I do what he says, squeezing my legs even tighter, glad at the moment that I have something between my legs. Because the pressure building in my core is out of control. I wiggle around a little, trying to get a little friction from the bike on my clit, nearly out of my mind with desire as his thick cock presses against my ass when I move.
“So, Ginger.” The way my name rolls off his tongue, as if it’s a tease, has me turning my head to look at him over my shoulder. I can’t decide if that’s a mistake or not because the depths of his eyes have gone totally black with the same lust that I feel.
“Yeah?” I breathe, not sure what is actually going on. I’m trading innuendos with a total stranger, not so subtly grinding on his cock, and hoping his fingers on my thighs inch their way a little higher. And I can’t remember why it’s a bad idea.
“You often take rides from strangers?”
I laugh, his double meaning not lost on me. “Well, this isn’t actually a ride, is it?” I tease. “But yeah, rides from strangers are supposed to be bad.”
He grunts, his fingers digging into my legs again, the tips trailing under the hem of my skirt. “So bad.”
His lips aren’t even an inch from my neck, and I tilt my head, inviting him in. He doesn’t hesitate. And his teeth nip at my sensitive skin, followed my the tease of his tongue, my eyes flutter closed, blocking out the sight of the other passengers on the train.
I moan, shamelessly grinding on him and his bike, and his fingertips move stealthily under my skirt, brushing against my panties.
Blaze hisses, lifting his lips to my ear. “You are so fucking wet.”
His words only make me wetter, and I’m about to lose all sense of time and place as he continues to stroke me through the lacy fabric.
But then the train jerks to a stop, throwing me forward on the bike. The doors whoosh open, and there’s movement as people exit and board the train. I’m jerked back to my senses just as quickly.
What the hell was I thinking? I was about to let this total
stranger make me cum on the train? Holy shit.
My face flaming, I jump from the bike, looking around frantically. This is so not me. I must have just gotten carried away after hearing about Adrienne’s crazy antics.
With one last look at that ruggedly gorgeous face that’s now twisted in confusion, I bolt, so glad that I live in a city of millions of people where I will certainly never see any of the people on this train again.
9
Blaze
Walking around the bike show, I laugh and joke with people, trying to focus on doing my job of networking. But it’s really fucking hard when all I can think about is Ginger and her tight little body pressed up against me on the train last night.
She left me staring after her in shock, the look of panic on her face confusing me after the brazen way she’d acted just moments before.
My eyes scan the crowd as I talk to one of the show sponsors, barely paying attention to what he’s saying. Something about partnering for an ad campaign later in the year. I know I should be listening—that’s what I’m here for, to network and grow my bike brand—but I can’t help hoping I’ll see her here.
I know it’s a long shot. I mean, what are the chances of her being at the show? But I could tell that girl had a thing for bikes. The way she climbed on board and hugged the body of my bike? It definitely wasn’t her first ride.
I grin at the memory of trading innuendos with her. Then get hard all over again as I recall just how fucking sexy she was grinding against me, her pussy so wet when I ran my fingers over her lacy panties.
Gritting my teeth, I try to tamp down the desire coursing through my body and zero in on this dude who is spouting something about commercials and television and some other shit.
But it doesn’t last long when I see a flash of bright red hair about fifty feet away.
“Excuse me,” I say to the guy, clapping him on the back and not even looking at him as I start to walk away. “I’ll have my people get back to you.”
I should be more concerned that I leave him gaping after me, but I’m not. All I can focus on is covering the distance between me and the sexy redhead that I’m now sure is Ginger.
Long legs, spike-heeled boots, short leather skirt? Hell fucking yeah.
Her back is to me, but I know it’s her. That throaty laugh would be a dead giveaway if that body wasn’t enough. I feel it go straight through me, inciting some kind of primitive lust to claim her that I can’t begin to understand.
All I can think is it must be leftover sexual frustration from last night. But that doesn’t explain why she’s been on my mind for every second of the past twelve hours.
“I’m so glad it’s everything you expected,” she’s saying to a couple of men she’s talking to, one a douche in a suit, the other a burly biker with a beard to his waist who looks like he’s straight out of an old-school biker gang. One-hundred-percent accurate descriptions because I know these jokers personally.