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His jaw flexed, firm lips pressing together. Rising from the chair, he offered her his hand. His grip was strong, transmitting the same objective as his gaze.
He made their good nights, raising his free hand in a friendly farewell that nevertheless discouraged further conversation. Skye saw Brian’s knowing grin, but also Greta’s soft smile. She felt oddly glad about that sign of approval. They liked the way she looked with Tiger.
As soon as they broke away from the others and the night closed around them, those softer feelings were replaced by something else. Tiger had warned her that he might be moreout of control with her here at the rally, and the feeling was contagious.
When they reached the tent, and he held open the flap for her, she tugged him in behind her by his shirt front. Though a faint smile touched his serious mouth, it didn’t detract from the matching urgency she felt pulsing from him. She pushed him down on the cot, rough enough to tell him the mood she was in. She wanted to take control, here and now.
Being a Dom or sub didn’t require elaborate settings or props. She used the cues they both craved to take over. She tossed a condom on his chest as she got rid of her jeans and panties. A bare second after he’d opened his jeans and rolled it on, she straddled him. With nothing but her hand on his chest and throat, and the lock of her eyes, she slid down on his length and held there, her lips parted, eyes glowing upon him.
“Fuck,” he murmured. “Oh, fuck.” His body quivered as she tightened on him, slid up, then down. His fingers were clamped over her hips. Though he didn’t break her control or try to resist it, his savage need was a wave of energy that covered and wrapped her up, binding her to him.
She remembered him putting her against the wall of the trailer, letting her feel his need to take. The leash a Domme held on a powerful alpha sub wasn’t about its weight or thickness, but what it was made of. Every moment he obeyed her sent the intoxicating message he was surrendering to her restraint.
The contrast pushed her up to the climax, and she gave him a jerky nod just as she went over. She wanted to feel him come with her.
She’d like to feel it without the damn condom. But that would require the exclusivity conversation. And she wasn’t going down that road.Stay away from all the warning signs, girl.
He groaned out his release softly. No one was close, but the wind carried. At the club, hearing his groans tearing fromhim honored her control and reinforced it. Here, muffling his response showed his respect for her.
She tipped her head back, gasping through her climax and relying on him to hold her until she’d milked the very last sensation from them both.
Wow. It took some time to get their breath back, but when at last they did, she was ready for a different kind of aftermath. She had him turn over so she could lie upon him, her arms overlapping his, breasts against his back. They had the tent flap back to allow the screen mesh layer and a battery-operated fan to pull in air and cool the perspiration on their skin. Pressing her mons against his buttocks, she thought about his motorcycle beneath him, between his legs, all that heat and power, carrying him wherever he wanted to go.
She understood the appeal.
“Next full moon, I’ll take you out for a night ride,” he said. His voice was a rumble in the dense space.
She liked the idea. She shifted so he could turn over. When he did, she leaned down and touched her mouth to his, a soft intimacy. They held gazes, him lifting his hand to stroke back her hair. She nuzzled his hand, and his gaze flickered. Then she settled into his arms, her head tucked against his neck.
They fell asleep that way.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The next morning, they headed for a local track to see the bike races. Sitting next to Tiger on the bleachers, Skye learned who was demonstrating good bike handling skills and why. People around them jumped in to add their own opinions to Tiger’s and Brian’s, turning it into a small community forum.
It was a little tricky, keeping her attention moving between him, them and the track. When someone else was speaking and Tiger didn’t notice, she put his hand on his wrist, a cue so he wouldn’t throw a comment of his own in the middle of someone else’s.
Since there was too much noise to use her transcription recorder, she typed what they were saying, the basics, as there was a lot of information going back and forth. Tiger was missing about half, but he appeared pleased she was being pulled into the dialogue.
Then one man directed an engine question at Tiger. He had a shaved head, a trim gray goatee, and a tattoo on his arm that said he’d served in the Iraq war. Skye typed in his question.
“I’m deaf, man,” Tiger explained at the veteran’s curious look. “But she can tell me what you’re saying.”
Tiger was getting a lot of practice explaining his circumstances, but it wasn’t always easy for him. Especially when he faced the reaction she knew happened far too often. The question was the type that would naturally lead to further conversation on the topic, but once Tiger answered it, the vet grunted a general agreement and returned to watching the race—and talking to his companions on his other side.
Tiger’s expression stayed mild, though she detected the slight tightening of his lips. He slid his arm behind her, bracing it on the bleacher by her hip, and offered her a half smile. “Guess the upside is being able to focus on the race with fewer interruptions.”
She pressed her shoulder into his side, but when he returned to watching the race, she drew back and lifted her phone.
She’d taken so many pictures this weekend, which wasn’t unusual for her being somewhere with a lot of graphic design material. But she’d taken a lot more personal ones than the norm. Like now, when she captured Tiger’s profile.
His gaze turned toward her and held. His expression became more intent, as if her attention alone was what held him still for the camera.
She took that picture too, then touched his face. He pressed his lips to her fingers. A cheer from the crowd, people jumping up around them as an underdog took the lead, drew their attention back to the track. But he took her hand and held onto it. A firm grip that offered her strength. He’d noted her worrying about him, and was letting her know he was okay.
She thought he also wanted to let her know she could count on that. Could count on him for anything.
Message received. Clearly enough that it was getting pretty difficult to deny how much she wanted to do so.
