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I don’t waste time. My hands eagerly stroke his erection, so hard, smooth and perfect. When I take him deep inside and let him hit the back of my throat, his hands fist in my hair.
“Stop,” he tells me and shoves me back. I scoot to the center of the bed, watching him reach for the condom in his shorts after kicking away the remainder of his clothes. The moonlight catches his eyes and I get a glimpse of the lust in them and the way he has his head bent, concentrating on the wrapper of the condom.
When he gets the condom on, he climbs between my legs.
There’s a moment I can’t shake. It’s when he enters me and my body curves around his. It doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as it did the first time.
His hand flies from my hips to my neck and pushes my head down into the pillow. Tiller knows how to fuck. It seems so dirty to say it like that, but he’s a god on a dirt bike and fucks just as good.
“You fucking love this shit. . . don’t you?” he whispers in my ear, the roughness somewhat unnerving. “You portray innocence, but you crave fucking my cock, don’t you?”
“Yes!” I moan.
Nipping at my neck, his teeth drag over my heated skin. It’s like fire and ice. I fear the cold but crave the burn.
“Fuck. . . .” Tiller shudders, his body trembling when I wrap my arms around his neck. “You’re so fucking wet.” His feet move, his knees spreading slightly, bracing himself and gaining some leverage to move easier. When he does, his head falls forward to my shoulder. He’s found the right line for sure.
Tossing my head back, I close my eyes, letting him take me. His hands stay on my hips, fingers digging into my flesh with each thrust. No words are said after that. We’ve gone to that place where our problems don’t exist. A place that we’ve created and we’re the only visitors.
His left hand moves to my neck when he lifts up slightly, watching me, his thumb on one side, his fingers on the other with just the slightest pressure on the artery. It’s enough that I feel the blood flow leave, but not enough that I can’t breathe. He’s rough. He’s always rough and that’s where the arrogance comes from. He knows what I like, even if I can’t tell him; he doesn’t give a shit. I’m quickly finding out when I’m with him, like this, there are no rules. He takes what he wants and gives it just as hard.
My nails dig into his arms, each pass leaving a raised red mark. This is me begging him to fuck me harder, give me everything he has to give.
He knows.
He provides.
With a grunt, his hips drive into me unrelenting and his right hand pushes my head into the pillow a little harder.
Gasping at the sensation, Tiller moves both hands and then curls them over the tops of my shoulders, the leverage he needs. Still on my back, with my feet flat against the mattress, I push up and arch into him, working together.
With a frustrated gasp, Tiller moves his hands to my ass, forcing me into his movements. “Jesus. . . I fucking needed youso bad,” he cries into my hair, pushing it to the side, his hands tangling in it.
Me too.
Me.
Too.
I exhale noisily, moaning into his ear. That provokes him, and he groans again, and then finds my mouth.
Maybe it’s his lips.
Maybe it’s the passion.
Maybe it’s just. . .him.
We come together, panting and cursing. His entire body tenses as the warmth crashes over us. While I have him, like this, it’s his heart I can’t reach.
Moments later, he’s restless in the silence around us, bathed in moonlight and the Santa Ana winds rustling through my cracked window. He’s near the window, smoking, and this is when I’m curious. He gets quiets, a weight on his mind, heavy on his heart. These are the times when I want to beg him to talk to me like he did when we were kids, before he shut down inside. I want him to speak the truth because sometimes, even the roughest of us need to get the messy thoughts out. But he doesn’t because he always says, “I can’t dirty you with me.”
I don’t know what that means, but behind the lost eyes, he’s begging to be loved.
We’re at a jump show. And by we, I mean Tiller and me. We even rode together. River stayed back at the house with Scarlet since she wasn’t feeling well, and Scarlet wanted to cuddle her. Poor River caught a cold and all I can think about is my parents getting upset that she’s sick and somehow blaming me for it.
“Riders meeting in ten minutes!” they announce over the PA system.
I’ve been around dirt bikes my entire life. Motocross, Supercross, flat track, you name it and I’ve been involved in it. I can say without a doubt freestyle is home for me. Probably because it reminds me of Tiller. I can still remember the first time I saw him perform at the level he’s at now. He was sixteen, two weeks before the X Games and I snuck into the practice runs to watch him perform a double backflip combo and land it with no hands.