Undone (Wild Men 2)

Kaden

I keep a hold on her as we exit the bar. She’s a little shaky, and she’s put back on her fuck-me high heels, so her balance is precarious—but it just means she leans a little bit more into me, so I can’t complain.

Back there, I didn’t lie. I’ll just drive her to her place and go. Unless she wants me to stay, but not sure I’d risk it.

I’m not taking her to my apartment. I don’t take girls there. Never. Not since that girl, Eva, freaked out and started accusing me right and left of being a pervert. She wasn’t even my proper girlfriend. We’d been getting it on for a couple of weeks when she decided my tastes were too heavy for her.

And she went straight to the police, instead of telling me not to talk to her again, which I’d have gladly done.

See, I’d trusted her. I don’t do that lightly anymore.

But this girl. Hailey. I help her into her coat, hang her purse on her shoulder, and pull on my leather jacket as we walk around the bar. Then I haul her back to my side and she’s a warm solid presence, her chestnut bob silky where I let my fingers sift through it. She smells of alcohol, but underneath it there’s a sweeter scent. Flowers. Honey.

Woman.

I help her wear my extra helmet, then climb on my motorbike and wait for her to settle behind me. “Hold on tight.” Her hands slide up my sides and stay there. I grab them, fold them over my stomach. “Tight, or you’ll fall off.”

She mumbles something to my back, wiggling on the saddle, and I smile.

Haven’t smiled in fucking ages.

I rev the engine, pull on my own helmet and gloves, and we’re off. The cold night air clears the rest of my buzz, and it intensifies all my senses.

Her arms wrapped around me. Her tits crushed to my back. The warmth of her legs pressed behind mine.

As we zip through the city, I ask for her address and we head that way. It’s not that far from where I live or the shop, and I file the street name and the number in a corner of my mind, not even sure what for.

I’m a delivery guy right now. I delivered her from that motherfucker Johnny who keeps forcing himself on girls too scared to report him, and I’m delivering her safe and sound to her place.

Job done.

I park my bike, kill the engine and hit the kickstand. She doesn’t move.

“Hailey?”

“I can’t feel my legs,” she says, muffled against my back. “Or my hands.”

Dammit, I should have given her my gloves. I remove her hands from my middle and slide off the machine, carefully lifting my leg over the saddle, not to hit her.

Then I drag her off, until she’s standing in the circle of my arms, her head tucked under my chin, my hands on the small of her back.

Why does she have to feel so fucking good in my arms? So right, like she belongs there. I don’t know her.

And I don’t trust people, not anymore.

My body is taking notice, too, my dick swelling against her soft curves. I’d been half-hard most of the ride, feeling her against my back, imagining what I’d do to her, with her—and now I’m rock hard and uncomfortable.

It’s to make sure she’s steady on her feet, I tell myself, keeping a hold on her as we make our way to the building and she unlocks the door. That’s it.

One last moment of this warm, breathless feeling I get when I hold her against me.

Then she turns her dark eyes on me and says, “Come up with me?”

No. That’s what I should say. She’s tipsy, and everyone saw me leave with her, and if she freaks out like Eva did I’ll have trouble convincing anyone it wasn’t true.

But I say yes. Yes.

I stand no chance of refusing her, even if I know it’s a fucking bad idea…