“Good fight. No. Great fight. If anyone deserved that pounding, it was Misery.” He dissects the fight, asking Ray about particular moves and strategies. Ray just shrugs and says he knew what Misery did to Makayla and Amanda, and the minute he got in the ring, all he could think about was pounding on Misery until he was mush. No strategy involved.
Of course, this does not go down well with Tag, who teaches about control and strategy in all his classes. He gestures me to his vehicle. “We’d better get going.”
“I thought it was a great fight,” I say to Ray after my tongue untangles. “I watched every minute.”
“I know.”
“You saw me?”
“I always see you.” His deep voice rumbles through me, warming me to my toes. “You want…I’ll take you home. I’ve got my bike.”
“No motorcycles.” Tag glares, first at Ray and then at me. “First, you can’t ride without a helmet. It’s against the law in California. Second, motorcycles are dangerous. The coroner’s office has shelves lining the walls filled with motorcycle helmets from accidents. Look what happened last time.”
“Last time?” Ray frowns.
“She has a reckless side,” Tag says. “When she was seventeen, she started seeing some biker wannabe. I told her not to go, but she didn’t listen. He took her up to Napa Valley at eighty miles an hour and then crashed his bike on the way down. Only reason they weren’t killed was ’cause they were wearing helmets. Sia was so badly bruised up, she couldn’t go to school for a week.”
Ray lifts an eyebrow and I shrug.
“It was a mechanical problem, not a driving error. Other than the accident, it was the biggest thrill of my life.”
“I brought an extra helmet.” He glances over at Tag, the faintest hint of a smile playing across his lips before he turns those beautiful blue eyes on me. “In case you were here.”
My heart lifts, sings, dances. Not a chance encounter. He was looking for me. I have a second chance.
“Sia.” I catch the warning in Tag’s tone. Dangerous man. Dangerous bike. It’s been a long time since I did dangerous.
For a moment, I’m torn. Do I stay safe with Tag, or do I go with the man who makes my heart pound and my knees weak? A man who can make me feel both ecstasy and despair in the span of a heartbeat? Even though I feel I can trust him, how can I trust myself when I misjudged Luke so badly? Not once since that night at the frat house have I even considered being with a man as dominant as Ray. I thought I could never allow myself to be that vulnerable again. Instead, I went for guys like Charlie and James: risk free and risk averse. Easygoing to the point of always letting me take the lead, they demanded nothing and never questioned why I was holding back. They treated me like porcelain and under their sympathy, I cracked.
But since then, I never once really felt alive—the way I did that day in Napa Valley. The way I feel when I’m with Ray. Free. Normal. What if I had just one more taste?
“I’ll go with Ray.”
Surprise
“You’ll go with Ray?”
Tag launches into a rant to end all rants. Motorcycles aren’t safe. Ray has just come out of a fight. I don’t know Ray. On and on it goes until I want to melt into a humiliated puddle. Ray listens, amused, until Tag pauses for a breath.
“She’ll be safe with me, Fuzz. You have my word. I would never put her in danger.”
Only slightly mollified, Tag glances from me to Ray and back to me. Then he presses his lips together, huffs a good-bye, and walks across the street to his Pathfinder. Moments later, he drives past, revving his motor in displeasure.
“You wanna take a walk?” Ray slips an arm around me, as if that awful moment between us never happened. “I need to cool down before I get on the bike.”
“Sure.” My stomach gets all fluttery, like we’re on a date, as he leads me down to the waterfront. We’re going for a walk. A real walk. Like I do with my normal dates, except the guy has usually come from work and not a bloody underground fight, and smells of starch and laundry detergent and not blood, sweat, and sawdust.
During the day, Jack London Square, an open-air plaza on the Oakland waterfront, buzzes with activity. Jess and I have spent many Sunday afternoons at the farmer’s market, riding around on our rental bikes and eating ice cream as we watch the container ships load and unload. At night, we’ve watched movies under the stars, danced, and closed down restaurants with groups of friends. Tonight, however, it is unusually quiet. A soft breeze blows off the water, bringing with it the faint scent of diesel and crisp ocean air, the quiet disturbed only by the loud clatter of the occasional Amtrak train.
“Sorry,” I say, as we skirt around a couple walking hand in hand heading toward the ferry. “Having a brother is sometimes a bit of a pain.”
Ray shakes his head. “He loves you. Don’t take that for granted.”
“Do you have a brother?”
His arm tightens around me. “Long time ago. He died when I was eight.”
My heart squeezes in my chest and I stop in my tracks, forcing Ray to stop too. “I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t have brought it up if I’d known.”
He tugs me along, heading along the waterfront toward the archway. “’S okay. We were close, like you and Tag.”
“What happened to him?”
Ray draws in a deep breath and looks out over the water. “For part of my childhood, before he died, we lived in Indiana. We spent all our free time riding the trails in the forest behind our house on our dirt bikes. There was a hill in the middle. Damn steep. Always the best part of the ride.”
I slip my arm around his waist, just to let him know I’m here. And although I’ve walked the waterfront hundreds of times, I let him take the lead.
“I was older by a year, so I always went first. Checked the trail to make sure it was safe. One afternoon, Scott raced out of the house before me. I chased after him, but he was damn fast that day and he got to the hill first. I told him to wait, let me check the trail, but he didn’t. There was a rock halfway down. He hit the front brake by mistake and went right over the handlebars. I saw it like it was in slow motion, knew it was going to be bad and there was nothing I could do to stop it. He landed on his head. No helmet. Didn’t make it…”
“Oh God, Ray. How awful.” I turn and wrap my arms around him, holding him still.
He shrugs. “My parents said it wasn’t my fault. But I didn’t believe them. If I’d just been a little bit faster that day…” He exhales a long breath. “Kinda shut everyone out after that. Couldn’t imagine going through the pain of losing someone ever again. But then I did.”
I want to ask him who else he lost, but this isn’t the time. “I can’t even imagine how it would feel to lose Tag.” I lean up and press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m so sorry you lost him, Ray. Thank you for sharing it with me.”
He studies me for a long moment, then brushes a kiss over my forehead. “You got a way of unlocking a man’s secrets. Bad and good.”
Swallowing hard, I pull away. I hope he doesn’t unlock any of mine. I don’t want him to think I’m anything other than normal.
We walk for half an hour until the light has faded and only couples linger on the waterfront. Ray leads me to the front of the machine shop and pulls open the door.
“Gotta grab the helmets and my bag from inside and then lock up.” With a hand on my lower back, he directs me inside, then turns on one of the spotlights that had previously illuminated the ring.
While he gathers his stuff, I wander through the shadows, trailing my fingers over the cold, dusty machinery. The air is thick with the smell of wood chips and blood and the fainter scent of oil. A soft breeze ruffles my hair. Above me, someone has opened a window. I reach up to close it, stretching on my tippy toes.
“Don’t move.”
My body freezes, one hand on the latch. “Did you want me to leave it open?”
A sound escapes his throat, a cross between a growl and a groan. I look back over my shoulder and Ray comes up behind me, covering me with his body. Without a word, he slides his hands around my waist, warm on the skin bared by the rise of my tank top.
“Like you like this.” His voice rumbles through me, thick with desire, washing away the memory of the studio and replacing it with warmth and the heat of arousal.
“Liked watching you in the ring.” I stretch a little farther, giving him more to touch. “There’s something about all that power, unleashed, that makes me…”
“Makes you what?” His breath in my ear sends a delicious shiver down my spine.
Emboldened by his hands stroking their way up my shirt and his erection pressed firmly against my ass, I say, “Makes me think about what could have happened in the alley…or the studio if I hadn’t…done what I did.”
His hands glide over my skin, beneath my T-shirt, to cup my breasts. “You drove me out of my fucking mind is what you did. Almost lost control. Had to get outta there ’cause if I’d stayed, I didn’t know what would happen.”
My lust-sodden brain is slow to process his words, but when it does, I draw in a sharp breath. He left because of him? Not because of me? “I thought you didn’t like it.”
Ray shoves my bra up and cups my naked breasts in his warm palms as he nuzzles my neck. “My girl, wantin’ me so bad…nothing hotter than that.”
My
girl
. I like it. I want it. For real. But his explanation, flattering as it is, doesn’t really explain his reaction or the curious expression I caught on his face before he smoothed it away. “She wants you now.”
“Don’t want to scare you like I did before.”
“You didn’t scare me. I just have…issues with…my hands and…my clothes.” Understatement of the year. But I’m not about to spill the whole sorry story of my PTSD and my triggers to a hot guy who is very obviously aroused and has his hands on my breasts.
“You gonna tell me about it? Anything else you need to tell me?”
My stomach clenches. “No. Just…a quirk. I don’t let it get in the way of what I want.”
“What do you want?” One hand presses against my stomach, pulling me against him, while the other tangles in my hair, yanking my head back, exposing my throat to the burn of his lips. “Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”
“I want to feel.” I clench my hands against the windowsill. “Really feel. I want your hands and your mouth on me. I want your cock and your fingers inside me. Even if it’s just now, tonight, and we’re done.”
His body quivers, vibrates against me, as if he is exerting great effort to hold himself back.
“Fuck me,” he groans.
“I’m trying.”
Wrong thing to say. Or maybe, right thing to say. His hand glides up and he squeezes my left breast, his thumb brushing over my nipple, making me ache with longing. And then he freezes.
“You’re pierced.”
“Yeah. Like Tag said, I’ve got a bit of a reckless side.” Not quite the whole truth. When my therapist suggested I try to find other ways to reclaim my sexuality after one-night stands and a relationship with Charlie didn’t do it, I decided to get piercings in the areas I felt had been most violated. Jess thought I was crazy, but my therapist was very supportive, especially after I told her about the cute new tattoo artist and piercing specialist at work named Duncan.
He gently strokes his thumb over the little silver ring in my left nipple and my sex clenches in response.
“Fucking hot.”
“Glad you approve. I have another surprise for you, but I’m saving it for later.”
Ray growls and scores his teeth over my nape, sending zings of pleasure through me. I moan and arch my back, wanting more.
“You like that,” he says.
“No one has ever bitten my neck before, so it just might be the whole new-experience thing.”
He licks over the bite, and I rub my ass against the bulge in his jeans. “More.”
“So responsive. You’re gonna be dripping by the time I’m done with you if you react that way to a lick.”
My hands slide down the wall, and I look back over my shoulder, my eyes watering as my hair pulls in his grip. “I hope that’s a promise.”
“Christ.” His breath is hot against my neck. “I pegged you wrong. Thought you were more reserved. But you’re a little minx, aren’t you?” He gives my nipple ring a rough tweak and I gasp. “How rough can I be with this?” He tweaks again like a kid with a new toy, and I shudder as the pleasure pain shoots straight to my clit.
“I don’t know. No one has ever played with it before.”
Ray stills and releases my hair. “No one?”
“You’re my first. I’m a nipple ring virgin.”’
For a long moment, he doesn’t move. I can feel his chest heaving against my back, his cock pressing into the cleft of my ass, then his hand feathers over my breast and he gives the ring a tug, his voice laced with amusement. “So.”
Tug
. “How.”
Tug
. “Was.”
Tug
. “Your.”
Tug
. “First.”
Tug
. “Time?”
By the time he’s done, my nipple is tight and peaked, my breast swollen, and I am so wet, my panties are soaked.
“Good,” I whisper. “You never forget the first. But maybe you should stop playing with your new toy and see what other present I have for you under my clothes.”
He presses a soft kiss to my shoulder, then backs away. “Clothes off and prepare to be searched.” His voice is warm, lush, and filled with sensual promise. But I am oh so aware that, dominant as he is, he’s mindful of my issue with being undressed. A warm, fluttery feeling spreads from my belly, beating back the memories.
“Help me.”
And he does. His hands over my hands, we slide my shirt and bra up and over my head, his fingers tangling with mine, caressing my body as I am bared for his pleasure. When we get to my shoulders, I raise my arms and Ray takes over. Slow and sensual, his fingers glide over my skin, filling me with the sensation of his touch. When he reaches my hands, he yanks the clothing over my head and tosses it to the floor with a victory growl.
“Back in position.” He smooths his hands down my arms and places my palms against the cool metal surface of the shop wall. And then he is everywhere, his hands roaming over my body, setting fire to my skin. When he has thoroughly touched and kissed every inch of my exposed skin, he tugs out my ponytail holder. My hair fans out across my back in a silken wave.
“Fuck. I love your hair.” He strokes his fingers through the strands. “Don’t put it up when you’re with me.”
“Guess that means I won’t be with you when I’m exercising or doing ink.” With a grin, I look back over my shoulder, but my smile fades at the intensity of his stare.
“You know what I do to girls who give me attitude?” He kicks my legs apart, then smooths his hand over my ass.
Desire, dark and delicious, curls through my body. “What do you do?”
His hand tightens, fingers digging into my flesh. “I spank them.”
I make a soft sound, deep in my throat. Morbid fascination, dangerous desire—everything I’ve imagined but never thought could be real, he offers with a brush of his fingertips. “I’ve never been spanked,” I whisper. “But I think I might like it.”
His deep, satisfied rumble pulses between my legs. “You’re gonna kill me, sayin’ things like that.” He circles my waist with his hands, his fingers lingering on the waistband of my jeans, skimming along the inside, his touch an erotic tickle that makes me writhe against him.
“Don’t move.”
“Then don’t do things that make me want to push you to the ground and tear off your clothes.”
He chuckles, amused. “We’ll get to that later. Right now, you’re taking off your jeans and I’m gonna help you, like last time.”
With a vicious tug, he reaches around and opens the zipper, then positions my hands on my hips and covers them with his palms, guiding me as I push down my jeans. Although he is working around my trigger, he is still totally in control, and I tremble, overwhelmed with the knowledge that for the first time, I can have what I want without the past getting in the way.
He crouches beside me, offering his shoulder as I toe off my shoes and kick my jeans away. Then he licks his lips and barks, “Back to the wall.”
My mouth waters at his tone—low, commanding, authoritative. Intensely erotic. He is so unlike any man I have ever been with. I turn without thinking, curiosity overriding reticence and my fear of losing control.
Crouched in front of me, Ray glides his hands up my legs, his fingers drawing lazy circles over the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, turning my thoughts to the throbbing between my legs. Unable to resist, I run my hands through the soft fuzz on his head.
He looks up, his eyes hooded with desire, then stands, dwarfing me with his massive body. With one hand pressed against the wall beside me, he glides a finger along the edge of my silky red panties, his lips curling into a satisfied smile when I whimper.
“You like red panties?”
“I like what’s hidden by red panties.” His naughty finger glides over my mound, brushing over the thin slip of fabric covering my aching clit. My breath catches in my throat, and I arch my back and moan.
“You want more?” His voice rumbles in my ear as he slides his hand down to cup my sex.