Page 68 of Not So Goode

Not anywhere.

And I barely knew the woman, after all.

And there was shit she sure as hell didn’t know about me.

Deal breaker, make her run for the hills kinda shit.

I’d tell her, though. Let her run. But, no matter what, I would tell her.

First, though, I needed just one more taste of her sweetness. Needed to know what her softness was like. What all that thick black hair felt like draped all over my chest as she rode me to completion. What it would be like to have a woman as good and kind and sweet and real and smart as Charlie Goode, even if just for a little while.

I was under no illusions about the kind of man I was. I had a past that a woman of such refined sweetness and light like her wasn’t meant to touch. It would be like a mechanic’s grease-stained hand pawing a pristine white wedding dress.

Like sin darkening the perfection of an angel.

I could dally with her, but I couldn’t be with her, not really.

I could taste her, though. Just once more.

9

Charlie

What—a—day.

He’d been right: after the initial terrifying rush of air and speed and the road humming inches from my feet, and nothing around us…I was able to relax and just enjoy it. And god, I enjoyed it.

The rumble of the engine growling between my legs, the clear blue sky overhead, the warm air against my face, the wind in my hair, Crow’s broad back a pillow for my cheek, his muscled torso a firm wall to cling to, warm skin under my hands as his leather vest flapped. It was intimate and wild; a sense of freedom I never knew was even possible.

My heart just…sang. My soul rose, brightened. No matter what else happened, these hours on the bike behind Crow were a gift I’d never forget. He’d given me so many gifts already.

He’d made me feel safe, protected. Taken care of.

Listened to.

Appreciated.

Desired.

Needed.

Sexy, beautiful.

Powerful.

This morning, with him in my hands, watching him lose control under my mouth and my touch, I’d known power. He’d given it to me, surrendered it willingly. I understood it, then, the allure of that particular act. It can be used to dominate and degrade, yes, but so can many things. Done the way we’d done it, it was him surrendering to me. Honestly, it had been beautiful.

And, oh god, so unbearably erotic. His size, all for me. His body under my hands, his gasps, his stomach tensing, curling in, his thighs bunching powerfully, his head thrown back and then craned to watch me take him to the heights of pleasure.

And now this gift: freedom. Exhilarating, primal freedom.

I wanted to finish what we’d started, but there was just one problem: I was ravenously hungry. My stomach was growling loud enough to be heard over the roar and rumble of the bike. I kept one arm around his waist and with the other, I curled my hand up under his armpit, clinging to his shoulder to draw myself closer to his ear.

“Crow!”

He turned his head to the side, nodded. “Yeah?”

“I’m hungry!”