Biker Billionaire #1: A Wild Ride (3 page)

He set me down, dug in the pocket of his jacket for a set of keys. He opened the door, kicked it open, and picked me up again. He carried me into the condo, and I caught glimpses of white walls with tasteful paintings, a leather couch and love seat, a huge TV on the wall, a fireplace, and then I was being laid down on a feather-soft bed, his weight on me, his lips on mine, on my throat and down between my breasts.

I had a moment of shock at my own behavior, but then I pushed it away. I liked this man. I liked kissing him. I liked the fact that he was dangerous and a complete stranger. I’d never slept with anyone but John, and I’d certainly never done anything like this. I felt wanton and sensual and reckless, and I loved it.
 

I wrapped my arms and legs around him and kissed him with all I had, and I felt his erection bulging against his jeans and into my belly. I felt a crazy impulse to unzip his jeans and touch him.
 

I hesitated, still kissing him, and then moved my hand between us. He lifted up to give me access.

And then I sneezed. Of course, I never sneeze just once; it’s always at least three. This time, it was four, convulsion after convulsion, and I barely managed to turn my head aside so I didn’t sneeze in his face. And then I started coughing and shivering. I wanted him, though, I wanted to carry through with my licentious compulsion to touch his penis.

Shane cursed fluently and got off me. “God, I’m such a dick,” he said, “You’ve probably got pneumonia, and here I am groping you.”
 

He scooped me up again, lifting me with effortless grace and taking me to the
en suite
bathroom. Compared to the one in my condo, this was a palace, all shiny marble and stainless steel. He set me on the bathtub and started the shower.

I watched him, hungry for him. He was in a soaked T-shirt, plain black fabric stretched across a torso that was totally, ridiculously, absurdly muscular. His jeans were tight around his ass, and he was still erect against his zipper. I told myself I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t be doing this with a man I knew nothing about.

But why not? Why shouldn’t I do this? There was nothing holding me back, was there? A little niggling thought hit me, reminding me of my late monthly visitor, but I pushed it away, telling myself it was just stress making me late.

I stood up and unzipped my dress, waiting for him to turn around from adjusting the water temperature. He saw me standing, the dress hanging off my shoulders, and his eyes widened. I pulled one arm out of the strap, and then the other, and the filmy green dress fell to the floor, leaving me standing cold and clad in only a matching red lace bra and panties and a serious case of goosebumps.
 

I’d worn the matching set in hopes that the date with John would lead to hot sex, and now I was glad, because here was sex itself, six foot four and built like a Greek god.

I met his eyes, swallowed my nerves, and reached behind me to unhook the bra, one eyelet at a time. I slipped it off my shoulders and held it out to him by a finger. He took it in a clenched fist, not moving toward me. He’d gotten harder and bigger yet, and I licked my lips, wanting nothing more than to unzip him and see if he matched the vision in my head. I pushed the strings of my thong down around my hips, wiggling out of the panties. I bent down, picked them up, and handed them to Shane, who took them with a trembling hand.
 

The tremble in his hand made me melt, just a little bit more.

And then of course, I sneezed again, six times.
 

His gaze roved over my body, and then touched on my scraped and still-bleeding knees and palms. “You’re bleeding,” he said.

He moved to the narrow medicine cabinet and pulled out cotton rounds and peroxide.
 

“Sit,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument.
 

I sat, naked, on the toilet, the
 
porcelain cold against my bare bottom. He poured peroxide on the cotton and held it near my knees, crouching down. His face was level with my breasts, and my nipples stood up hard under his gaze. I forced my knees apart, and his eyes followed the motion to my crotch, trimmed close but not shaved.
 

“This will sting a bit,” he said. Something in his voice and his focused gaze and the practiced way he dabbed at my knee told me had some kind of medical training.
 

I hissed at the sting but didn’t flinch. He dabbed the cuts clean and moved to my other knee, gentle and thorough. He took my hands in his and cleaned those as well.

“You’ve done this before,”
 
I said.

“Done what?” he asked, without looking up at me.

“Clean wounds,” I said. “You have some kind of medical training.”

He nodded. “Six years as a Marine combat medic. Most of my tours were in Iraq and Afghanistan.”

“You saw combat?”
 

He nodded, and the tension in his shoulders told me not push the subject any further. “Yeah. A fuckload—” He cut himself off. “Sorry, yeah. I’ve seen combat.”

“John always told me I swear too fucking much,” I said, more to break the tension than anything.

Shane laughed and met my gaze with humor and gratitude in his eyes. “He would say that, from what I could tell.”

It was my turn to show tension, and I know he saw it.
 

“Sorry again. None of my business,” he said, standing up and discarding the bloody cotton rounds. “Get in and warm up. I’ll put your clothes in the dryer.”

He turned to leave, and I caught his arm. “Thanks,” I said.
 

He just nodded and left the bathroom, but not without a long last glance at my naked body.
 

I showered, luxuriating in the heat. It was clearly a bachelor pad, as he had one bottle of two-in-one shampoo and conditioner, one bottle of body wash, and a black poofy scrub hanging from the handle. I used what he had, debating on the hygenic-ness of using a man’s poofy scrub, but in the end the desire to be clean won.

A thick black towel hung on the wall, clean and dry, and I used it, winding it around my chest. He only had a comb, which wouldn’t work in my crazy curls, so I left it.

I found him in the kitchen, making coffee, in a clean pair of blue jeans and a sleeveless, faded Led Zeppelin T-shirt. He heard me come in and looked up, his hand freezing as he stirred his coffee, staring at me.

His gaze was intense, devouring. I decided to play coy.

“What?” I asked, the picture of innocent demurral.

“You. Just...you.”

“What about me?” I stepped around the counter toward him.

He backed away, setting down the coffee. I followed him until he was backed up against the counter.

“You’re sexy,” he said, his voice husky, his eyes raking over my towel-wrapped cleavage and my tangled hair. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

I looked down at his crotch, where his bulge had made its appearance once more. I ran my fingernail up his thigh and to his erection, tracing along the zipper, keeping my eyes locked on his.

“I think I may have an idea,” I said.

He shook his head. “No, you really don’t.”

I unbuttoned his jeans, kissing his jaw. “Well, then, show me,” I whispered.

I unzipped his jeans, but he caught my hand. “Leo, we just met. This is...it’s crazy. I know I kissed you first, but I couldn’t help it. You just looked so upset and wet and goddamned sexy...”

“It is crazy,” I said. “But I want it. I want it because it’s crazy. You’re like no one I’ve ever met, and my life has just been one smart, responsible decision after another. You make me crazy and impulsive, and I like it.”

His voice was husky, and his fingers were loosening their restraining grip on my hand. “Look, I know I seem like this hard-assed biker, but I’m not a one-night-stand kind of guy.”

Something twinged inside me. It wasn’t guilt, but something like it. What did I want, long term? I hadn’t thought that far. All I knew was the burning in my belly, the dampness between my thighs, and my hand straining to touch his manhood.

“So? It doesn’t have to be a one-night stand, then.” I switched tactics and moved my hand away from his groin, and he let go.
 

I slipped my hand up beneath his shirt to run my palm over his washboard abs.

“Leo, I—god, you’re driving me crazy.” He tilted his head back and his eyes fluttered in pleasure as I ran both hands over his torso, exploring his muscles and hot skin. “You’re pushing me to the edge. I’m not gonna be able to stop myself in a second.”

“Good,” I whispered, my lips against the pulsing in his throat.
 

I ran my hands down his torso, angling for his erection once more. I
really
wanted to see his cock suddenly, see him spring free from his pants so I could touch him, put him in my mouth and my pussy.
 

I thought about saying that to him, but I wasn’t quite
that
impulsive, yet.

He grabbed my hand, and gently but firmly pushed me away from him. “Goddamn it. I’m trying to be honorable here. When I picked you up, I was being...nice. Chivalrous, if you will. I didn’t intend for this. I mean, god, yes, I want you. You’re so fucking sexy I can’t stand it, but I didn’t think you’d—”

“Shane, listen. I have never,
ever
done anything like this in my life. I’ve only ever been with John, and with him, it’s...always the same. Good enough, and I get off sometimes, but it’s boring.” I dropped my hands to my sides and tried to run my fingers through my hair to untangle it, an impossible task with it unbrushed and wet. “I want more. The argument, the reason you found me like you did, it came down to John being boring. He’s nice, and calm, and stable and predictable and fucking boring. He hates it when I swear, which is often since I grew up with three older brothers, and he can only make love in the dark, in the missionary position. He works in a bank and wears khakis and a button-down even on Saturdays. He never drinks more than three beers, and he hates going down on me and doesn’t like it when I go down on him. He’s that one guy in the whole world who doesn’t like getting head, I guess.”

I was on a roll now, admitting things I’d never even thought to myself, much less said out loud.
 

“I’ve been with John since I was nineteen, and he was my first, and only. I’ve never left the state of Michigan except for Florida once, in high school with my girlfriend Shelly. I’m bored with my life. I’m bored with John. I want more.
I want more
. I want excitement. I want a guy who keeps me guessing, who gets me hot just by looking at me, the way you’re looking at me now. I want a guy who can sweep me off my feet. And you know what, when I saw you standing there by your Harley in your leather jacket and piercings and all that, I misjudged you. I thought you’d be some kind of stereotypical biker. All hard-ass and ready to fuck at a moment’s notice. I’m scared out of my wits right now, because I have nothing of my own. My car is in John’s name, the house is in John’s name, my work deposits my paycheck into an account in John’s name. I don’t know what I’m going to do, because I sure as hell can’t ever go back to John. I don’t even want to get my clothes or books or anything. I just want to be done, gone.
 

“And you....You make me crazy, Shane. I’ve known you for, like, an hour, and you turn me on without trying. You kissed me in the elevator, and I swear my heart stopped. I’ve never been kissed like that, not ever, not even in my fantasies.”

I was breathless at this point, worked up, hands gesturing and hair flying. Shane was watching me intently, his eyes betraying interest, lust, compassion...too many things to name, to even sort out. The man’s eyes were beyond expressive; I finally understood how heroines in the erotica I read could talk about getting lost in a man’s eyes. I really did, I found myself drowning in his gray-green orbs, drowning and not bothering to come up for air.

When Shane realized I’d run out of steam, he stepped toward me, took me in his arms and kissed me. His hands ran around to my back, running across my shoulders, still damp from the shower, and down to the towel’s bottom edge, near my thighs. His hands found my buttocks, cupped them with tender hesitation. I arched my back and ran my hands up the hard ridges of his spine.
 

“So I’m your fresh start?” Shane’s hands explored upward, mirroring my palms on his back.
 

“Something like that. You’re my recklessness. I want this with you, and I don’t care that it’s crazy and impulsive. I want it, at least partially,
because
it’s crazy and impulsive.”

He grinned and dipped down to kiss me, a quick touch of the lips. “As long as you’re sure. I wouldn’t want you to feel seduced by a
man like me
.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ve already said I misjudged you, and I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “You didn’t, not entirely. I am a hard-ass, and there was a time I was ready to fuck at a moment’s notice. I just got tired of it. It stopped having any meaning, or even any real enjoyment, so I...gave it up for a while.”

“Gave it up? You mean sex?”
 

He nodded, looking almost sheepish. “Yeah. It’s been over a year.”

I looked at him again, with even more admiration and not a little awe. “I can’t imagine going a year without it. John and I didn’t do it every day, but it was usually at least once a week, sometime longer between. How do you not go crazy?”

He shrugged. “Well, I’m gone a lot, working, and my work doesn’t leave a lot of time for messing around.”

I picked up his coffee and sipped at it, then asked, “So what do you do?”

“I’m a doctor. My brothers and I run a nonprofit company called Rescue Medic Enterprises. We’re like Doctors Without Borders, but it’s just my three brothers, me, and a few other guys. All of us are ex-military, grunts and spec ops, medics and field triage experts and such. We go to mostly third world countries and provide medical care in dangerous areas, or places where other nonprofits won’t go. I just got back from treating civil war causalities in Africa, and I’ll probably be going back soon.”