Silver Bastard

But good or bad, I’d completely blocked out one critical reality—flying down the highway on a bike is fucking amazing.

The night air was still warm, although in a week or two that would change. Puck smelled good and he handled the big machine like a master. I closed my eyes, focusing on the feeling of his back against my chest, his bulky strength in front of me.

Damn, he was sexy.

Of course, the fact that a powerful Harley engine roared between my legs like the world’s biggest vibrator didn’t exactly hurt. Whatever the reason, by the time we’d gone that first mile I’d forgotten all about being afraid. There’s something completely liberating about riding behind a man, because they control everything. You can only hold on and follow their lead. Trust they know what they’re doing. That they’ll bring you home safe.

That’s what fucked me up.

I forgot I shouldn’t trust Puck.

When we started out, I’d held him as impersonally as possible. Granted, any time you’re on a bike it’s pretty personal, but that’s no excuse for what I did next. Gradually I let my fingers spread out, widening across his stomach. I found the ridges of muscles, savoring the gentle play of them under his skin when he leaned into a curve.

My body leaned with his, following his lead perfectly.

That gave me the excuse to tighten my arms around him, one hand slipping up just a little higher, the other dropping until I felt the metal of his belt buckle under my fingers.

Doesn’t mean a thing, I told myself. Anyone would hold him like that. Just part of riding the bike together.

But it wasn’t.

All I could think about was dropping my hand lower, exploring the length of his cock through his pants. Would he be hard? A thrill ran through me at the thought, and my nipples perked up. I knew I had to be growing wet down below, but somehow it didn’t feel real. Not here in the darkness, with the wind roaring around us and his face safely turned away from mine. I could just hide my face against his back and pretend none of it was happening, right? By the time we reached Callup and he slowed, I was squirming. Why the hell couldn’t I feel this way around Joe?

Puck drove down the empty main street, slowing as we reached my corner building. He turned around the side and pulled into the alley, stopping gradually. Then he turned off the engine, the sudden silence hitting me like a slap in the face. What was I doing? I’d plastered myself against his back, I had one hand halfway up his chest and the other across his belt buckle.

“Thanks,” I said abruptly. His hands clamped down over mine before I could escape, silently calling bullshit.

“You still like riding bikes,” he said slowly, his voice a low growl. I tried to shrug, which was impossible given our position.

“I guess it can be fun,” I admitted.

He didn’t respond, at least not with words. Instead he slowly pushed my hand lower.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

“You wanted to touch me,” he replied. “But you’re too scared.”

My hand found the hard ridge of his erection, tight against the worn fabric of his jeans. Need and desire hit me like a blow, curling up along my spine, pooling between my legs.

Puck wanted me. Bad.

My fingers clutched him. It wasn’t planned but oh, it was good . . . Puck stiffened, his head leaning back with a sigh. My other hand dug into the hard, firm muscle of his pec. His fingers wrapped around mine, squeezing himself with my hand harder than I would’ve had the nerve to do.

My body had turned into a quivering mass of pure lust, and when he started jacking my hand up and down across his length I nearly died. Not like I should have almost died. You know, from shock and horror? Nope. The emptiness between my legs screamed out for more because despite the fact that I was spread wide around him, there wasn’t a hint of friction for me to get off on.

Puck shuddered and I felt a rush of power mixed with my own aching need. Here was this big, strong man at my mercy, all because I was rubbing his cock through a layer of denim in the dark.

Then he spoke, and I remembered that Puck was never at anyone’s mercy.

“I think about you,” he said, his voice agonized. “I’ve jacked off a thousand times, remembering that night. I’ve fucked a shitload of women, too. Tried to find one to replace you. I swear to fuck, Becca, if you were anyone else I’d just take you and be done with it. You’re lodged in my brain like a bullet and it’s poisoning me.”

I froze, reality washing back in. My hand stopped moving, but he tightened his fingers around mine, forcing me to start again. He was harder now—bigger—and I wondered how much it had to hurt, keeping that monster all penned up in his pants.

He wanted to fuck me. Bad. I wanted him, too, but his words were like cold water, reminding me this wasn’t a game.

“So,” Puck continued, his tone so intense it scared me. “I think it’s time we cleared this shit up. I like your hand on my dick. I’d like your mouth on it better. I want your cunt, your ass—everything. No more games, Becca. You know who and what I am, and you know that when I fuck you, it won’t be pretty. I don’t do pretty. I’ve held off because of what happened and I felt guilty but that shit is in the past. I’m done. You got thirty seconds to say no, then I’m taking you upstairs and all bets are off.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. My hands tightened reflexively and I shuddered, because I’ve never wanted anything more than I wanted to go upstairs with him. I managed to break through the fog of lust for an instant, asking him the million-dollar question.