Desolation Road (Torpedo Ink 4)

The bike roared to life. It didn’t rumble. It roared. Powerful. Formidable. A beast coming to life. She felt that vibration between her legs and she gripped Aleksei tighter. He dropped a hand over hers, patted hers and then had both hands back on the bars and was taking them out of the parking lot.

She closed her eyes and let herself just breathe him in. He smelled the same, that faint, wonderful aroma of man and sandalwood that got to her every time. She loved the way the wind rushed at them and when she opened her eyes and got over the faint dizziness, the way the world was all around them. He was careful in traffic, not hurrying them or getting too close to cars, until he took the exit onto the freeway. Once on the highway, he picked up speed, but she could tell he was still very cognizant of her riding with him. The longer they rode, the faster they went and the more she loved it, but then she’d always been an adrenaline junkie.

Scarlet knew she could ride with him forever. She didn’t want to go back. She wished they could just ride off into the proverbial sunset and she could escape her life. Riding with Aleksei felt more intimate than with any other man she’d been with. When his body moved, hers naturally followed. Her breasts pressed deep into his back and every movement and bounce of the bike rubbed her nipples so that they burned, hot and tight, and her breasts ached.

She was aware of him with every cell in her body. It didn’t help that she was so tight against him, and that with the vibration of the Harley, after a while all she could think about was sex and more sex. Her panties were damp, and her clit inflamed and throbbing. She thought about how close his cock was to her fingers and wondered if the power vibration and her close proximity had gotten him in the same sexual frenzy as it had her. She really, really hoped that wherever he was taking her was somewhere secluded where there were no other people around so he would jump her. Please, please let him want to jump her.

His hand had come back to cover hers. He hadn’t done that in the last couple of hours, but now that they were off the well-traveled freeway and more and more of the redwoods were coming into view along with the Eel River running along the side of them, he was relaxed. Scarlet felt so much a part of him, as if she really belonged. They moved together, man, woman, machine, along those wide sweeping curves of the road and the shorter, tighter turns and bends running along the motorway leading up to the Avenue of the Giants.

The road narrowed and Richardson Grove came into view, the redwoods towering above them. Scarlet had lived in Sonoma for over a year, but she’d never made the trip up north, although she’d always promised herself that she would. Now, on the back of Aleksei’s Harley, she could look up at the towering giants and just marvel, wondering why she hadn’t made the trip. It was so worth it. The trees, she knew, could live over two thousand years. Just that would be an incredible thing in itself. They were beautiful.

Aleksei maneuvered the narrow, two-lane road through the park and came to a stop down beside the water where the bathrooms were. She hadn’t even had to ask him to stop. He offered his hand and she put her palm on his shoulder to steady herself as she got off his bike, surprised that her legs were a little wobbly. She was extremely strong. She ran every day and stayed in condition, ready for anything, her body fit, but she wasn’t used to traveling on a Harley for hours. Clearly that was something she was going to have to get used to if she stayed with him.

What was she thinking? She turned away from him fast, facing the bathrooms. He had parked close. Only the wooden stubs and a short expanse of grass and picnic tables separated her from the little building. The women’s side faced her. She took a couple of steps in that direction, afraid of her thoughts. She liked Aleksei too much and she didn’t have the right to draw him into her life.

“Wait for me, moya literaturnaya ledi.”

Russian. Definitely Russian. The way he said it in that velvet-soft, low but firm voice vibrated through her just the way the Harley had, sending little wicked flames licking over her skin, rushing through her veins and settling, burning unmercifully between her legs. She was so susceptible to him. That was good. He spoke multiple languages. He’d told her so. She loved languages. All of them. And his literary lady? Hell yeah. She’d take that any day. The way he said it was just plain sexy.