standing to the right and I don’t doubt he’ll have her in his bed tonight. He always has women crawling all over him, carrying on about how much they love his long hair. Fucked if I know what they see in it, but who the hell knows when it comes to women. As President of Knights Rebels, my title alone has most of the women fighting with each other to get me off. I tend to stay away from easy. Easy pussy is just that. Easy. I love the chase. My thoughts go straight to last week when Z’s teacher had my cock twitching; now that woman ain’t like the ones lining up today.
Just thinking about her has the blood rushing to my cock. That smart little mouth on her, the way she stood up to me had me itching to hike up that pencil skirt she was wearing and bend her over the desk, bury myself deep in her and make her call out my name as I smacked her pert ass. Fuck, I’ve got to stop thinking about her.
Since I left the school, I haven’t been able to get her off my mind. Her long, dark hair pulled away from her face just begged me to tug on it and take her mouth. Her legs were surprisingly long for someone so short and those fuck-me shoes she wore, don’t even get me started. I had no idea that Z’s teacher was sexy as fuck. Even her fiery temper had me squirming in the small fucking chair I sat in. There’s nothing better than a woman who can give just as good as she gets, and pushing her last week proved she’s that type of woman. The fire in her eyes, the way she had held her own, my cock was practically begging me to fuck her. I know I shouldn’t have pushed her. Hell, I agreed with her to some point. Z's behavior lately is concerning me, but sitting in that room, with the little fucker and his dad throwing off his attitude just pissed me off. The MC has been through a lot the last few years getting the club clean, and while the majority of the town respect what we’ve accomplished, there are still a few who think we’re no better than the men who started the club.
Miss Turner was different. I saw a flash of something in her eyes when I caught her watching me come in but she hid it as soon as I started to push. I know thinking of her is a waste of my time; sweet pussy like hers doesn’t go for a man like me, and while I like a game of cat and mouse, a woman like her? That’s one game I’ll never win.
Getting off my bike, I watch as the rest of the Knights Rebels pull in next to us, backing their Harleys in a perfect straight line. Our club has been running since 1969 when my dad, Red Knight, founded the Originals with Beau’s dad as his VP. He would tell the tale of how he grew up with the dream of having his own place to call home. He craved the brotherhood of a club, the camaraderie with like-minded people and the principle of freedom.
For me growing up in the clubhouse, the brothers were more like fathers, everyone looking out for each other as their own. Over the years, my pops lost his way and the club’s beliefs changed. Power and greed became the driving force behind them turning outlaw.
These days, the club runs in a different direction, trying to keep our noses clean. Sometimes we find ourselves cleaning up other people’s messes, but the day-to-day running, we stay legit.
It was one of the first things I did when I stepped up as Prez. It was never my intention to patch in and take over from Dad. I loved the club, love the brothers, but for a long time I didn’t know if that life was what I wanted. Earning a living the way they did never sat well with me. I was torn; enlisting to serve my country was something I could see myself doing, running drugs was not.
My decision was made easy when a few weeks before my eighteenth birthday, life changed. Shit went down with a rival club, my mom becoming a victim in their war.
I never thought I would say it, but I hated my father for what his club brought to our family. The pain of losing a wife was too much for the old man. He was in a bad way, worse than me, and the club suffered for it. I stayed, wanting to seek revenge on those who destroyed our life. I was reckless, too far-gone. All I saw was blood. I wanted to make those fuckers pay.
Nothing was the same after that. After going down the path of anger and seeking revenge, I soon realized it wasn’t who I was. The club retaliated and we got our vengeance, but it didn’t take away the hurt or the pain that I was left with. Everything that I was searching for was for nothing. Losing my mom was for nothing. Patching-in and choosing this path didn’t bring her back.
When I finally accepted that I had chosen this path, I slowly started to put my life back together. Too much blood had been spilled and most of the brothers felt the same way. The idea of changing and creating something strong encouraged me to step up, to embrace something that my father originally started. I did my time and worked my way up, doing a lot of shit I wish I didn’t have to, but I pushed through, earning my position so when the time came, I could step in and take the club back to where it belonged. Cleaning up the mess wasn’t something that happened overnight; that shit took time. A lot of allegiances were tested, leaving us vulnerable and open to attacks. Times were tough but we pushed through, coming out better on the other side.
“Dad!” Z calls out as he makes his way over to me. I watch his mom trailing behind in barely-there shorts and a tank that shows she isn’t wearing a bra. Lately she’s been dressing more like the young teenager I met, rather than the thirty-seven-year-old mother she is. I have to wonder why she feels the need to dress like trash.
“Hey, bud, how you doin’?” I ask as he climbs up on my bike.
“Good, I’ve got my tickets ready to go on some rides,” he says excitedly.
“Hey, Nix.” Addison smiles her fake smile, pushing up against me. Taking a step back from her, I ignore her attention and speak to Z.
“Go help Kelly set up with Beau and Brooks and I’ll give you a few dollars for some extra rides,” I tell him, scruffing his hair.
“Awesome!” he shouts, getting off the bike to follow Beau to the stall.
“You talk to Z about his weeklong detention?” I look back over at my ex-wife. Addison and I do the joint custody thing. Z stays with his mom four nights then back at mine for four nights. I hate not having him with me all the time, but I know kids need to have their moms in their lives. Even if she isn’t the best.
Addison pouts her lips, pissed I’m not giving her the attention she wants. I don’t know why she pulls this act; it sure as shit isn’t going to work on me after the fucked-up bullshit she pulled on me last week. Ringing me ten minutes after the scheduled meeting with the school and telling me she was tied up getting her nails done. Luckily I was in town and made the five-minute drive. Now I’m left annoyed at my encounter with Z’s teacher and the unwanted thoughts of the sexy woman.
Addison shrugs, letting me know she didn’t talk to him. I have to refrain from shaking some sense into her. She never used to be this way, only showing her true colors when I finally decided to end things. I was never in love with the woman. I thought I could make it work for the sake of Z, but in the end, it wasn’t worth it. If she doesn’t start acting like a good mother, and get her life sorted, we’re going to have problems. One being Z will be living with me full time. I have no problem taking her to court.
Walking away from her before I lose it in front of the whole town, I get a look at the sweetest ass to grace my sight. The blue jeans are pulled tight, and hug every inch of the fine ass. Her small waist, the curve of her hips and her dark hair that hangs half way down her back makes her even more appealing. Now that’s a woman I wouldn’t mind banging. Adjusting myself in my jeans, I move forward, eager to get acquainted with the dark-haired beauty. I’m stopped dead in my tracks when I see the sexy body belongs to none other than Miss Turner. Well, fuck me.
If I didn’t want to fuck her damn sexy ass in that tight skirt and fuck-me heels she was wearing last time I saw her, I’d be falling over backwards to pull off the jeans that look painted on today. She looks up, her eyes catching mine and her stance wavers for just one second, like she did when I shook her hand. Holy fuck, Miss Prim and Proper just might like herself some biker.
Walking toward her, I notice her take a deep breath, whether to calm her nerves or to gain patience I don’t know, but I’m willing to rattle her cage a little more.
“Why, hello there, Miss Turner.” I drag out the Miss just to piss her off, and also letting her know I’m particularly interested that there is no Mr. Turner.
She squares her shoulders and greets me back. “Hello, Mr. Knight.” She sounds disinterested, but I know better. After the way our meeting ended and the tension now rolling off her, I doubt her disinterest.
“Nix,” I say, wanting to hear my name come from her lips.
“Sorry?” she asks, looking more flustered every second I stand in front of her.
“My name is Nix.” I repeat it even though I know she heard me the first time. Damn women and their games; she doesn’t realize it makes me want her more. She smiles but doesn’t offer me her name.
“Are you signing up for a ride?” I ask, moving the conversation forward. If I play it smart, I can have her willing and pissed in less than two minutes.
“No.” She nervously laughs, “Not me. I wouldn’t be caught dead on the back of one of those.” She moves her head to indicate the row of bikes neatly lined up. The sight of her on the back of my bike flashes wickedly in my mind. What I would do to see that.
"Shame, I’d have grown hard seeing you in those fuck-me heels, straddling the back of my bike.” I give her a grin and quickly turn my back to her, walking back to our stall before she can respond. I’d love to see the stunned look on her face as I walked off, but I’m hoping to see her again later to rattle her some more. If I have it my way, she’ll be on the back of my bike in no time.
