Dirty Ties

“I’ve got a man on a motorcycle.” I pointed at the fallen tablet. “He’s safe.” A fantasy that would never be realized.

“Seriously doubt he’s safe.” He rotated the screen and stared at the photo. “What do you think he’s hiding under all that leather?”

I lay back and picked up the vibrator, closing my eyes. “Something huge and stiff.”

He groaned. “God woman, you need to work on your creativity.” He shifted closer, stretching his legs toward my head, evidently settling in. “A man like that fucks like he rides. With intimidation, recklessness, and unharnessed energy. He’s powered by adrenaline and takes what he wants without care.”

I loosened my legs, parting my knees, as the warm rumble of his voice illustrated my thoughts. The danger surrounding the mysterious man captivated me. Did he take all that risk just for the thrill of it? Or was it the money? It was rumored he made millions on each race, betting on himself and accumulating enemies with every win.

A night in his arms wouldn’t be that risky because he had more to lose than I did, right? Wouldn’t he be more concerned about hiding his own secrets than unraveling mine? I was transfixed by that idea, longing for the only kind of passionate connection I could chance, one of shared anonymity.

I wanted to be claimed by a mystery who possessed a woman as ferociously as he protected her. I wanted a fucking pipe dream.

Collin swiped the screen on the tablet. “Bet he’s built like a machine, his cock an iron piston. And you know those muscles in his ass aren’t muscles at all, but carbon fiber over Kevlar. Aerodynamic and bulletproof.”

A bulletproof ass? Ooookay, that was an interesting visual, somewhat bionic-man-like in the details, but it worked. My body primed for penetration, and the vibrator slipped right in.

His dirty mouth rumbled on, describing the various methods in which an unlawful daredevil would steal through the night, plundering unsuspecting holes and virginal crevices. With lightning speed, I reached the pinnacle, teetering on the peak of relief.

Collin flipped around, reclining with his head beside mine. “His ass would be so fucking tight, and he wouldn’t give it up easy. I’d have to fight him, wrestle him to the floor. ‘Course, I’m strong enough so he—”

“Do you mind?” I tightened my grip on the vibrator. “This is my fantasy.”

“You can be there. Just bring a strap-on.”

Considering my luck with men, Evader was likely gay or married. Probably both. “Trying to concentrate here. Go back to the iron cock part.”

He rolled to face me, his head on the pillow and his breath tickling my ear. “It would hurt at first. He’s too big, and he’s not built to be gentle. But it’s a good burn. The kind that stretches so deeply he wouldn’t leave a single nerve-ending untouched.”

My muscles quaked around the pulse of the toy. Right. There. Don’t stop.

“He’s fucked half the city so his experience is unparalleled, the madness in his strokes legendary.”

Collin was so full of shit. Dozens of women claimed to have bedded Chicago’s favorite bad boy, but my reporters had disproved every allegation, considering not a single one could believably describe that unidentifiable face.

Unless he fucked with his helmet on.

Collin drummed his fingers on his abs. “When he fucks, he doesn’t just rip open your filthy desires. He alters them until all you feel is the velocity of his thrusts searing into every tender cavity, wrenching every hungry breath, for the rest of your cock-starved life.”

I laughed as I plunged into the orgasm. Shock waves ricocheted over my skin, releasing the tension from my body with each sated exhale. When I caught my breath and collected my senses, I flicked off the vibrator and set it aside.

His lips brushed my shoulder. “I’m sorry about tonight.”

“Don’t.” I turned toward him and pinched his chin, giving it a little shake. “I married my best friend. No regrets.”

He closed his eyes. “You married a gay man who supports an anti-gay political party on national TV.”

“And you married a breeder who leaves cum trails on your lovers’ cocks.”

He half-laughed, half-choked. “Jesus, you’re nasty.”

“You’re one to talk. And quit whining about your political party.”

He was in a perpetual orbit of turmoil, one that wobbled between the private man I adored and the right-wing conservative I begrudged. While we didn’t agree on politics, his accomplishments made me proud to play the role of his conservative wife. And his audience loved him—an audience largely defined as religious, extreme in their traditionalism, and anti-gay. He was their voice and passionately advocated their beliefs. Well, all but one.

I rolled to my back and released a sigh. “You’ve never spoken against same-sex rights.”

“Does it really matter? The nation’s perception of me is its reality.”

If he aired his secret, it would certainly change perceptions. And get him booed off television. Narrow-minded bastards.