With You (Tear Asunder 0.5)

Kite nodded to the right. “Well Emily, you piss off Matt? Cause he looks none too happy, and he’s headed this way.”

Sculpt looked in the direction Kite indicated. “Jesus.”

“I’d say,” Kite muttered. “Looks like a mouth flogging for you, Emily.”

When Sculpt turned back to me, my stomach bottomed out. Everything in him was tense, even his jawline was pulsating. “Are you dating him?”

“He’s my best friend’s brother and my roommate. No, of course not.”

“He’s pissed man. And now he’s looking at you.” Kite chuckled. “I’m betting he thinks you’re hitting on her.”

Sculpt grunted. “Not a chance.”

I blanched, feeling like an ant he’d just stomped on. No matter if I already knew that he’d never be with me, hearing it aloud felt like I’d breathed in acid fumes and was decomposing. What an ass he was for throwing it in my face.

“We need to leave.” Sculpt snagged my hand. “Tell Matt I’ll take her home.”

“Um, what?” I tried to pull from his grasp, but it was like a being held by a tree.

Once again he ignored me as he tugged, and I stumbled after him. The crowd parted for him like the red sea as we made our way to the door.

He didn’t slow until we stopped beside a black racing bike. The black metal reflected in the moonlight while the chrome surfaces were so polished they looked like mirrors. He undid a steel cable on the back, grabbed a helmet, then plopped it down on my head. He proceeded to do up the chinstrap before I could even begin to process that he was riding off on his bike and taking me with him.

He threw his leg over the seat and started the engine, the loud purr sending vibrations through my body. I’d never been on a motorcycle and hadn’t intended on ever riding a death trap on wheels. I stepped back, my fingers undoing the strap.

He caught my wrist. “Get on, Mouse.”

“Yeah, um, I’m going to pass.” I’d rather bungee jump than get on a motorcycle. At least jumpers had a cord attached to their legs, a bike had nothing—no seatbelt, no essential airbags.

“You want me to teach you how to fight, but you’re scared of getting on a fuckin’ bike? Jesus.” He glanced toward the warehouse door then back at me. He tugged me close with one pull. “Get your ass on the bike, and I’ll give you one lesson. One. Then we will see, but I hear a single cry, whimper, whine, or complaint, then I walk.”

Harsh and rude—but fair enough. No chance was I saying no. “Okay.”

“Okay.” His brows rose as I stood staring at him astride the racing bike. “Move it, Mouse.”

The tingling between my legs worsened, and the butterflies in my stomach were having an all-out party. The thought of getting on behind him, feeling Sculpt up against me . . . Well it had my body reacting in strange, scary ways.

“Now.”

“Ah, yeah.” I approached the bike then skimmed my leg over the back, instantly feeling the tremors run through me. No wonder guys liked bikes; they were a total turn on.

He half-turned, reached back, placed his hand on the small of my back and roughly shoved me forward until my pelvis was up against his ass and the inside of my thighs were against his outer thighs. Heat shot through me.

“Arms.” He grabbed both wrists and tucked them around his waist. “Tight, Mouse.”

I squeezed, feeling his hard abdomen beneath my hands.

The bike shifted to the side, he reeved the engine, and we took off.

Chapter 2

Five weeks later

“Mouse, you’re not listening to me. Jesus. Get your hip behind me.” He had me flat on my back for the seventh time today, his hands holding my wrists above my head.

It was our fifth lesson, and every week I’d complained, bitched, and cried—after Sculpt dropped me off at home, and I was alone.

“Screw off. I’m trying my best.” My confidence was building; Sculpt made sure of that by peeling through my fears like an onion.

At least now when he pretended to choke me, I didn’t squeal and freeze up in panic, instead I raised my arm overtop of his and jammed my fingers into his trachea.

He was tough on me, and more often than not I was spitting mad, which I was slowly realizing he liked. If I was mad then I wasn’t scared, and that, to him, was far better, because at least I’d fight back then.

“Well try harder. I’m not wasting my time if you’re going to dick around.”

“Dick around? Really? Did you just say that?” He also could push my buttons. I tried to shove him off me, but with his hands holding my wrists, and sitting on top of my pelvis all I managed to do was look like a trapped writhing eel. “Do you think I like landing on my back continually?”

Sculpt raised his brows, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. It was the first time I’d seen him smile. Since the night he laughed at me, I’d never seen anything other than him being serious. He was kind of a quiet guy with his words and his emotions. It was like he was hiding behind his scowl. But seeing that twitch of a smile had me so turned on I swear I felt dampness between my legs.

A lock of his walnut hair fell in front of his left eye, and I wanted to push it back then run my fingers through the thick strands. I called it sexy bedroom hair, because it always looked like hands had been running through it. Maybe they had. God, how many women had their hands in his hair? A strange tightness gripped my chest at the thought. Jealousy? Shit, I had no right to feel jealous of anyone. Sculpt would never be interested in me. What was I thinking?

“Emily?”

I just knew if he kissed me with those perfect lips that it would be the single best experience of my life. Okay, I was only twenty, but still I’d been kissed by guys, and I couldn’t imagine them being better kissers than Sculpt. Not that he’d even consider kissing me. “The Sculpt” as the women screamed when he entered the ring, could get any woman he wanted. And from the blonde I’d witnessed, they’d be nothing like me. They were prime rib, and I was pork chops.