CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
*Lace*
Isqueeze Brodi a little tighter this time, taking out my worries and frustrations on his poor ribcage. At some point en route, one of his hands leaves the handle bar, and he squeezes my tightly clenched fingers.
Several motorcyclists pass us during the ride, and the customary wave happens a time… or twenty. None of the bikers we pass wear Rolling Stones cuts, thank goodness. Just out of towners starting to trickle in for the rally. Not that it would matter, but any experience mucked up by Stoney and his club is one I tend to try to avoid outside of the saloon.
We had all discussed going to Steel Field Road to ride wide open throttle — or as WOT as Kio would let Brodi and Chaz get away with — but Kio decided to make a pit stop at the pier first. Since he managed to hit the timing of the sunset too perfectly to ride by without taking time out to appreciate it, Chaz and Brodi followed him into the lot. We made it to the end of the boardwalk just in time to watch the sun dip below the horizon.
Kio stands off to the side by himself, eyes closed, needing a quiet moment. Brodi and Chaz bracket me. The three of us lean our elbows on the railing, hands clasped, and allow our senses to absorb all the beauty and forget the rest of the madness of the day and upcoming weekend.
When the sky turns a pale blue, threatening to darken, we all head back to the bikes, start them up, and continue with our previous agenda.
Brodi’s excitement flares to life as he squeals away from the pier parking lot. A flash of black catches in my peripheral. Chaz gives me a wink before revving slightly and popping up into what he has taught me is a type of tank wheelie called a frogger. First, hands still on the handle bars, he stands on his seat, then he steps both feet onto the lip of his custom tank and bends his knees before holding the stunt for a few seconds and hopping back down and doing a playful swerve. Brodi cruises us smoothly right alongside him.
The ride goes back to normal after that little show, at least until we get to Steel Field, a hidden gem of a spot the local street racers like to frequent for a little rev play. Kio stops us at the beginning of the very first straight, and Chaz and Brodi line up right beside him. We all turn our heads and look out toward the woods to our right, eyes — and hearts — seeking out the small cross hidden among the underbrush. I blow Rachal a kiss while they simultaneously rev in her honor.
Kio’s fierce eyes meet mine with a single look that makes a million and one terrifying, yet heartfelt, promises. Never again. He may not be able to save the world, but he is hell-bent on saving Jess and me, whether we approve or not.
My arms wrap harder around Brodi and my fingers curl tighter into his jacket. The three men take off together, but not side by side. Brodi eases into it. The punch of a wide open launch, like how Kio and Chaz zoomed away, would cause me to fly backward. Once my balance is undoubtedly established — Brodi lying flush against his tank with me lying flush against his back — it only takes a couple blinks for us to catch up.
Brodi zooms past, and I let out an elated squeal. I may not be able to hear his laughter over the wind and distinct mechanical whir of his bike, but I feel it in the light vibration of his torso against my chest. While at top speed — well the topmost speed he is willing to take a passenger — he quickly lets go of the bar, pries one of my hands free, slips it under his jacket and inches the tips of my fingers beneath the waistband of his riding pants.
Goosebumps alight along his skin right under my fingertips at the contrast of temperature. Immediately, the throbbing need between my thighs returns, heightened by the vibration of the bike.
The speed. The risk. The giddiness. Brodi needs absolutely no help being worked into performance. As soon as my fingers meet his cock, he is thick and ready. I explore lower and scoop his balls before wrapping around the base and adjusting him so his cock runs parallel with his zipper. Then, I squeeze and give him a firm, but slow, upward stroke.
He straightens as much as possible given the distance to his handlebars. Using my other hand, I loosen the button and zipper to gain better access. His stomach quivers under my light touch, and his hand constricts around the throttle, causing the bike to pitch slightly and thighs to spasm and grip the tank harder for purchase.
Panting from a heady mix of adrenaline and the eroticism of it all, I keep going, trusting that he will stop me if it becomes too much. Now able to slip both hands down, I use one for the goods and one for his shaft. Putting 100 percent of my trust in this man on the back of his death machine, I stroke down to the base and up again. With every speed increase the digital display flashes, I stroke faster. My eyes flick to the side mirror, and I watch as we get farther and farther away from the two headlights behind us. Not because he has the fastest bike, but because the other two are letting us play. Even Kio.
Movement at the handlebar draws my gaze back that way, and I revel in the moment as his hand white knuckles the throttle with my next upward stroke. His body shudders under my touch, and the bike begins to slow down. We lean into a curve, and I grip tighter just to make sure I stay on while he… gets off. Except at the end of the curve, he pulls off the road to the desolate side and comes to a stop completely, manically patting at my thigh as he tries to dismount with me still on there.
I hurriedly remove my hands from his pants, hop off, and watch in amusement under the light of the rising moon as he stumbles over himself trying to take off his helmet. Hustling to do the same, I follow his lead and balance it on my seat.
Cock hanging out of his pants, Brodi cups my hand and yanks me toward the woods. I stumble along behind him. Past the inside of the tree line, he wraps my hands around his body until my chest is flush with his back, and he greedily shoves my hands back down to his cock.
Aiming to please, I double fist him. Lips meeting the shell of his ear to lick and blow with each stroke, I work Brodi until he swells larger. Breaths coming in ragged pants, his balls draw tight and cock convulses between my fingers. A long, drawn-out groan permeates the quiet copse of trees as his cum spurts into the dirt and leaves at our feet. His head falls back against me, and he lets out a recovery breath before shoving himself back into his pants, closing up, and turning around.
For a moment, we just stand there staring at each other. Like the other men, Brodi and I have only been together once. He was sweet… careful… Such a juxtaposition to him and Chaz being the wildest riders of the club.
His hand comes to the back of his neck, little lightning bolt tattoo peeking out, and eyes dart to the ground. Super cute. I smile and start to say something, but his hand drops, and he strikes forward, hand scooping the back of my head and mouth clashing against mine.
A small bubble of laughter almost comes out, but it catches in my throat when my back hits something solid. The bark of the tree snags in the lace yoke of my sports jacket. The hand scooped around my head snaps to my throat. The other one wiggles into my elastic waistband.
His fingers find my clit instantly as the hand around my neck tightens. Our brown eyes clash. Mine hooded. His rabid. Being on his bike and fisting him already primed me. Ready to get off faster than a hot knife through butter, my eyes snap closed and breathing increases. But his mouth comes to my ear. “Look at me while you come,” he breathes. The assertion is a demand, yet… not. Not with Brodi. With him, the words are a desire — a wish blown into a ripe dandelion.
I open my eyes and spiral into his, legs turning so weak to the point that his hand pinning me to the tree is the only thing that keeps me from tumbling down.