Page 15 of Writing Mr. Wrong

MASON

A t first, Gemma had only gripped his jacket, which was kind of disappointing, but Mason had focused on the rest—her legs, the heat of her body, the thrill of having Gemma Stanton on the back of his bike.

Once they got up to speed, though, her hands moved to his hips, and when he took a tight curve, they went around his waist, nestled right under his jacket.

Yep, this had been a very fine idea indeed.

He would admit that a selfish sliver of him didn’t want to pull over at the arena for a lesson. That part wanted to keep going with Gemma exactly where she was, take off up the coast and feel her pressed against him, shifting closer around every corner and down every hill.

But he had promised a lesson, and so a lesson she was getting.

He took her to a suburban arena under construction, the back lot empty. Then he stopped the bike, lifted his visor, and looked over his shoulder at her.

“How you doing?” he asked. “Warm enough?”

She flipped up her visor, and her smile made his heart skip.

“Ready for a lesson?” he said.

“You really don’t need to,” she said. “I know you have insurance, but this is a very expensive—”

“I don’t care,” he said. “I care that you’re having fun, okay?”

Did her cheeks redden again? She ducked his gaze, almost shy, as she nodded.

“Now hop off, and I’ll set you up.”

She did, and he waited until she’d stepped away before swinging off himself.

“It really has been a long time,” she said.

“Do you still remember where the gas pedal is?”

She gave him a look for that. “Yes, I remember that a motorcycle has a throttle, not a pedal. I also rode dirt bikes as a kid. I know what I’m doing.

I just feel the need to be very clear that it has been a long time, in case you want to change your mind about me being on your very expensive…

” She turned, following as he walked behind her. “Where are you going?”

He grabbed her around the hips, making her give an adorably girlish shriek. “Helping you up. It’s a big bike. Also, you seem a little gun shy.”

“I am not—Put me down, Moretti.”

She squirmed and laughed. A delicious bubbly laugh that made him want to keep carrying her for as long as he could get away with it.

“Shit,” she said when he hoisted her onto the bike. “You aren’t kidding. This is way bigger than I’m used to.”

He couldn’t suppress a snorted laugh.

Her cheeks reddened, and she wagged a finger at him.

He lifted his hands. “You said it, not me.”

“Yeah, yeah. I just meant it’s a big bike.”

“I’m a big guy. Everything’s gotta be proportional.”

Her cheeks flamed now, but she smiled, too.

“I’m just saying that I’m accustomed to a much smaller…” She threw back her head. “Damn it. There is no way to make this any better, is there? Fine. I give up.” She looked him in the eye. “I’m accustomed to riding something much smaller.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s not about the size, Moretti. It’s about maneuverability. And in the case of a motorcycle, size is maneuverability.” She waved her boots. “My feet are nowhere near the ground. That isn’t safe.”

“I have an idea. First, though, let me get a photo.”

He shifted so he could get a shot while she was on the bike. When he showed it to her, she rolled her eyes.

“I look like a little kid trying out a big kid’s bike. Do not send that one.” She chewed her lip. “I’d like something where I look… I don’t know.”

“More like you know what you’re doing?”

She exhaled, as if relieved he got it. “Yes.”

He pocketed the phone. “We’ll circle back to that. For the lesson, what if I get on behind you?”

“Uh…”

He put his leg up and eased on, and he really just meant to test the fit, but then he slid firmly up against her as she bent forward to reach the handlebars.

He looked down to see his crotch pressed up against Gemma’s ass. His cock had already started stirring from that conversation, and now it just kept rising as it found itself in a very comfortable spot indeed.

Oh yeah. He was really glad he stopped for this lesson.

“How’s this?” he said.

“Better, I think?”

She wriggled backward, and he tensed, but if she felt anything, she must have mistaken it for his jacket and kept adjusting, her ass wriggling against his crotch.

“It feels safer knowing one of us can touch the ground,” she said, “but the extra weight might make me more unsteady.” She turned to look at him. “I’m just really worried about laying it down, Mace.”

She’d called him Mace again. He smiled.

“Mason?”

He put his hands on her hips. Respectfully on her hips.

Respectfully? You’re grabbing her hips while her ass is pressed against your cock.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Yeah, it’s big, but just take it slow and everything will be fine. Ease into it.”

She stared at him and then burst out laughing.

He replayed what he just said. “Fuck. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know, which made it so much better.” She glanced back, her eyes twinkling. “You also sounded as if you’ve said that before.”

Were his cheeks heating now?

“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” she said, and then she twisted around again, which rubbed her ass into his cock, and she leaned back against him, as if in apology for making him blush, and damn, that was nice, Gemma relaxing into his arms, nestled between his legs, her hands on his thighs.

Could he stay here? Just for a few minutes. Let her get accustomed to the size of the bike.

She slapped his thighs as she sat up. “Enough goofing around. I will indeed take it slow, and if it’s too big—” She threw her head back again, helmet clinking his. “Damn it.”

“If it’s too big, you can just climb off,” he said.

She choked on a laugh. “That’s very understanding.”

He opened his mouth to say he was used to it, make her laugh, but then realized he could be overselling this. Not that he had any problems in that area. He was a big guy and well proportioned. But, yeah, best not to oversell it.

She slapped his thigh lightly again and leaned forward to take the handlebars, which again lifted her ass up into a very sweet position.

“Ready?” she said.

He slid his hands onto her thighs and eased forward. For safety.

“Ready,” he said.

GEMMA

They’d rounded the block twice with Mason on the back.

After that, Gemma had felt confident enough for a solo ride around the arena parking lot.

He asked her to lift her visor so he could get photos, and those were the ones she agreed he could send to his publicist, along with one he’d snapped of both of them, her on the front, him leaning over her shoulder to get the shot.

Once Terrance posted them, Gemma shored up her nerve and reposted the one with her and Mason, adding Fifteen years since I sold my bike. I’ve upgraded :) ;) :)

She knew she should add the hashtag. That was Social Media 101.

But the hashtag seemed to confirm she was dating Mason Moretti and…

yeah, she couldn’t do that. But she came up with her own.

#ChauffeuringTheMace. Which made him laugh.

Before she hit Post, she considered adding something about it being a Ducati motorcycle, to be clear that’s what she meant by the upgrade comment…

and then she decided not to. If they thought she meant Mason, let them.

Fake dating media obligations fulfilled, Mason proposed a ride up the coast, and Gemma agreed.

Soon she was holding tight to his back, and all she could think was I needed this .

She’d needed it so damn bad that she was happy for the helmet, shielding her face as they whipped along the coastal roads.

Happy that the helmet was pressed to his back as he drove, so he couldn’t see her eyes brimming with tears.

They were tears of joy but also tears of grief and anger for how far she’d let her life tumble.

Wasn’t divorce supposed to have set her free?

Shouldn’t she have already bought a motorcycle?

Already spent countless hours zipping along the coast, stopping to walk, finding a little cove, pulling out her laptop and working by the sea?

She was free of Alan, but she hadn’t flown from that cage.

The door was open, her captor gone, but the world beyond still seemed…

Scary?

That sounded childish. What she feared, though, was stepping out that door and discovering it changed nothing. That she was free but still grounded, forgetting how to fly.

She needed more of this in her life. Spontaneity. Joy. Time spent accomplishing nothing more than making herself happy.

The motorcycle lesson had been a blast. Goofing around, a little flirty, but the safe kind of flirty she needed so badly.

Just like she needed this, being pressed up against Mason, feeling the heat of him, the muscles of his thighs moving under her hands.

It took serious willpower not to slide her hands along those thighs.

The sensation of a very attractive man pressed against her, when she had not so much as kissed a man since…

well, she couldn’t remember the last time Alan had kissed her before he walked out.

She missed physical intimacy. Oh, she missed sex, too, but she’d lacked intimacy for so much longer.

This was safe, intimate contact with a very attractive guy, and Gemma was going to enjoy every minute of it.

If she had the feeling she might enjoy reliving this ride in her dreams, possibly with a few less platonic amendments, well, she couldn’t control what she dreamed, right?

In reality, Mason had to stay firmly on his side of that line, and he seemed okay with that, which was…

Good, she told herself firmly. It was good.

Speaking of good, the scenery was freaking amazing—endless beaches and distant islands and then zooming up along cliff edges, the ocean below wild and raw, surf crashing.