Authors: Karen-Anne Stewart
“Hang on,” Breck warns, revving the bike before pulling out into the heavy traffic.
The wind is cold, but the warmth of his body makes it bearable. When he accelerates, a feeling of pure exhilaration sizzles through me and I hold him tighter, yelling for him to go faster.
“Anything you want, baby,” he laughs, revving the bike faster.
“Where are you going?” I yell in his ear when he passes the street to my apartment.
“I called Gavin, told him about my change of plans. There’s somewhere I want to show you if you aren’t too cold,” he calls over his shoulder.
“I’m fine,” I assure him, loving the excitement being with him always gives me, especially with the added thrill and freedom holding on to him on the back of his Harley provides. The cool, crisp air only adds to the elation.
A few minutes later, Breck pulls into an old harbor port, letting the bike idle for a few seconds before turning the key. My heart pounds as I slide off the bike and he does the same before patting the seat as he throws his leg back over the side and sits backwards on the seat in front of me, a carnal gleam blazing in his eyes as he removes my helmet. “So, how was your first time?” he whispers, his voice low, deep.
I can tell he’s going somewhere with this and my mouth goes dry. Running my tongue slowly across my lips, I can’t suppress my grin, “It was amazing.”
Breck places his hands on the outside of my thighs and leans his mouth close to mine, “Have you ever came before, Emma?”
“Came here?” I ask, confused, looking at the beauty of the moonlight spilling across the water in front of the abandoned dock, “I’ve never been here before; it’s beautiful.”
Breck softly shakes his head, chuckling, “That’s not what I meant, Emma. Have you ever had an orgasm?”
My gaze falls as my cheeks flame, “No. I told you that I’ve never had sex before.”
Another laugh leaves his tempting lips, “My sweet, innocent, Emma. You don’t have to have sex to experience a release.” Lowering his head even closer to my lips, he brushes them against mine, “Let me prove it to you.”
I feel the rapid beat of my heart in my throat as he traces his fingers slowly down my cheek, grinning when he hears me inhale sharply.
“I won’t even remove a shred of clothing from you other than my jacket.” He wraps his fingers in my windblown hair as he lowers his mouth to my neck. His breath warms my skin as his lips skim against my collarbone.
Closing my eyes, the sensations are almost too much to take when his tongue leaves a heated trail just below my ear. Leaning my head to the side, I give him easy access. His grip tightens on my hair, tugging lightly as he uses his other hand to slide his jacket off my shoulders before running his hand down my side, sliding it behind my waist and resting it against my bottom. With one swift move, he pulls me closer to him, pressing my knees against the inside of his thighs as he spreads his legs wider, scooting me even closer.
His mouth never leaves my skin as my body goes weak. His hands hold me steady, firmly, as he releases my hair, sliding his fingers down my neck, over my shirt, stopping at my chest.
I gasp when his mouth moves to the soft, sensitive spot between my collarbone while his thumb slowly circles over my right nipple. My body moves on its own, pulled magnetically towards him, as I press my knees tighter against his thighs while his thumb teases my nipple in the sweetest torture, causing my lower belly to constrict.
A low moan escapes as his other hand slides lower. When his fingers slide between my legs, rubbing against the dark denim of my jeans, I press myself against his hand, throwing my head back further. I grip the edges of the seat behind me when Breck shifts my hips forward, his fingers sliding down my covered throbbing heat.
Pushing against my shirt, he slides my bra down, until he feels the hard tip of my nipple. He lowers his mouth against the thin cotton and I jump at the touch. “Do you want me to stop?” he whispers, his fingers never relenting from their rubbing and circling against the heat radiating between my legs.
“I-I don’t know,” I admit, breathlessly.
“You don’t know, huh? That’s a pretty gray area, Emma,” he tells me huskily while his lips brush across my cotton covered nipple, sending electric tingles from my chest straight to the moist area I’m spreading wider. “I can do gray. I can do the hell out of gray.”
Breck’s thumb pushes harder against my sex, intensifying the sensations that are already pushing me rapidly towards the edge. He quickens his movements, pressing firmly against me as he alternates between rubbing his thumb up and down and softly circling. I tighten my grip on the leather seat of the Harley. My hair blows in the wind, the ends softly brushing against the seat and sides of the bike as I lean by head back more, biting my lip when his touch elicits more moans that I can’t control. I feel my lower belly tighten, and I push harder against Breck’s hand while his thumb works its wicked magic, submitting me to his control.
“I want to hear you, Emma. I want to hear you when you come.” Breck gently grazes his teeth against my shirt, pulling my covered nipple into his mouth as he suckles.
My back arches, and he presses his hand against my back, pushing my chest further into his mouth. The tension building inside of me drives me insane, and I squirm against him, against the seat, not knowing if I should try to stop him or beg him to never stop.
His hand presses firmly against my back, holding me in place. “Let me hear what you’re feeling, Emma,” he growls and I obey, releasing my lip, allowing the moan to fill the night air.
The tension builds higher and I feel so unbelievably good right now, like I’m on the sweetest hedonic high, and I feel as if I’m going to burst. “Ahhh,” I gasp, squirming again.
I feel his fingers pressing into my back, “That’s it, baby, come on, let go for me.”
With three quick, hard thrusts of his thumb between my thighs, the tension builds violently, and I arch my hips, pushing myself against Breck, completely at his mercy as he drives me insane, making me feel like I’m going to explode. My body stiffens and begins to tremble.
“You’re close, Emma,” he breathes against my breast before suckling harder. His hand slips under my shirt as he presses it against my back, holding me firmly in place. “Hold on, baby,” he whispers, twirling his tongue over my nipple and grazing it between his teeth as his fingers join his thumb, rubbing, circling, teasing, until I feel the heat burning through my jeans.
A purely intoxicating shudder runs from my toes to the top of my head as I feel myself shattering into a million exquisite pieces and my loud cry pierces the air. The magnificent intensity of my release weakens me, draining me of every bit of strength I have as I collapse against Breck, my body trembling from the after effects.
He tangles his hand in my hair, holding me tightly against him as I lay my head on his shoulder, my heart pounding furiously, gloriously, as the pulsating between my legs leaves me breathless. Breck keeps his hand underneath my shirt as he slides it higher up my back, his fingers teasing my skin as he brushes his lips against my hair.
Finally finding the strength to raise my head, I feel the blush spread across my cheeks. Surprisingly, I don’t feel shame, just freer than ever before and, maybe, a little shy. Something about Breck takes away the guilt and I’m bewildered at how something I know is wrong can feel so amazingly wonderful. I know what I should feel will come later.
“What is it, Emma?” he asks, his voice so soft and gentle.
Not able to find the words to describe how I’m feeling right now, I just smile, glancing up at his expectant eyes through my lashes.
A very needy groan rumbles up his throat as he stares at me, shaking his head, “Damn, Emma, watching you just now, watching you come undone, was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” His fingers find my chin, tilting it so he has my full attention, “There are so many things I can show you, when you’re ready.”
Before I can even process his words or begin to come down from the exhilarating high, Breck takes the helmet and places it on my head, latching it before sliding the jacket back up my shoulders. He scoots back, throwing his leg over the side of the bike and mounts it again. The engine revs to life as he grabs my limp wrists, wrapping them tightly around his waist before driving me home.
The air has turned frigid as all traces of the sun have long since faded. Shivering, I scoot closer to Breck, relishing in his warmth but feeling guilty at how he must be freezing as well, especially since I’m wearing his jacket.
He leaves the engine on as he takes my hand, helping me off the bike. Giving me his sexy as hell grin, he pulls me into his arms, “You can ruin my plans anytime you like, Emma.”
Chapter Fourteen
“There’s a private tour tonight for the donors, and I need you to work it, Emma,” Mr. Styles, my boss at the gallery tells me. He never asks, just demands, even when it’s not my usual shift, which Saturday night is never my shift.
“Yes, sir,” I reply, biting back a groan.
I had plans with Breck, more plans that I’m going to have to break with me working extra hours. The sweet scent of the late afternoon air refreshes my senses, easing my irritation that I have to come back to work tonight. Watching the breeze gently blow the blooms on the redbud trees makes me think of home, and I call Dad, but he doesn’t answer. Late April is always busy for him with the farm. This is my favorite time of year, the flowers, the fresh warm air, and the feeling of newness, like everything is possible. “Collide,” by Howie Day, starts to play and I answer my phone, smiling at the voice of the man whom I’ve collided into head on, and I’m loving the feel of the beautiful wreck that only Breck can cause.
“Hi, Beautiful, I have some special plans for you tonight,” Breck teases, knowing I hate and adore surprises, and my ambivalence seems to give him great pleasure.
“I have to work,” I groan, “Mr. Styles just let me know, but I’ll be off at 8:00 p.m.”
“8:00 it is then, I’ll meet you at your apartment.”
“Does it involve your bike?” I ask, not able to hide the grin that spreads across my face.
Breck laughs, “Not tonight, but I plan on having you on my bike soon, and naked, this time.”
“Promises, promises,” I tease, giving him hell over his long streak of no sex since he’s not playing fair about not telling me what he’s planning.
“You’re such a brat,” he rebuttals.
“Only to you and you love it,” I tell him, holding my breath.
“Yes, I do,” he replies, and I wait for three more words that never come.
Slowly exhaling, I try not to let that bother me but, dammit, it does. “Okay, I’ll see you there,” I concede, keeping my disappointment out of my voice.
I spend the remainder of the afternoon painting with my windows open wide and music blasting in my ears. I should be finishing the last painting in the series so I can call Mr. Mazers, but I’ve been working on something else, a little surprise of my own that I plan on giving Breck. My birthday is in three days, and I promised Breck I would finally show him my works. Closing my eyes, I picture Breck. Inhaling deeply, I can smell him on his shirt that I’ve confiscated, using it as my muse.
My phone buzzes, letting me know I have to be at work in an hour when it feels like I’ve just started painting. I’m known to get lost in my work, but with this painting, I lose all track of time. Closing the spare bedroom door, I lock it so Breck won’t find it before it’s ready. Taking a quick shower, I leave my hair wet, braiding it before rushing out the door.
The gallery is fancier than usual; no expense has been spared on catering or flowers for the donor’s tour. Mr. Styles pulls all of the employees aside, giving the rules and consequences if they are broken, his head swelling at the power he feels dangling them over our heads. I trace the edge of the candle holder, watching the flame dancing inside, daydreaming. I hear Mr. Styles greeting the guests as he meets them at the door, and I pull my eyes away, smiling at the group of impeccably dressed men and women as they walk my way. My smile and entire face falls when I see Elise.
Her haughty gaze shows me that she isn’t surprised at all to see me. Grinding my teeth, I force myself to smile at the other guests and do my best to ignore the woman whom I haven’t seen since the night we beat the hell out of each other at the bar.
“This is Emma Jones, she will be your guide tonight,” Mr. Styles states, “if you have any questions, she is very knowledgeable about each work of art here, so feel free to ask.”
I’m a little taken aback by his unexpected compliment as I offer champagne to the guests before the tour begins. Elise makes her way to the front, being sure to stay next to me as I show the abstract works of art by Kandinsky, Rothko, and Pollock, among the other brilliant artists, first. Elise peppers me with questions that show she has no clue about art, mixing up styles and artists, all of which I answer professionally.