Which was why I wouldn’t miss the underground race that began in—I glanced at the clock on the nightstand—two hours, for a glimpse of something more. To glory in those almost-maybe tilts of that mysterious helmet in my direction.
2
Kaci
A hot shower didn’t wash away the disappointment that had followed me from Collin’s room. The restless need for release—for something—pulsed through my body and fucked with my pulse.
I dropped the towel on the floor and paced around the oversized furniture in my unlit bedroom—the couch and chaise lounge, the king-size bed, the towering bookshelves lining the walls. Velvety fabrics, dark heavy wood, warm shades of red and brown, the decor was inviting yet…empty, the furnishings as unused as the day I moved in.
I spent my days in the office and my evenings with Collin or sneaking into races. But I slept here, in this cavernous space, isolated and hollow, and I hated it.
Fuck, I was in a mood. Attending the race would pump some vigor into my blood. I didn't even mind if I missed a glimpse of Evader. He was just a glamorous thrill that added to the experience.
Liar.
I brushed a hand down my belly, teasing the need running beneath my skin, and my fingers grazed the stripe of hair between my legs. I had two hours to wait. Two hours until I saw him again. I stretched lazily, recalling the way he thrust four-hundred pounds of torquey craftsmanship on oil-slicked streets. His dark silhouette as intimidating and elegant as his bike, he always ignored the crowd with bored indifference, like he hadn’t just rocked their adventure-seeking world.
Sighing, I retrieved the tablet and lay on the bed. The e-mail from Jenna waited in my inbox, as promised. Tonight’s race would begin near Bunker Hill, wind and turn through the back streets of downtown, and end at the intersection of State and Ninth Street.
The exterior wall of windows cast a silver glow over my skin. I placed my feet flat on the mattress, my knees spread and pointed to the vaulted ceiling, and traced the shadowy lines of my thighs with the pads of my fingers, shivering against the caress. The air brushed my flesh, like a soft kiss without judgment, and it felt uninhibited, freeing, but lonely all the same.
I tapped the tablet until last weekend’s Trenchant Times’ story filled the screen. Dozens of images had been captured during the illegal race through Lincoln Park, most of them zoomed in on a sleek BMW S1000RR sportbike and its undefeated rider.
Dressed neck to toe in black leather, the potent lines of his body molded to the sexy machine. His torso bent horizontally over the bike, following the sporty tail-up, nose-down design, mounting it like a lover. The way his thighs gripped the aluminum frame made me envious. I wanted to be that machine, to feel the strength of his legs while being ridden to the edge of death and back. Heat flooded my core, and a heavy exhale escaped my lips.
I swiped back and forth between the photos, searching for the best angle of his ass. There. The rear shot of him taking a sharp corner. His knee hovered inches from the ground, flirting with danger and sending a shiver to the best places.
Propping the tablet against my raised thigh, I slid my fingers along my slit and imagined straddling his lap, my wetness staining his leather pants. I’d grind against him and clutch his glossy black helmet with both hands, lifting it slowly, just enough to reveal his lips. I would lick them next, of course, and the stubble on his jaw—
Would he have stubble? Yeah, it would burn a trail of fire against my skin.
Dipping inside my opening, I wet my fingers, circled my clit, and flicked the piercing. My toes curled, and a breathless tremor sunk my body into the mattress.
His helmet needed to come off, stat. I mentally yanked it up, my body quivering in anticipation of his face. I strained to make out his blurry expression, so I reached for his hair, dragged him closer, peering up and seeing…seeing…what?
I scrunched my nose and dug through a collection of stimulating images in my finger vault, searching frantically for inspiration. Narrow chin? Too pompous. Freckles? Bleh, innocent. Long, black hair? Definitely not.
Fuck if I couldn’t envision the right head shot. Screw it. Let him have his obscurity. Wasn’t that part of the allure? He didn’t need a face for me to fantasy-fuck him.
But what if he had a hairy mole on his lip? Or a unibrow? Buck teeth?
Another caress between my legs. “God, I’m shallow.” I inserted three fingers, knuckles deep, reaching for the feeling of fullness.
“Not from where I’m standing.”
I flinched and followed the soft timbre to the doorway. Collin leaned against the frame, clad in tailored, black boxers, his arms crossed over his bare chest like an underwear model. Shadows hid his face, but I could imagine the conflict tightening the skin around his eyes. I never left his bed unfulfilled, and he probably saw it as a failure on his part. No doubt he was here to rectify that.