Collins picks up his chili dog at the same time as me and reaches out, taps mine, and says, “cheers.”
Watching him take a huge bite, sauce oozing out and covering his lips, a giggle escapes.
“There’s no polite way to eat these things, you gotta just go for it.” He licks the corners of his mouth and mine goes dry.
There’s none of my usual aversion to eating in front of guys. I just kick back and eat.
Collins slapsa helmet on his head. It’s dark green and black and he eyes me through the open front visor, offering me a pink and black one. “Why didn’t we wear helmets last night?”
“Because I was driving, beautiful. And I’m an expert. I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you.” His smirk kills me every single time.
“An expert, huh?” I raise a brow at him and smile.
“Yeah, just stick around, and you’ll see.” Now he winks at me, and my heart picks up speed, like it always does when I’m with him.
He steps up so we’re toe to toe and gently places the helmet on my head with the visor open, hands resting on my shoulders. “Okay, first thing’s first.” He starts pointing out the ignition, kill switch, throttle, brakes, gears, and parking brake. He pops the visor closed. “Go ahead and hop on, I’ll be right behind you.”
Swinging my leg over and grabbing the handlebars, I sit down and his warm chest immediately connects with my back. His brawny thighs encase mine and he places one hand gently around my stomach and the other on my thigh. It’s hard to breathe with him so close, but I try my best.
We start moving through the trails, everything looking a bit different in the daylight. I’m catching on quickly as he holds me from behind and yells commands from time to time. We’re on a fairly straight and level path when the hand he’s had on my thigh starts to tighten. Just when he starts to almost knead my leg, I get so caught off guard, I miss a gear and we sputter to a stop.
He doesn’t say a word, just pulls his helmet off, and I turn to look over my shoulder. Strong hands grasp my hips, and I feel him grab under my thigh, turning me around in the seat. My leg swings over his, resting on top and my hands find his shoulders, while his are perched on my waist. Neither of us say a word. There’s a strong current moving through us and I’m sure he feels it, too. Reaching up, he carefully removes the helmet from my head, and I rake my fingers through my hair. He watches the movement, then catches my hands in his on their way back down, eyes darting between my eyes and lips.
“Are you going to kiss me?” My words come out on a shaky breath and his eyes light up.
“That depends.” He smiles so big I can see the gap I’ve started falling more in love with each time he dons it.
“On what?” I say, with a smirk of my own.
“Are you going to kiss me back?” His expression turns from playful to full of lust.
I don’t know what comes over me but I don’t answer. I just move my face toward his. Even though my insides are frantic, I put on a confident smirk, tilt my head slightly and press my lips to his.
The minute we make contact I can feel his gasp and he keeps his lips gently pressed to mine. His hands move from my hips to my ass and he squeezes and pulls me closer in one motion. My hands find his neck, thumbs grazing his jawline, and he opens his mouth and deepens the kiss. Trailing a hand up my back, it makes its way to the back of my head and he grasps my hair, making me moan slightly. As soon as he hears my pleasure, something in him snaps and his movements become more urgent—delving his tongue in to tangle with mine. Tension builds inside me and I’m only spurred on more when he scoots even closer and I can feel the hard bulge of his jeans press into my own center.
“Fuck.” With a pained look, he leans back and swipes a hand down his face.
My stomach bottoms out.
Why did he stop? Did I read this wrong? Oh god, maybe I’m a bad kisser.
He’s certainly not,but maybe I am.
“I’m sorry, I just thought…” I start to say.
“Don’t be sorry for any damn thing, I was afraid maybe I’m moving too fast for you.” His look of concern makes my heart stutter. “Look, Johnnie. I forget sometimes that you’re only seventeen. I didn’t bring you here to get in your pants, I swear. I don’t want to do anything to make you uncomfortable.”
“I’m almost eighteen,” I try, pleading.
He smiles with heavy eyelids, and I see his throat bob on a swallow, like he wants to devour me, and places his hands on both my thighs, the way he rubs them more comforting than sensual now.
“Okay, almost-eighteen-year-old, let’s return you home safe and sound and revisit this conversation in the near future.”
I hope it’s the very near future.
CHAPTER 8
johnnie
