Against the Ropes
Page 50

My cheeks flame. “I’m afraid I haven’t kept up my making-out-on-a-motorcycle skills.”
Max studies me, his eyes thoughtful. “I have an idea.”
Five minutes later I am back in position, but now the rear wheel is secured with some kind of collapsible swing arm stand and Max is standing beside the motorcycle with a coil of rope in his hand.
“Are you going to pull a rabbit out of that pack next?” I ask as he tugs my tank top over my head.
“You like rabbits?” he murmurs.
Do I ever. But not the fuzzy kind. Not that I would ever let him know.
I am too hot to be cold, but when he eases me back over the gas tank, I hiss in a breath at the sensation of cool metal kissing my skin. His hands slide to my hips, and he positions me with my bottom on the seat in a semi-reclined position, then he kisses me long and hard.
“Do you trust me to keep you safe?” he whispers.
“I trust you.”
His eyes flash with sensual promise. “Will you do exactly as I say, baby? If you don’t, you might slip off. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I’ll try.”
He lifts my arms over my head and slips the rope around one of my wrists, fastening it to the handlebars. Then he does the same with the other. I tug. The handlebars twist. My forehead creases. Hmm. Hands tied out to the sides. Seems kinda kinky. Never done kinky before. “I don’t know about this,” I say. “If I fall off, the motorcycle will fall on top of me.”
“I won’t let you get hurt.” Max rakes his eyes over my body. “Think of a word that tells me you want to stop what we’re doing. Something to tell me we’ve gone too far. A word that means something to you.”
“Why not just ‘stop’?”
He presses a kiss to my belly. “Sometimes in the heat of the moment ‘stop’ means ‘go.’”
I suck in my lips and look around. What means something to me out here in the darkness? Not much. Maybe I should choose a word that means something to Max. Then he’ll pay attention.
“Agusta.”
Max smiles. “Your safe word is Agusta. Don’t forget it.”
A warm breeze caresses my cheek, blowing my hair. I try to brush it away, but when I jerk my arms they only move an inch before the rope tightens. Reality hits me hard. I am tied to his motorcycle. My heart pounds at double speed.
“Don’t move. Stay still for me.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I…don’t think I like this.”
Max leans down and takes my breast in his mouth, teasing my nipple with his teeth. Lust rips through my body and I shiver in the cool night air.
“Do you like this?” He nuzzles my other breast, flicking his tongue over my nipple until it becomes painfully hard and sensual lightning bolts shoot straight to my core.
“Yessss.”
He strokes his hand down my stomach to the waistband of my leather pants, and flicks open the snap. Inch by agonizing inch he tugs the pants and my skirt over my hips. Un-sexy leg contortions follow, and within a minute I am wearing only a brand new pair of shiny emerald panties that match my eyes. The familiar tingle of adrenaline courses though my veins. Something pokes into my back.
His eyes rake over my body and he groans. “You are even more breathtaking than I imagined.”
He imagined me naked. My discomfort gives way to my delight at being the subject of Max’s fantasies.
His lips slide down over my abdomen and then along the top edge of my panties.
I moan my approval and try to encourage him to keep going by tilting my hips up toward his hot, wet kisses.
“I told you not to move.” His smooth voice takes on a sharp edge. “There is a price to pay for not following the rules.”
Hmmm. I like the sound of that. I hope the price involves removing my panties.
Max walks to the front where I can’t see him. “Five minutes,” he calls over his shoulder. Gravel crunches, fading into the distance, until I can hear nothing but the wind in the trees.
“Max?” I tilt my head backward trying to see but the windshield is in the way. “Where are you?”
My pulse speeds up as my lust-sodden brain struggles to process what is happening. Is this what he means by paying a price? Leaving me tied to his motorcycle in the dark? Is he joking?
“Max?”
Silence.
“Am I supposed to be turned on by this? If so, I’m not really feeling the heat. I’m actually feeling the cold. You might remember I’m not wearing very much. Also, your motorcycle isn’t very comfortable in this position. It’s quite hard and something is sticking into my back. I think it’s the gas tank.”
He can’t have gone far. He wouldn’t leave his precious Agusta. But would he leave me? My lungs tighten at the thought.
“Did I mention my stepfather is the chief of police in Oakland? Not that I’m threatening you, but if someone were to find me like this and I dropped your name, he might not be too happy. Ever been in jail, Max? I hear it’s less comfortable than being tied naked to a motorcycle on Twin Peaks.”
A frisson of fear, cold and low, slithers up my spine. What if he has a car nearby? What if someone was waiting to take him away? What if this is all some elaborate sex game he plays with women? What if he teases them and kisses them and leaves them to be found in the morning?
Oh, his kisses. Such delicious kisses. Kisses on my lips. Kisses on my throat. Kisses on my br**sts. Kisses on my panties. Everything below my waist tightens and suddenly my senses heighten. The hard metal gas tank presses into my back, a contrast to the soft leather of the saddle under my bottom. Traffic hums in the distance, and I catch the odd flutter of wings overhead. Stars twinkle in the night sky, bright pinpricks in a sheet of black velvet. The air is fragrant with pine and salt and the sharp scent of gasoline. Max’s taste is on my tongue. My pulse beats steadily between my thighs.