Page 14 of Badd Ass

I held up my glass. “Get me more wine?”

“Nope, no more wine,” he said, taking my glass from me and setting it on the counter by his elbow. “What I’d really love is to see you on your knees in front of me, letting me fuck these tits.” He cupped one breast over my shirt as he ground against me.

“Is that so?” I was out of quippy comebacks, and had to resort to breathy slut-whispered come-on questions.

“The only way your tits could get any sexier is with my come all over them. And your mouth. And your chin.” He bit my lower lip, then, staring down at me. “And your stomach. And that juicy ass of yours, too.”

Holy shit. My core was throbbing, and my hands were shaking. “You want to paint me white with your sperm, is what you’re telling me.”

“Pretty much.” His hand, formerly on my hip, was angling toward my ass. “And then clean you off in the shower so I can get you dirty all over again.”

I struggled through the haze of lust he’d created inside me, looking for that resolve I’d had for about thirty seconds—the amount of time it had taken to walk from the booth to this corner. In those thirty seconds, I’d had an idea. A stupid, crazy, bound-to-fail idea. Yet…it had sounded just crazy enough even to myself that I’d been prepared to ask Zane what he thought about it. And then he’d started talking dirty to me, and I’d lost my train of thought.

I rested my forehead against his chest and focused on breathing through the raging wildfire that was my out-of-control libido. His hand was exploring my ass over my jeans, which was making it hard to think clearly, because I really,reallyliked the way he touched my butt.

I reached back, grabbed his hand, and moved it to my hip. “Down boy, I’m thinking.”

He titled his head to one side quizzically. “About what?”

I settled my hormones, and gazed up at him. “About something I’d like to talk to you about. But I think we need to go somewhere quieter.” I held up my hand to forestall the dirty comment I knew was coming. “No, not my hotel or your apartment. Somewhere public, but quiet.”

He scratched the side of his jaw with his fingertips, making a skritching sound on his stubble. “Huh. Sounds intriguing. I might know a place.”

Chapter 4

Zane

I’d borrowedXavier’s bike since he was, ironically, the only one of us with his own wheels—it turned out Bax had only rented that Harley for the wedding, and I’d had to return it for him today. I’d paid the bill, too, since I felt guilty for the nasty slice on his thigh. Thirty-one stitches and strict orders to take it easy for a while. Yeah, the bastard was going to milk that doctor’s order for all it was worth. He’d be wheedling his way out of work at the bar left and right, claiming he had to stay off his leg. And I’d let him, because the guilt was a bitch. An inch or two higher and it would have severed his femoral artery and he’d have died. And there was still no guarantee his football career wouldn’t be affected by it. They said he’d heal up fine, but still. I felt guilty.

I led Mara out of the noisy bar, and swung a leg over the seat of the bike. “Hop on,” I said.

She eyed the motorcycle warily. “You have a bike?”

“Nah, it’s Xavier’s, I’m just borrowing it.”

“Do you know how to ride one?”

I snorted in derision. Kicking up the kickstand, I angled away from the curb, checked for traffic, and then twisted the throttle hard, and kept the front brake squeezed, sending the back tire spinning to push the back around in a tire squealing arc. When I was facing the opposite direction, I released the brake so the bike bolted forward like a shot. As soon as I hit optimum speed, I slowed down a little, leaned forward, barked the throttle and yanked back on the handlebars. The front wheel left the ground and I kept steady on the throttle, popping a wheelie for a good fifty yards before setting it down and braking in a skidding arc to face back toward where Mara was standing.

I pulled forward next to her, grinning. “That answer your question?”

“Show off,” she muttered. “So you can ride a motorcycle. Just don’t pull any of that shit when I’m on it with you.”

“No ma’am,” I said. “We’ll just cruise nice and easy.”

I gave Mara the one helmet and, to her credit, she slid it on without complaining about her hair—the last time I’d tried to get a chick on a bike, she’d bitched about the helmet ruining her hair, so we’d ended up Ubering it back to her place. Mara, however, just jammed that sucker onto her head without hesitation, swung on behind me, and snugged her thighs around mine, her arms clasping around my middle.

“You’ve done this before,” I remarked.

“Yeah,” she answered. “My dad has a Harley…I used to ride with him all the time.”

There was something dark and heavy in that, which I left well enough alone. As promised, I went easy, cruising nice and slow south toward 3rdAvenue and the Rainbird Trail parking area. It was after midnight and pitch black, but I knew this area as well as I knew my own reflection in the mirror—I used to bring girls here all the time, actually, because it’s a damn amazing spot. I parked, swung off, and held Mara’s hand as she climbed off, plucking the helmet from her head and shaking her hair out.

“A parking lot?” she asked, looking around.

Dark as it was, and being a tourist, she wouldn’t be able to see much apart from the dark bulk of a hillside to our right, and the sky to our left, and maybe a hint of starlight on the water. Not too impressive…yet.

I just grinned at her as I dug through the saddlebags Xavier had added to his Triumph; my youngest brother was a practical and always-prepared sort, and I figured he’d have…aha, bingo—a compact, ultra-bright LED flashlight. I clicked it on and flashed it around, satisfied that it would do the job.