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I was not only in awe of his ability, but the dedication he put forth to training for the event. When I watch him now, he’s not the same rider he used to be. Something’s missing, but every once in a while, you’ll get a glimpse of the old Tiller. Like tonight. And I can’t tell if it’s the event, or that he’s changing.
Look at him. He’s sitting on his bike with Shade, Roan, and two other riders, discussing the jumps. But do you notice the way girls are all around them, hanging on their every word?
Even with the distance between us, the heat of his stare burns my skin, conveying his want, hisneedthrough his eyes. And I know very well the power those eyes hold.
Women flock to him, surrounding, pushing their tits in his face and their children at him in attempt to say, “My little girl loves you.” When in reality, it’s not the child, it’s the mother. Heck, sometimes they use other people’s kids to get close to him. It’s so disturbing the levels women lower themselves to when they want to get an athletes attention.
When they lean in for a selfie with him, he gives them a thrill by wrapping his arm around them, giving them a little something to take home. Only it bothers me more now that I’ve slept with him than it ever did before.
Half dressed, inked from head-to-toe, woman after woman walk past me after getting photographs with Tiller, Shade, or even Roan. Each one gush over things like, Shade’s riding ability or his eyes, what little they saw of them behind his sunglasses he usually never removes and commenting on, “Did you see how blue his eyes are up close?”
They’re attracted to Roan’s smile, dirty yet playful.
And after meeting Tiller, “He looks scary, but I’d totally fuck him.”
When the women leave, Tiller looks at me, watching my reaction. Running his hand through his hair, he winks at me and then leans forward, resting his arms on the handle bars of his bike. I hate the jealousy gnawing at my belly and my heart.
The event is far from over. There are people partying everywhere, music blaring through the streets. The scream of the bikes fills the night, an open field in the hills of Pasadena taken over by the wild and out of control lifestyle of freestyle motocross. A light haze moves in the air, a combination of the smoke from the distant fires and the exhaust from the bikes screaming in the night. I walk around, the grounds dry and dusty from the blazing heat of the California drought.
There I am, between the trailers, tucked away from the crowd, trying to gather my nerves and get a handle on being jealous. I knew this would happen and I shouldn’t be surprised, should I? I’ve been to these events before and seen women hang all over him. Heck, I’ve even seen him kiss other women in front of me, just to get a rise, and though he’s not taking it that far tonight, I can tell he’s judging my reactions every time one approaches him, waiting to see what I might do.
I know before I feel him, because his presence near me sends a thrill of ecstasy through my body. He grabs my hips from behind, his face buried in the crock of my neck. “I don’t want them.”
Turning around, we stare at one another for a moment, and then he steps forward, his eyes low on my body. Pushing the hair from his forehead, I let my fingers linger on his face. “It sure didn’t seem like that.”
“I don’t want them,” he repeats, his voice never wavering.
“Just because we’ve had sex now, you expect me to believe that? Why would it change anything?”
He ignores me.
I push back away from him, just a few inches when he traps me against the side of the trailer. “Not right now.”
“You’re saying no?” He raises an eyebrow, and I nod. “Don’t you want to show those girls who I belong to?” Resting his hand on my jaw, he moves it back slightly so his thumb runs over my bottom lip.
His eyes fall—watching the tentative touch—lazy-lidded, and then back to mine. He stares at me, memories flashing of the way those women hung on him plaguing my thoughts. And then his demeanor softens, shifts away from the harshness he usually displays.
“I can’t stop thinking about how much I want you.” Leaning in, he kisses me, hungry lips seeking mine, desperate, needing. His tongue strokes my lips before pulling my bottom one into his mouth harshly. “I saw the way you were watching me. You want this too.” Sighing, he draws back, mouth lingering over the top of mine. “Why do you torture me?”
My body trembles. His fingers knot in my hair, grasping a handful and pulling his mouth to mine.
“How am I torturing you?” Losing myself in the moment, my need is just as strong, and I kiss him back. Part of me knows we shouldn’t be doing this, outside in plain sight for everyone to see, but nothing can stop me when he’s like this with me.
In the distance, Imagine Dragon’s “Radioactive” blares through the night as Shade is announced over the loudspeaker.
Certainly aware of the reasonswhywe shouldn’t do this here, Tiller cares about none of that as he unzips his riding pants to get himself freed enough to move. “You just are,” he says, finally answering my question.
Gripping his neck, my hands fist in his hair, tighter, never wanting to let go. Still working on his pants, he moans quietly again as our tongues meet, a sound barely heard over the uproar surrounding us. Laughter to our left draws my attention. It’s those same girls who were hanging all over him, only now they notice me, my legs wrapped around his waist and him pinning me to the side of his trailer.
Would it be appropriate to stick my tongue out?
Oh, my God. I can’t believe we’re doing this in public.
Moving backward at his lead, he presses me against the side of the trailer, keeping me in place against the metal side with his hips, so strong and forceful I can’t move even if I wanted. The burning in my stomach aches with need, my body arching against him in response, wanting him to fulfill the need.
Shaking, my body curves, bending around his, craving the quiet groans that fall from his lips. “That’s it. Give in to me.”
He knows the instant I do.