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It’ll be all right, I want to tell her, but instead, I say, “We’re taking the bike.”
“I can drive.” She points at the car.
I smile. “You like the car?”
Michela nods. “Drives nice. Looks great.”
“It’ll be waiting for you in the garage in the morning.” I mount the bike.
Michela’s eyes light up with lust the likes of which make me want to bend her over. She secures the duffel and puts on her helmet, then straddles the bike. I rev the engine, then reach behind me and grab her ass cheeks. I pull her toward me so that her front leans on my back.
“Arms,” I yell.
She interlocks her arms around my waist and then does something totally unexpected. She squeezes my sack.
Shocked, I whip my head around, but all she does is bump my helmet with hers and give me a thumbs-up.
I’ll be damned.
Michela
Mom’ll be fine. She will be. I have to believe that, or I’ll drive myself crazy with worry that’ll keep me up all night, which will do me no good since I must get up in the morning for work.
For work!
On the back of Corrado’s bike, I squeal and want to squeeze him everywhere, but barely contain myself and don’t. I think groping him was enough. I probably shouldn’t have done that, but the flame of desire ignited inside me when I sat behind him on the motorcycle, coupled with the joy that my mom will get the help she needs, overrode my good judgment.
I lean into Corrado and rest my head on his back as he navigates the streets with an uncanny speed and precision I hadn’t expected from a guy who wears a tailored suit under the leather biker jacket. But that same man also blew up a junkyard, so there’s more to him than a suit, and apparently, I want to get to know all his versions.
Especially the version of him that’s generous with me and my mom. I have a feeling it’s a side of this man many never experience at all. Too bad, because it’s also the part of him that makes him more approachable. Perhaps that’s precisely why he won’t let people see it. He likes keeping everyone at a comfortable distance.
At the stoplight, I feel his phone vibrate. I lift my head, wondering if he feels it.
It keeps vibrating, and I remove my hands so he can reach for it if he wants to while we’re still stopped. He catches my hands and puts them back, not giving his vibrating phone a glance.
Perhaps he should since whoever is calling him keeps calling all the way home. Inside the parking garage, once Corrado parks the bike, I remove my helmet and fix my hair a bit before dismounting.
Corrado turns and flips up his visor.
His hazel eyes narrow. “What was that?”
“Which that?”
He snatches my wrist and pulls me into him, then puts my hand between his legs where he’s hard and ready. He’s always hard, not to mention ready for anything. Oh God, I must stop thinking about this version of him, or I’ll claw at him like a kitten on a scratching post.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I try to take my arm back.
Corrado lets it go, but hooks a gloved hand into the waistband of my jeans and pulls. The top button unhooks, and Corrado yanks down the zipper and then forces his hand inside and between my legs.
I’m trying to move away, but he catches the back of my neck and holds me in place. His helmet touches my forehead at the same time that he touches my entrance with a leather-clad finger. The tight jeans I’m wearing start ripping as Corrado fingers my clit, creating generous friction that makes me close my eyes and bite my lip.
“You like that?” he asks.
I nod and spread my legs as much as I can.
“Answer me.”
“Yes, Corrado.”
