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“I'm okay.”
She's more than okay. She's perfect. She feels amazing. I only hope I'm not making the biggest mistake of my life doing this with Claire.
I'm still worried about her ability to keep things in perspective, but at the moment – and maybe for the first time ever – I'm also worried about my ability to do the same. I've been fantasizing about this for nine long years and reality has already far surpassed the fantasy.
No matter how good it could be between us, I can't afford to forget I'm leaving the country soon. Nor can I afford to forget the fact that I have nothing to offer a woman who wants to settle down because putting down roots is the last thing I want to do. I'll be happy roaming the earth and being a free agent for as long as I live.
Hopefully Claire truly understands that. Avoiding misunderstandings is crucial here. It's the only way we'll both walk away from this thing between us without regrets.
The clattering of glass bottles being poured into a recycling bin somewhere near the top of the alleyway brings me back to the present.
“But I want you,” she complains breathily.
“And I want you,” I say, taking her hand and torturing myself by running it over the hard proof of the fact. “But I don't want to worry about being rushed or, worse, caught.”
Her soft little moan as she feels my hard flesh pulse against her hand almost undoes all my good intentions. “I'm taking you home,” I tell her determinedly.
11
Claire
It takes a while for my body to stop pulsing with pleasure, but by the time my heartrate finally returns to normal, I'm grateful we're heading home to finish what we started in a bed. I want Dylan desperately – I need more of the pleasure he's brought me already – but it'll have to wait until we're out of the cold.
Dylan slips a helmet over my head before zipping up the leather jacket I wore tonight.
There were times over the past nine years when I imagined what might have happened if Dylan never turned me down, and occasionally that even extended to riding on this bike with him. Each time my mind went there, I forced myself to snap out of it, telling myself it wasn't what I wanted – that he wasn't what I wanted or needed. His rejection all those years ago should have squashed any feelings I had for him.
Nine years is such a long time to remain delusional.
Trying to shift my thoughts from how long I've been kidding myself, I try to concentrate on what will happen when we finally make it back to my place. Excitement tugs low in my belly until I think about tomorrow and how different tonight is from the nights I've spent with men in the past. I proposed to Dylan that we have fun, but I don't even know if his version and my version of a fling match. I was only hoping for a casual, no-strings, easy-come, easy-go, kind of relationship with Dylan when I walked into Brody's tonight, but will I still feel the same way when the sun rises tomorrow?
Will he still be in bed with me to greet the morning, or will he be gone? And if he is gone, will I sit around and wait for himto call me? Or, this being the easy, casual and convenient affair I proposed, will it be okay if I call him? Or show up at his bar?
I barely resist the urge to groan and bang my forehead against his back. This is supposed to be fun. I'll worry about tomorrow when tomorrow comes and not a moment before. However, it's already Sunday, so technically, I'm worrying about today.
I take a deep breath and try to calm my frantic thoughts.
“Ready?” he asks.
I wrap my arms around him as he starts the engine. It rumbles underneath me and I've never been more aware of the fact I'm not wearing underwear. Even though I still feel a little sensitive after his ministrations, the steady thrum of the engine underneath me pulses through my body, stirring it and reminding me of what he's promised – of how much I need him to fill the void inside me.
“Claire? You okay back there?”
“I'm ready,” I say as I lay my helmeted head against his back, inhale the clean scent of leather and deodorant, and hold on to him for dear life. I took a gamble coming to Brody's tonight, getting a cab instead of taking my own car in the hopes that the evening would end with Dylan taking me home.
Dylan roars out of the alleyway and, as promised, goes slowly enough that I have time to look around. With it being so early in the morning, the streets of Melbourne are much quieter than usual. Some clubs are still open, but there are no lines outside their doors anymore. People spill out sporadically, looking far from their best after drinking and dancing all night. Streetlights and people whiz by as we head towards my place.
Once I get used to the sensation of the road underneath us and the twisting of the bike around corners, I loosen the grip I have around Dylan's waist. By rights, I probably should be freezing my butt off, but the pleasurable sensations of the engineunderneath me makes it next to impossible to feel too cold. I'm too aware of the hard, warm male body wedged between my thighs and the desire once again curling in my stomach to notice any goosebumps.
Finally, we turn onto my street and Dylan slows to a stop outside my place, parking his bike in the first available spot. He switches off the engine and dismounts, taking off his helmet before taking my hand so I can throw my leg over without falling on my arse.
In the short dress I'm wearing and the high heels I have on, I feel a little ridiculous climbing off the back of his bike. The way Dylan looks at me as I do, however, gives me reason to believe he doesn't think I look ridiculous. As soon as I'm standing on solid ground, he slips the helmet off my head. I have no idea how my hair looks after having the heavy thing jammed down on my head, but there is nothing but desire in Dylan's blue eyes, and as soon as he's put my helmet down, he hauls me to him.
His kiss is so hot and wet and hungry that the curl of desire I've had throughout the drive here turns into a demanding, heavy pulse low in my belly. Dylan tastes of the citrus fruits he was cutting up earlier and a dash of bourbon. My breasts press against his chest while my hips press against his, the primal need to fuse my body with his taking over.
“Inside,” he says to me between kisses. “Need to get inside.”
I don't know if he's talking about getting inside my flat or me, but his words send a thrill through me either way.
