I kiss her hard, lapping up every whimper tearing from her throat with my tongue. Our kiss is fire-sparking, spurring a new type of excitement. I thought performing on stage was electrifying, but it’s nothing compared to Kylie’s kisses. Her kisses alone could send me to the brink.
We kiss until our lips feel bruised; I’m hard enough to burst my zipper, and we’ve reached our destination. I’d keep kissing her if the driver didn’t tap on the partition, signaling that we’ve arrived at the hotel. When I inch back from Kylie’s tempting lips, she wails. I almost tell the driver to circle the block so we can finish what we’ve started, but Kylie slips off my lap before I have the chance. She’s realized we’re back at the hotel—the same hotel where my bike is stored.
After running her fingers through her hair, she checks her face in the mirror behind me before her glowing eyes drift to me. “Are you ready?” She surprises me that she can go from horny to calm in a matter of seconds. When I adjust my crotch, she giggles. “I’ll take care ofthatafter we’ve gone for a ride.”
I walk awkwardly through the hotel lobby, praying none of the paparazzi or fans snapping my photo will notice my cock is pressed against my zipper. I breathe a sigh of relief when we enter the elevator to start our descent to the garage.
Excitement beams out of Kylie when enter the basement garage of the hotel. She loves riding on the back of my bike as much as I love riding it. When my hand lunges into my saddlebag, I hesitate, afraid I’m showing my hand too early. Call me a soft cock, but I still carry her purple helmet with me everywhere I go.
When Kylie spots her helmet, her eyes dart up to mine. I no longer care how soft I look when she smiles her knee-dropping grin. My name is still inked on her skin, showing she wasn’t ready to let go of our time together either.
The tears in her eyes sizzle when I nervously clean out the cobwebs inside her helmet. One of my biggest fears is spiders, and she knows this. She quickly brushes it away, but I don’t miss the salty blob that falls down her cheek when I place her helmet on her head and tie the straps under her chin.
When I hand her a pair of sunglasses, she looks at me curiously. That’s expected, considering it’s pitch black outside. “The paps,” I explain. “I’ve been caught without glasses before. I nearly sideswiped a parked car.”
While she laughs, I throw my leg over my bike before offering her a hand to help her on the back. When my bike kicks over, her squeal shreds through my ears. After curling her arms around my waist, her cheek balances against my back. Just like that, in a matter of seconds, two years vanish. It’s once again me and two of my favorite girls.
The flashing of the paparazzi lights starts the instant they hear my rumbling engine coming up the garage exit ramp. As they scream out a range of questions, I glide my bike between them. Most of their requests are for my date to lift her head so they can capture her face. They’re surprised I’m on a date because it’s the first time they’ve seen a girl on the back of my bike.
Once it’s safe, I pull back on the throttle. We zoom through the heavy traffic surrounding our hotel, leaving the paparazzi on foot for dust. I can’t see Kylie, but I know she’s smiling. Her cheekbones lifted against my back the instant my back tire skidded across the pavement.
The traffic around Fisherman’s Wharf is always heavy, but that's the advantage of having a bike. I can maneuver through the cars without any hassle, meaning I quickly lose the paparazzi tailing us in cars. We race past cars so fast, they become nothing but blurs. I could slow down, but there’s no greater sound in the world than the purr of my engine combined with Kylie’s giggles.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kylie
The warm wind whipping past my face as Slater weaves in and out of traffic dries the tears streaming down my cheeks. So many memories filtered through my head when I hopped on the back of his bike. It’s as if the last two years never happened, and my bursting-at-the-seams happiness can only escape via my eyes.
After loosening my hold on his waist, I wipe away the wetness the wind missed before reattaching my grip. When Slater gives my tear-soaked hand a squeeze, I seek his gaze in the bike’s mirror. Like he can read my thoughts, he adjusts the mirror so we can see each other. When he notices my tears, his speed slows, and his head darts side to side, trying to find somewhere safe to pull over. I plaster a massive grin on my face, wordlessly conveying that my tears are happy ones. I squeeze his hips with my thighs before tightening my grip around his waist, molding my body as close to his as possible. I can tell the exact moment he reads my silent reassurance because the hugest smile spreads across his face a mere second before his bike lunges forward so fast, I can no longer hold back my excited screams.
When we hit the entrance of the Golden Gate Bridge, I throw my arms in the air and release the loudest squeal ever, stoked that number ninety-six is officially being crossed off my list,and even more exciting than that is the fact I’ll cross it off with my trusty red pencil.
Once we reach the end of the iconic bridge, Slater does an illegal U-turn and goes over it again. As we get toward the end for the second time, he yells, “Again?”
Squealing, I nod. His smile reflecting in the side mirror makes me want to ride over it a hundred times.
This time, when we reach the end, Slater weaves his bike through the small roads of Sausalito. Within minutes, he pulls into a deserted café on the water’s edge. The lights from San Francisco reflect off the bay’s waters. It’s one of the most spectacular sights I’ve seen.
“I hope you still have your red pencil?” Slater questions while assisting me off his bike.
When I nod, his kiss-swollen lips curve into a broad grin. Now the San Francisco skyline is the second most spectacular sight I’ve ever seen. After clasping my hand within his, Slater walks us toward the closed café. I could imagine how beautiful the view is during the day, considering the outside deck butts up against the water.
When he opens the door and walks inside the café, my eyes nervously dart around the spotlessly clean space. “We can’t go inside; it’s closed.” I point to the closed sign swinging in the door he just opened.
He presses his index finger to his lips, silently requesting I be quiet before pacing deeper into the empty café. “Oh fuck!” he yells when he crashes into a table.
I try to mask my giggles, but when he turns around and runs straight into another table, I can’t help but laugh.
My chuckles die down when a light in the stairwell switches on. “Who’s there?”
I can see half of Slater’s face. His eyes are opened wide, and his face is rattled. “Run!”
The panic in his voice has me bolting out the door we just entered in under a second. My legs move surprisingly fast considering I’m wearing a tight mini dress. My heart almost leaps out of my chest when I realize Slater isn’t following me. He’s still in the cafe—alone and without protection.
I yank his baseball bat out of the saddlebag on his bike before raising it above my head, ready to attack. The shake making my arms flap like chicken wings slackens when Slater’s deep chuckle rumbles out of the café. He’s leaning on the doorframe with his arms folded in front of his chest and a shit-eating grin on his face. I throw the bat to the ground before resting my arms on top of my head, hoping a stretch will tell my lungs they can start breathing again.
As my body fights hard to replenish with oxygen, Slater sexily struts my way, picking up his bat on the way. “I’m glad to see you were coming back to save me.”
