Losing Me, Finding You (22 page)

“I … um. Hmm.” She pauses and looks up at me, her long eyelashes framing those big, round eyes. It's enough to make me want to throw her against the wall and do her right here, condom or no condom. “We could do something else, you know?” she suggests.

I grin.

“You mean like oral fucking?” Amy snorts and turns away from me, giggling. When she turns back to me, her cheeks are rosy and full and her skin is flushed with color.
Fucking gorgeous. Prettiest damn girl I ever did see.

“I mean like taking a walk or going out to eat or … ” She shrugs. “Going for a ride?”

I pause, feeling like a complete and utter asshole, like it's finally just occurred to me that Amy and I could do something other than have sex with each other, that she's more than just a prospect and a good lay. Frankly, I'm sort of ashamed at myself.

“Alright, baby. Let me change my clothes and I'll take you out, show you how to ride.” I pause and rub my chin for a moment. “But we're also going to stop by the store and pick up condoms.” She blushes a bit, but I can't hold back a grin. “And when we get back,” I step close and press my lips against her forehead. “I'm going to take my time inside of you. I want you to feel my steel against the walls of your pussy.”

“I'd like that,” she whispers back, surprising me. “But I'd like to try it without a condom.”

I think I manage to actually shock Austin with my statement. Even more so maybe when I start to explain, gesturing wildly with my hands while I try to get the words out.

“I, um, I … ” I want to tell him that I've always had an irregular period and that my mama (behind my father's back of course) took me to the doctor and got me birth control pills to regulate it. I've taken them religiously ever since, so I'm well prepared, but I don't know how much of this information I should share with Austin Sparks. I mean, we've had sex, but we don't
really
know each other (which is also a very strange concept to grasp). “I'm on birth control pills,” I blurt, and I swear to God, the grin that splits his tanned face next looks like it's about to break it in half.

“No shit?” he asks as I swallow and clear my throat, preparing to ask my next question.

“But you … do you … do you normally … ”
Do you normally use a condom? What about that girl last night? Did you use one with her?
I know that merely
asking
the man isn't enough to guarantee my safety, but I'm all about taking risks right now (though I wouldn't recommend my course of action to anyone else). But this is my life and my choice and whether the decision is right or wrong, I'm going to make it and stand by it.

“Doll, if you're asking what I think you're asking then I haven't had bareback sex since I was a fucking kid. Far as I know, I'm clean.” His head snaps up and he winks at someone down the hallway. When I turn and look, I see two terrified old people glaring at us. I flush and turn away.

“Yes, that's what I was trying to ask.”
How sexy is this?
I think.
They never cover this part in romance novels.
If they did, maybe I could actually find a sexier way to go about asking the damn question.

“I ain't ever been tested, but I'm not a fucking whore like Beck.” Austin shrugs. “It's your call to make, beautiful, but I can tell you that I wouldn't do it if I thought I might hurt you.” I look up at him and study his strong cheekbones, his firm jaw, his full lips. He somehow manages to put even my idealized image of Glance Serone to shame.

“So you would do it?” I ask him, clearing my throat again. “You think it's okay?”

“Aw, baby,” he says, stepping in and wrapping me up in his arms. I like that. I like being hugged by this man, this stranger. When he pulls me up against his broad chest, my pulse pounds in my ears, and I can't hear anything else. I wonder if I'm falling in love already or if it's just lust. How quick can love happen? Every book is different, of course. In some, they fall in love at first sight, swooning into one another's arms like butterflies, flitting together like they were never apart. In others, they grow together through months, even years, before they actually admit to the big 'L' word. I haven't the slightest clue since this is my first time, but I decide not to worry about it. Maybe it's about time I stopped quoting Sali Bend, but I can't seem to help myself; the woman has a saying for everything.
Love or lust – what's the big, damn deal? You're going to fuck either way, right?
“You're too damn cute. What the hell am I gonna do with you?”

“Teach me,” I say quietly, almost too quietly.

“Oh yeah. When I'm done with you, honey, you'll own that damn road.” I shake my head and try to figure out how to phrase this without coming across in the wrong way.

“Not just that,” I tell him. “I mean … everything. Teach me …
everything
.” Austin's brows shoot up to his hairline.
Yes,
I think defiantly.
I am asking for sex lessons, so sue me.

“You won't find me arguing that one, Cross,” he says to me, taking my mouth hard and fast and angling our bodies so that I'm pressed up against the wall. I can feel his erection grinding against me, igniting the heat between my thighs and making me wet in an instant. “First lesson,” Austin tells me, nibbling my lip gently. “When we're not on the road, wear a damn skirt.” He pulls back suddenly and tosses a wink at me, continuing down the hallway to our room with a very distinct swagger in his step. With a sigh and a body pulsing with need, I follow after him.

What on earth have I gotten myself into?

Austin and I take a walk through the town. St. Marlin's, I think it's called. It's small, even smaller than my hometown, but it has a lot of charm and the people seem more open-minded than the folks I grew up with. Austin asks around a bit and manages to glean enough information from the locals that we're able to follow their directions and locate a flat, empty bit of country road to practice on.

Austin parks the bike and makes us both climb off before he starts to teach. As soon as he switches into that mode, his face gets real serious.

“First things first,” he says, pointing at my outfit. I've got on the helmet again, my leather jacket, jeans, boots, and even a pair of leather gloves. “You might fall at first, so you want to be prepared. Until you're a seasoned expert, I want you wearing all the gear. Got it?” I nod my head and push my visor up, so I can see his face better. “Now, step up to your ride on the left side and spread those sweet thighs over your metal, baby.” I smile at Austin and follow his instructions. It's actually quite a bit harder than it looks – presumably since I'm so short and the motorcycle is so big. I doubt that Austin would have this much trouble, even if he was as much a newbie as me.

I manage to swing my leg over with absolutely zero grace and end up thumping onto the leather seat with a grunt. Austin grins and steps up beside me, putting one hand on my thigh and using the other to point out key parts.
Mirrors, foot peg, turn signal, horn, lights.

“Every bike is different, sugar, so make sure you check it out before you ride.” Austin pauses and climbs up behind me, leaning over me and doing his best to distract me by breathing hot and heavy against my neck. “Throttle is here. Brakes. Clutch. Shift pedal.” He pauses again. “Am I moving too fast?” I shake my head and try not to apply a sexual reference to that statement; it's nearly impossible.

“No, just right,” I whisper and I'm happy to hear Austin clearing his throat behind me. It's nice to know I'm not the only who feels this … this
thing
between us.

He moves on quickly, like if he stays quiet for too long, the feelings might overwhelm us both. I close my eyes for a brief moment and let his voice sink into me, hot and sultry and
Southern.
Combine that with the quiet stretch of road, the rolling fields, and the drone of cicadas, and I'm halfway to Heaven.
Perfect.
My family, that stupid video, my life as a
biker –
none of that even crosses my mind while I'm out here, basking in the golden glow of the sun, sweat soaking down my back where it's pressed against Austin's taut belly.

“Your right hand is responsible for two crucial functions,” he says and then stops, leaving a pregnant pause where I'm sure we're both inserting the dirtiest, nastiest things we can think of. Austin clears his throat again. “Acceleration and braking.”

“Acceleration and braking,” I repeat, just so he knows that I'm listening.

Austin's hands wrap around my waist and slide under the fabric of my shirt so that they're brushing against my bare skin. Immediately, my whole body goes up in flames and my pulse gets so loud that I can hardly hear what he's saying next.

“Make sure you grip it nice and firm, wrap those fingers around it and hold on tight.” I lick my suddenly dry lips and nod, caressing the handle bar nice and hard. “If you twist it towards you, you apply the throttle and gas the engine.” I nod and practice the motion, tilting my wrist down and pretending that I can hear the purr of the engine and feel the rumble between my thighs. “And, uh … ” I feel Austin shaking his head behind me, like he's trying to clear it. I don't blame him. This insatiable lust we have for one another is getting to be quite tiresome. I wonder how many times we're going to have to sleep together to sate it? Or if it will ever be sated. “The lever over here controls the front brakes. You want to keep your motion nice and smooth when you pull it or else you'll end up crashing the whole damn bike.”

“Nice and smooth,” I whisper, and I jump when Austin growls in my ear.

“Amy Cross, you knock that shit off.”

“Knock what off?” I ask him, glancing over my shoulder. Austin's got sweat rolling down his forehead and nose, and the skin on his muscular arms looks slick and wet. His tattoos gleam bright in the sunshine, highlighting the skulls and the pistols and the demon wings he's got on his shoulders.

“Being so damn sexy,” he snarls, leaning down and grazing his teeth against my ear. My whole body shudders, and I can't stop it. “If you don't stop, we might have to move onto those other lessons you asked about.”

“That would be okay with me,” I say, suddenly desperate to have him inside of me again. This time, with nothing between us. Austin laughs and grabs me around the waist, hoisting me up and lifting me off of the bike like I'm weightless. I like the feeling.

“Take off your pants,” he says simply and that's it. I turn around and stare at him, noticing that his eyes are like fire, waiting to wash over me and burn me to ash.

“What?” Austin grins and pulls out a cigarette, sticking it between his lips and taking off his vest. He tosses it onto the gravel by the side of the road like we're not out in the middle of the country, like we're right back in that hotel room together with all the privacy in the world.

“Take 'em off. This is your next lesson. If you don't wear a skirt, be prepared to take off your pants. Come on, sugar, let's get to it. We've gotta hurry before somebody drives by and sees us.”

“You're serious?” I ask him, getting chills and a gut wrenching belly ache.
Oh God, yes. I can't believe I waited twenty-one years for this feeling. It's incredible.

“As a heart attack,” Austin says, taking a drag on his cigarette and tossing it to the ground, so he can smash it under his boot. I nibble my lip for a moment and then start to unbutton my jeans. Austin's eyes follow the motion and narrow when I pause with the zipper halfway down.

“Take off your shirt,” I command him. I want to see what's under there. Three times we've had sex and not once have I gotten to see his chest and belly. He grins at me and obliges, tearing the black fabric off and tossing it down alongside his vest.

Austin is … Well, God, Austin is ripped. He's tight and muscular and I can see every muscle in his belly as clear as day. His skin stretches hot and slick over the firmness of his chest and stomach, dipping into his pants with a sprinkle of sandy hair. Above his pecs, he's got another skull tattoo surrounded by roses and on either side, a gun pointing inwards. Sweat glides across the colorful piece of art and gets caught between his muscles, sliding down and soaking into the waistband of his jeans.