Page 110 of Wicked Spite
And just this side of fucking psychotic.
I grip her hand, feeling her warmth against my rough skin, and tap it four times. She grips even tighter in response, nails biting through my jacket and into flesh.
Ahead, two cop cars sit side by side like bloated vultures under a billboard advertising some irrelevant luxury crap no one’s buying. They stand out like two fucking pigs at the 4H fair for best in fucking show.
With a flick of my wrist and a shift in weight, the front wheel lifts off the ground. The bike stands on its rear wheel as we fly past the fucking Paul Blart mall cops.
They can’t see my face, nor can I see theirs with how fast we fly by, but I imagine jaws dropping and their realization sets in, and they are scrambling to get a little hitch in their giddy-up and come after us.
For that split second, there’s nothing but Reagan’s laugh cutting through the air as I slam us back down to two wheels and open up the throttle to push my bike to its limits.
Sirens wail after us, but all I can hear is the pounding ofmy heart and my laughter. All I can feel is her wrapped around me, trusting me to give her a high like no other.
The wind whips past us as we tear down the highway, the roar of the engine vibrating through my bones. Reagan’s arms tighten around me, and I feel her fingers start to wander, creeping up under my shirt.
“Enjoying the ride, baby?” I tease, trying to keep my voice steady.
She doesn’t reply with words; instead, her hands slide lower, teasingly brushing against the waistband of my joggers. My grip on the handlebars tightens, every nerve ending screaming for more.
“Fuck it,” I mutter under my breath, yanking the bike to the side and pulling into a dark, secluded spot just off the road. The tires crunch against the gravel as we come to a halt, the sudden stillness almost deafening after the adrenaline of our ride.
“Get over here,” I command, twisting around and grabbing her by the waist. She straddles me, her legs wrapping around my hips. I can feel the heat radiating from her, mingling with the cool night air, as I flip up her visor, then my own.
“Always so demanding,” she purrs, her breath warm against my face as she runs her fingers over my hoodie, tugging just hard enough to make me growl.
“Don’t pretend you don’t love it,” I shoot back, my hands finding their way to her belt, yanking it open with a practiced ease. The leather gives way, and I slide my hand beneath her jeans, feeling the wetness already pooling there. “Fuck, you’re soaked.”
“Maybe I’m just excited from the ride,” she taunts, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Is that right?” I challenge, pushing her back slightly and positioning her against the gas tank. Fuck, I’m hard seeing her spread out on my bike and wrapped around me. I cup her breasts, squeezing them roughly through her sweatshirt before slipping my hands underneath to feel her bare skin because of fucking course she’s not wearing a bra. Her nipples are hard, begging for attention, and I oblige, pinching and rolling them between my fingers until she gasps.
“Penn,” she moans, her voice full of pleasure and impatience. Her hips grind against me, seeking more friction, more contact. But I’m not ready to give her everything just yet. I want to savor this, to draw out every moment of her desire until she’s begging for release.
“You’ll take what I give you, hellfire,” I whisper, my lips brushing against her neck as I tease her clit through her panties. At least she’s fucking got those on. My wife can’t be going out without a bra and panties on unless I’m there to be her scary fucking bodyguard. Her body jerks in response, a shiver running down her spine. “We’ve got all night.”
“You’re such an asshole,” she hisses, but there’s no real anger in her voice, only desperation.
“And you love every second of it,” I retort, sliding her panties to the side and dipping a finger inside her, feeling her walls clench around me. I pump slowly, deliberately, stroking my long fingers inside of her and making sure my rings rub against her clit to build the anticipation until she’s writhing against the gas tank, her breaths coming in ragged bursts.
“Please,” she finally whispers, her voice breaking. It’s the sound of surrender and it’s music to my ears.
“That’s more like it,” I murmur, adding another finger and increasing the pace, watching as she comes undonebeneath me. Her moans echo in the stillness as I push her closer and closer to the edge.
But just as she’s about to tip over into oblivion, I pull back. The whimper that escapes her lips is almost enough to make me relent. Almost.
“You’re stopping now?” she gasps, her eyes wide with disbelief and desire. She’s flushed, breathless, and absolutely perfect.
“You wanted to tease me, so tit-for-tat baby,” I say, pulling back and letting her catch her breath. The look she gives me could melt steel.
“Asshole,” she mutters, but there’s a playful edge to it. She climbs off the bike, removing her helmet and shaking out the baby hairs that have clung to the sweat around her temples.
“Come on, hubby,” she taunts, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Catch me if you can.”
Without another word, she takes off into the woods, her laughter ringing out behind her. For a second, I’m frozen, watching her disappear into the trees. I rip off my helmet because running with that son-of-a-bitch on is not my idea of a good time. Then, the thrill of the chase kicks in, and I’m after her.
The forest closes in around me as I sing-song taunts into the air.
“Mrs. Fucking Blackwood!” I call out, my voice echoing through the trees. “You can’t run forever!”
