Page 78 of Jazz

The girl shrugged. “Only room that’s free is two.”

“That’ll do,” he said tensely. “Tell Gina I’m here when she’s done.”

Chase beckoned to me, grabbing both rucksacks and stepping past me. The stairs creaked as he climbed them. The carpet here was as luxurious and thick as the room at the top of the house, and for a second, I felt a tiny bit guilty I still had my bike boots on. Downstairs reeked of petrol and heat. That wild, intoxicating mix of oil, exhaust, and adrenaline that clung to the bikes like sweat on skin. The air was alive with it. But step by step, it faded. The raw scent of the road gave way to something softer, richer. Perfume, spiced candles, the lingering sweetness of wine and sex. By the time I reached the landing, the smell of the bikes was just a ghost on my clothes, smothered by velvet and sin.

I eyed the deep red lounge as we walked past, tempted to stop off and polish off one of those fuck-off expensive bottles of spirits. That would numb the reality of being back here, at the house of Chase’s first love. But Chase wasn’t stopping, stalking across the landing past the closed door with the brass number one on it, loud moans coming from inside. I lingered half a second until Chase stared at me from over his shoulder, and I scurried past the door, following him into the next room.

The room was like the one at the top of the building, velvet lined walls, a big mahogany bed, each corkscrew shaped post in the corner rearing up. The sheets were the same satin, red and black. Dark and seductive.

Chase dropped the rucksacks onto the floor with a thud.

“What’s in these anyway?” I asked after carrying the heavy lump on my back as we raced through dark Middlesbrough streets.

“Look,” Chase answered, stripping off his hoodie and sitting on the bed.

I pulled the one I’d been carrying towards me. The zip rasped open, and the smell rolled out: thick, papery, and rich. A smell somewhere between old books and engine oil, laced with sweat and the faint metallic bite of the ink that printed them. I’d smelt money before; wads counted behind a bar, the odd stuffed envelope, but never this much. It was everywhere, soaking into the fabric of the rucksack, heavy and heady, like power you could breathe in. The kind of money you didn’t see in banks. Bundles and bundles, packed in so tight the fabric bulged. My stomach flipped. Enough to buy a life. Or bury one.

I looked back at Chase, to where he sat, his elbows propped on his knees, his chin resting on his fists, watching me.

“All mine,” his low voice rumbled in the room. “Not all legit. Those rare bikes weren’t ethically sourced. Some of those custom parts were half-inched. But the work to rebuild these bikes, to get them running again. That was all me.”

I turned back to the bag, taking out a wad and thumbing over the top of it, the metallic smell rising from it as it moved.

“I don’t have a plan, Jazz,” he said, more quietly now. “I’ve no idea what we do from here. I don’t know what tomorrow looks like. Or the day after. Or the day after that.”

There was fear in his voice. A hint of panic and exhaustion. I pushed off the floor and moved to him, pulling his arms from under his chin and tipping it so that he was staring up into my eyes.

“We’ll be ok. I know it. We’ll ride till we’re tired, find somewhere to bunk down and rest, and then go again the next day. And the next day. And the next day. We’ll figure it out as we go. We don’t have to have a plan, just a direction. That’s all.”

His arms wrapped round my waist, pulling me between his legs as I reached my head down so that my lips met his. The kiss was slow. Our lips smoothing over each other, exploring. Gentle. Careful. Until it wasn’t. Our tongues meeting, an electric energy surging between us.

Chase’s fingers reached for the button on my bike trousers, popping it open and yanking at the zip. His hand dived inside, searching for my pussy, fingers stroking over me as I pushed into him, not letting his mouth drop from mine. He danced over me, his other hand pushing the leather over my hips, and grumbling against my mouth when he struggled.

He broke the kiss, taking his hand out of my trousers, and looking up at me.

“Naked. Now,” he growled, and I recognised the look in those hazel eyes, more green than brown.

I didn’t fight, shrugging out the leather jacket, pulling the thin jumper off over my head. Chase’s eyes swept over my chest, over the black lace of my bra.

“That’s not naked, Tiger. Keep going.”

I unclipped the clasp, letting the material fall away, listening to his heavy exhale, watching the lick of his lips like he was ready to eat me. He pushed me backwards, creating some space, and I pushed the leather trousers down my legs, stepping out of the lacy thong, watching his pupils dilate.

“Fucking stunning,” he breathed.

“Your turn.” My voice threatened to break under the tension.

He yanked off the hoodie, wincing as he moved, red and purple bruises covering him underneath. Over his chest, acrosshis stomach, on his legs as he guided the jeans to the floor, his cock springing free, distracting me from his injuries.

I reached out towards his chest, to touch my fingers over the mottled skin, but his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist, pulling me back into him. His face buried in my chest, his lips smoothing over my skin, his tongue trailing across, pausing at a nipple already tight and ready for his attention. He paused at the end, flicking his tongue out like he might taste the very end and then stopping.

“You sure you want to come with me, Tiger?” His words tickled over the needy pertness of my nipples, a shiver of anticipation racking my body.

“Yes.” I tried to pull his head closer.

“We might never come back.”

“Don’t care. As long as I’m with you. I don’t give a fuck.”