Page 39 of Stone: The Precursor

Those words shouldn’t create the internal reaction they do, but my knees feel shaky when I stare up into those black eyes. What else can I do but nod? Speaking is not an option when all I can think about is how sexy that gruff voice sounded, uttering the phrase tight enough.

Stone steps off the curb and climbs aboard with ease, settling his weight and turning on the ignition. He lights one of those thin cigars, the embers glow brightly, watching me, daring me.

“Don’t have all night.”

Biting my lip at his dismissive tone, I step up to his bike and put my purse over my chest. As I lift my leg to climb behind him, I panic. My skirt is too short, and now I’m kicking myself for not wearing underwear. He stares at me, and I see that damn sexy smirk. Paralyzed, I blink, thinking about what to do. I need to straddle his behemoth of a bike with no underwear. My skirt wasn’t meant for climbing things. It was meant for me to stay upright, preserving decency. Fuck.

I grip the back of my skirt and climb on behind him, holding onto his shoulders for leverage. The moment I sit down, I wince. My wet pussy is right on his leather seat. I try not to moan when I feel the roughness of his jeans against my inner thigh. The space between us is infinitesimal. I can feel the heat from his back, and it warms me. That, combined with the vibrations from the motor, hit me right in my core. Power thunders through my bare pussy, overstimulating my clit. His bike is one giant vibrator with the sexiest man I’ve met in control of it. By the endof the ride, I’m going to come, soaking his seat. I clear my throat, hoping he didn’t hear my stifled moan.

Cool air brushes across my ass, and I look behind me, thankful that the sidewalk is relatively empty. I inch back, using one hand to press the front of my skirt down, hoping he doesn’t see my pussy and the wetness on his seat, while with my other hand I reach around in an attempt to tug down my short skirt. It’s not what I want to do. I want to rock my pussy on his seat and come while I hold his waist. I’ve been horny all night, and being this close to him is going to be tough.

“You need to move your hands.”

“What?” He twists and turns to look at me over his shoulder. His handsome face is so close to mine. One move and I could bridge the small gap. Boost myself up and kiss his mouth, touch that slightly bigger bottom lip to mine, flick the two rings in his lower lip with my tongue. The look in his eyes is primal, hungry.

“You need to hold it if you’re going to ride with me. Let go of the skirt, Countess.”

I hear it. The dare. The challenge. He knows. He knows I’m not wearing underwear. I remove my hands and rest them lightly on his waist, above his jacket. The leather is buttery soft.

“Not my jacket. Under,” he commands, and again I pray I won’t melt into a puddle. His voice alone is enough to make me twitchy. I slide my hands under and rest them on his waist; his firm, trim waist. Fucking hell. The image of me gripping that same waist as he climbs over my body and pushes his cock inside me is crystal clear. Son of a bitch. I’m drooling now. His stomach is flat as a board, and I can feel the ridges of his abs through his T-shirt. His smell envelopes me.

“Tighter.”

Shit. He’s going to make me crazy saying words like that in his gruff, gravelly voice.Don’t you dare think about what it would feel like for him to say it while your hand was aroundhis...I bite my lip to stop the image of my fingers lowering his zipper and my hand delving inside. I do as he says and hold his trim hips tighter; he’s pure muscle. My fingers curl into his T-shirt. I can feel his warmth, and I wish I were touching his skin, digging my fingers into his tattooed skin.

“Closer.”

I scoot my body closer and squeeze my thighs around his until the fabric of his jeans hits the top of my pussy. The friction is agony. Helpless to stop myself, I close my eyes and tilt my hips slightly. The rough denim meets my swollen clit, and stars burst beneath my eyelids.

Holy Fuck.

I press his helmet into his back, trying not to do it again.

“More.”

He grunts at the tight squeeze, and I rest my breasts against his back. He doesn’t move, and I bite my lips trying to slow down my heartbeat. It feels like he’s waiting for me. Does he know that a full-blown orgasm is looming, just out of reach?

“Good girl. Just like that.”

Yup. Going to make a mess on his seat.

I breathe a sigh of relief when he adjusts the mirrors next to him and flicks his cigarette into the air. It lands on the ground, the orange tip burning for a few seconds before extinguishing itself.

He shifts, and the bike moves as he walks us backward, then turns, looking back at me.

“Hold on.”

He drives with purpose, but confidently. I grip him, exhilarated. At one point, he makes a sharp turn, and I scream into his back, fearing that I’m going to fall off. His hand grips my thigh, keeping me in place. His touch sets off another burst of sensation. I feel so close to an orgasm. I hope the wind and sound of the engine hide the little moans. I’m seconds awayfrom coming. The constant reverberation and his closeness are wreaking havoc.

When he pulls up to the high-rise, I blink. Realizing I didn’t tell him where I lived. “How did you know where I lived?”

He maneuvers the large bike to the sidewalk and applies the brakes before putting both feet on the ground.

“Be careful of the muffler.”

I don’t understand his tone or the terseness behind it. What did I do? Using him as a stand, I carefully lift my leg over the back of the bike and quickly pull down my skirt. I undo his helmet and hand it to him shakily. He takes it slowly and attaches it to the side of his bike without saying a word. I smooth down my windblown hair and fidget, shivering in the wind.

You can do it, Camryn. Just ask him. Go for it.