Why did the damn things always wait until a dream was at a good bit, a really good bit, and then go off? And a Leah White dream, wow, that had been steamy.
His cock was still desperately hard for her, and if just a dream could give him such a boner, he hardly dared to imagine what the real thing would be like. She’d push his stamina for sure, especially if she rode him like that. Goddamn.
He took his cock in his fist and rubbed from root to tip. He’d have to get one out, otherwise, he’d be uncomfortable all day and he had things to do.
He set up a fast pace beneath the duvet, working himself with rapid, industrial movements. His balls contracted and he closed his eyes, once again picturing Leah on top of him. Without her prim suits, she was unleashed. It was as if the expensive material held in all that wildness and kept her desires harnessed. He was sure he could tap into all of that, given half a chance, and have her throw her inhibitions to the wind.
He gritted his teeth. He was close, damn close. His cock throbbed and every muscle in his body tensed.
He remembered her face on the deck as he’d stared into her eyes. She was as hungry for him as he was for her. He’d put good money on that. She just wasn’t ready to admit it.
His release was there. He bit on his bottom lip so her name didn’t spill out. As his cum coated his hand, he imagined her doing the same as he was, in bed, masturbating, his name on her lips, his face on her mind.
God, they’d be so good together. He just had to show her that.
Another pulse of release, and with it the goddamn relief of all that pent-up need.
It wouldn’t last long, though, the satisfaction. He needed the real thing. He needed Leah. He had to have her body pressed up to his, naked and pulsing with lust. They’d get so lost in each other, the rest of the world, heck, the universe would fade away. It would take years to sate the appetite he had for her.
He flopped back, still holding his spent cock. How the hell had she gotten to him like this?
From the moment he’d set eyes on her across the courtroom, he’d had to have her. Had to know everything about her, inside and out.
Sure, he’d had plenty of women in the past, a few relationships. But Leah White was different to them all. She had grace, poise, and layers of mystery he wanted to carefully unpeel to discover what lay beneath.
If only she’d trust him to do that.
“Jerk,” he muttered, sitting and reaching for a box of Kleenex. Removing her spark plug and tricking her into riding through the night with him was hardly the best way to make her trust him. In fact, he’d done the opposite.
He shook his head and stood, headed to the bathroom.
There was only one thing for it. He’d have to fix his mistake. Get his ass to her fancy beach house and show her that he’d only done it to spend time with her. His intentions and motives had been good.
He knew it wouldn’t be easy though. When she’d first looked at him, all she’d seen was a rough biker, no more than a leather-wearing, jail-dodging gang member. She’d piled a whole list of labels next to his name, untrustworthy being one of them, and he’d just proven her right.
His mood soured as he showered.
When he spotted missed calls from Brooklyn and Wyatt, he ignored them. His mind had gone single track. There was only one goal, and he had to focus.
And that goal was Leah White.
Carter pulled into the beach house drive for the second time. In the afternoon sun and with the upstairs windows open to the sea breeze, it really did hold a special charm.
He climbed off the Harley, removed his helmet, and locked up.
Then with a full backpack, he wandered up to the front door and rapped his knuckles on it.
No answer.
He knocked again and frowned. Where would she have gone? This was her destination, she’d said as much, and the refrigerator had indeed been full to bursting when he’d snagged a drink from a carton of milk.
He raised his hand to rap again, but the door pulled open.
His heart did a funny double beat, and the sound of the ocean, the heat of the day, it all faded. “Hey.”
“Why areyouhere?” Leah placed her hands on her hips. Her tone was clipped.
He cleared his throat and beat down a stiffening in his pants. Her short white dress hugged her slight curves and her dainty shoulders already showed the hint of a tan. Her dark bob, usually so neat, was pushed back in a hair band, and without makeup, a few freckles were evident over the bridge of her nose.