Strike (13 page)

“I want photos of Spencer. I’ve already got plenty of
Jones
.”

I pull a face at her, and the flash blinds me again. Of course she had to take a photo of that.

“You know, you’re much prettier without your helmet,” she says. Her smile grows wide when she looks down at the display.

“Keep calling me ‘pretty’ and I’m gonna start getting a complex.”

“Shut up. You know you’re good looking, don’t pretend to be all shy about it.”

“Yeah, but ‘pretty’ isn’t the right word.”

“It totally is.
Ooh, that Spencer, he’s so pree-tee
,” she teases, and then giggles.

Taking the camera off her, I put it on the table, and straddle her lap. I move her wrists and hold them above her head. She melts back into the cushions, looking up at me through her dark lashes. Her chest rises and falls, drawing my eyes to her tits, reminding me of the vision I woke up to this morning.

“So pretty,” she whispers, her eyes glinting with mischief.

I slam my mouth against hers and kiss her, powered by every dirty thought I’ve had in my mind all day. And that’s a helluva lot.

When I come up for air, April is a panting mess. She squirms her hips beneath me, bringing her thighs closer together. I bet she’s wet. And I’m not allowed to touch.

“What brought that on?” she asks, almost breathless.

“It was the only way I figured I was gonna stop you from saying that word.”

“That’s your only motive?”

“Nope.”

April clears her throat, and I release her hands. She runs her fingers up over my shoulders, and hooks them behind my neck.

“So, with all the stuff you brought, did you bring something to wear to bed?”

“Nah. Thought I’d wear your shirt again.”

“How come?”

“It smells of you.” Sweeter than sin.

“No, it smells of
you
.”

I frown at her. “How do you know?”

April’s cheeks blush a brilliant shade of pink, her mouth curling at the side. “I may or may not have smelled it.”

I laugh out loud at the thought of her sniffing away. “Good or bad?”

“Most definitely good. It’s sickening, really. It’s like you’re a safe haven for lonely pheromones. I’ve got next to no chance of staying in control, competing with that much sexiness. You must walk down the street and like a vacuum, and suck pheromones from unsuspecting victims.”

“You seem to be in reasonable control to me.”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

I get up off the couch, and take her hand.

“Let’s go to bed,” I say softly.

“Let’s,” she says, putting both hands in mine. I pull her to her feet and wrap my arm around her shoulders as we walk to her room.

****

* APRIL *

Snuggled together, we talk. Then talk some more. Favourite movies, taste in music, bikes even … We share our worst one-night stand stories, and favourite pick-up lines. We laugh like fools, and my cheeks are sore as a result. I haven’t had this much fun talking in … forever. It’s nice. It’s … easy.

“Just so you know, I’m a sure thing. You don’t have to talk your way into my pants,” Spencer says jutting his eyebrows up and down.

I laugh again, and then hold my sore cheeks. “Smooth, Spencer. Real smooth.”

“Just wanted to be clear, is all. Don’t wanna be accused of sending you mixed messages.” He shrugs and a cheeky grin lights up his face.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got your message loud and clear.”

Spencer’s eyebrows pull together, seemingly in deep thought.

“Don’t think too hard. You might hurt yourself,” I say, pressing my finger to smooth over his wrinkled brow. He relaxes with the touch.

“I was just wondering …” His eyes flit around the room, and then focus back on mine. “… why don’t you talk about your mum?”

There are a lot of reasons why. Too many to count. “I don’t see her much. Really only Christmas and birthdays. She’s not exactly an ideal role model.”

“Oh,” he says, not digging any further. But I should tell him about her. I can’t see the harm.

“Okay, so you probably already know that my parents are divorced, right?”

“Yeah. I got that impression from Mac.”

“The only way I can really put this is, well, my mother is a gold-digging whore. There. I said it. Which is why I don’t want to have anything to do with her unless I absolutely have to. Daddy’s a good man, an awesome father, and he means everything to me. The way she treated him just makes my skin crawl.”

“Bad break-up, huh?”

“That’s being generous. It was destined to ruins from the start. Mum was one of those tragics who stalked riders. Slept with anyone who’d have her. I’ve seen photos of her when she was younger. She was gorgeous: long, blond hair, tall and slim with bright blue eyes and perfect skin. Pity she has fairy floss for a brain.

“Daddy was, like, twenty-three when he hooked up with her. Back then he was focusing on his career. He’d already won two titles, and was pretty casual with girls, like I guess most guys are at that age. Mum got her claws into him, told him she was on the pill, and hey, presto! Instant pregnancy. She trapped him, but being the good guy he is, he did the right thing. Bought the house, and married her … someone he didn’t love, just to do the honourable thing. He tried to make it work, and I think for a while it did. Mum tried to steer me in the ‘princess’ direction, hence the ballerina shit, but I’ve always been a daddy’s girl. Even though I was a surprise, Daddy has always made me feel loved.”

Do I tell him there were times when Mum sulked, and didn’t talk to me for days or weeks? Like anytime I opted for jeans over party frocks, when I quit ballet at fifteen, or when I spent time with Daddy on the bikes?

I didn’t fit the mould. The mould she expected me to fit. I’ve never been like her. I am my father’s daughter, and proud to be. My mother never saw me for me.

“To mum, I was an inconvenience, especially when I didn’t do what she wanted. She didn’t want to brag about having a tomboy for a daughter.”

“Yeah, right,” he mutters under his breath.

“When Daddy retired after a bad injury, he took it as a good thing. He was looking forward to spending more time with us. I think I was in primary school by then. But in my mother’s eyes, his retirement was like growing an extra limb. Must have really brought down her social standing, being married to a
retired
motocross star.

“He wasn’t good enough anymore, so she started looking around for fresh meat. It’s not cool when you hear rumours about your mother being a slut. She ended up sleeping with a married man, a doctor or some shit, and he left his wife for her. I think she might have divorced him too. It’s hard to keep up.

“I think that’s why I stuck with Todd for so long. I refused to be like her. I was determined to make a relationship work, but instead I ended up wasting years of my life on a loser.”

“You know what?”

“What?”

“Since I met you, I have a serious thing for tomboys. Just saying.”

“I would have thought a tomboy trumped a princess any day.”

“Absolutely. So I’ve been dying to ask: How come Mac calls you Peaches?”

My smile grows, and hopefully he realises it’s because he’s changed the subject. He runs his fingers through my hair in a comforting gesture.

“It’s nothing special, really. When I was little it was the only fruit I’d eat. Daddy started calling me that, and he said it just stuck. I’ve always been Peaches to him. He reckons it’s not only that, but that I’m soft, and on the inside sweet and delicate … like a peach.”

“It suits you.” Spencer rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, his hands on his chest.

“You know, when Mac warned us to keep our dicks in our pants because his ‘Peaches’ was coming, I’d expected a princess. With a name like Peaches, I sure as shit wasn’t expecting you.”

I knew Daddy would have warned them. When is he finally going to see I’m all grown up? “He can’t help himself. I’m still an awkward teenage girl in his eyes.”

He turns his head, his blue eyes clouded with concern. “Are you gonna tell Mac about us?”

My skin prickles all over in protest. Telling Daddy is never going to be easy. “Do you
want
to get your arse kicked?”

Spencer lies on his side, propping himself on his elbow. “No.”

“Because that’s exactly what he’ll do.”
Especially
with your history with the ladies.

Daddy wasn’t going to burst our bubble. I have always been honest with him, but this is none of his business. He’d only carry on, and I don’t want him to scare Spencer off. If anyone is capable of scaring off a guy, it’s him.

“I don’t care who knows about us …
including
Mac. I’ll tell anyone you’re mine.”

“Am I?”

“Are you what?” he asks, furrowing his brow.

“Yours.”

His eyes widen. “You tell me, April,” he says, his tone as serious as the look on his face.

I push him on to his back, leaning on my side next to him as I smooth my hand up his chest to his jaw. I kiss him hungrily, hoping my actions will speak louder than my words. If I tell him I’m his, there’ll be no reason to hold back. Slowly I break away, pecking him softly on the lips.

“Call it a work in progress,” I say, but I already know I’m his. And I know he does too. He’s already talked his way into my heart. It’s only now he’s called me on it that I know it’s true.

He flashes me his perfect teeth. That grin tells me he knows I’m full of shit. “Well, tell me when you’re a definite, because whether you want me or not, April, I’m already yours.”

Oh God.

His words create a deep ache in my chest and surge of heat between my legs. “I do want you, Spencer. I do.”

I lean my head against his warm chest and he wraps his strong arms around me.

“You want me to kiss you goodnight?” he whispers in my ear.

“Yep.”

I lift my head up and he gifts me another one of those closed-mouth kisses, like last night. Two nights in a row. I could get used to this.

“Goodnight, beautiful,” he says.

“Night,” I mumble.

As he did last night, he rolls away from me and I settle in close behind him, hooking my arm around his chest. He links his fingers between mine, and softly kisses each knuckle, the warmth of his mouth caressing my fingers, before he holds them to his heart.

Oh, Spencer. What are you doing to me?

****

Wednesday

“April,” he whispers.

My name rolls from his mouth, hot and sweet as his tongue dips inside me. His strong hands take ownership of me, claiming me as his fingers thrust deep inside, and his mouth sucks hard on my swollen clit.
Yes, oh my God, yes.

“April,” he says louder.

Don’t stop.

I’m building to the point of no return. Under a veil of heat, the waves of pleasure are ready to wash over me. I’m gonna come … hard.

“Peaches,” he says, gravelly in my ear.

Wait. My ear? I thought his mouth was between my legs. Wait.
Peaches?

I open my eyes, and I’m rubbing against Spencer, his hard dick responsible for the friction between my legs.

“Good morning. I thought Peaches might get your attention. What ya doin’ there?” he asks and lets out a sexy chuckle. I loosen my tight grip around him, and swing my leg off his hip. I breathe in deep, my heart pumping out of control in my chest.

“Fuck,” I groan, not so much annoyed with myself that I was dry-humping him in my sleep, but frustrated by the fact I didn’t get to come.
Again
. Serves me right for not touching myself yesterday. I’m a ticking time bomb. Ready to orgasm at the drop of a hat.

“I tried to tell you, but you told me not to stop.”

I was talking in my sleep? Damn, I could have said anything.

Spencer pulls me close, lifting my leg back over his hip. I don’t resist, needing to feel his warmth, if only for a moment longer.

“Fuck, I was close,” I breathe and close my eyes as he pushes his hardness against my heat once more. As he ever so slowly rolls his hips into me, he makes a trail of hot kisses from my lips along my jaw to my ear.

“Damn, April. You want my hand in your panties? ‘Cause I can take you there. I wanna see that look in your pretty grey eyes when you come.”

I can’t take it anymore. I grab his hand, and run it over my boobs. He groans low in his throat as he squeezes tight, pinching at my nipple. I slide his hand down my stomach, and undo the bowtie on my pyjama pants. He wiggles his warm fingers beneath my panties, and slips his eager fingers in deep. I buck against his hand. His movements are wild and desperate.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re wet … fucking heaven.”

I take his head in my hands and drive my tongue into his mouth in time with the movement of his hand. His kiss is all kinds of crazy: my kind of crazy.

He withdraws his fingers and swirls them hard over my clit, sending me crashing into a wall of pure pleasure. He moves his fingers in and out of me again, my inner muscles clenching against him as my orgasm pulses deep inside me. Holding my hand over Spencer’s, I squeeze my legs closer together, wringing out every last delicious wave.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, after reluctantly pulling my mouth from Spencer’s lips. I glide my hands up his labouring chest and he takes in a shuddery breath.

He removes his hand from my pants and slips his two fingers—which were just inside me—into his mouth, groaning low in his throat. He squeezes his eyes tight, and pulls me in close. It’s got to be the single most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced.

“Fuck,” he growls, and opens his eyes. “You make a habit of having an orgasm in your sleep?” He cocks one eyebrow.

“Only since I met you. And this was the second time you’ve woken me up from one.”

“What? You nearly had one last night too?”

I nod. “It’s your fault.”

“How so?”

“Pheromone central. The little suckers have been infiltrating my dreams.”

I let out a loud sigh and close my eyes, burying my head into the crook of his neck. Spencer wriggles away, and throws back the sheets.