Page 8 of Mr. Wrong
I’m notsure what does it.
Maybe it’s the tentative way she lets me kiss her. The way her lush mouth opens under mine, slow and soft, letting me take the lead. Maybe it’s the way she tastes—cloyingly sweet cherry syrup mixed with the smooth, smoky tang of top-shelf single malt. Maybe it’s the way she looks at me when she says it, like I’m the kind of bad choice she’s avoided her entire life. One she’ll never give herself the chance to make again.
Yes.
Whatever the hell it is, I can’t get her out of here fast enough.
As soon as she says it, I’m vaulted over the bar again, fingers linked through hers, and I’m pulling her off her stool, barely giving her enough time to snag her bag off the stool next to her before I have her across the bar and out the door. I hear Seth shout something and I fling my free hand in his direction in a hastysee you later.
Stopping in front of my bike, it occurs to me that it might be a deal-breaker. For some women it is. “You ever been on a bike before?” I say, ready to pull my phone out and order the Ubershe threatened me with a few minutes ago. Not for her. For the both of us. I can leave my bike here. Seth will wheel it inside for me when he closes up. He’s done it before.
She shakes her head, chewing on that lower lip of hers again, obviously freaked out by the prospect. “No.”
“It’s okay.” I give her what I hope passes for a reassuring smile while telling myself what I’m feeling isn’t disappointment. It’s impatience. Maybe even annoyance. “We don’t have to—”
“No—I want to.” She bounces her dark gaze up to meet mine while she shakes her head, trepidation replaced by determination. “You’ll just have to show me how. Tell me what to do.”
I think about the way she let me kiss her. The way her mouth opened and yielded under mine. Soft and pliant. Willing to follow wherever I lead. Let me take whatever I want.
No, not let me take.
Give me.
Ellenore is willing to give me whatever I ask for.
All I have to do is show her. Teach her.
Suddenly, the fifteen-minute bike ride to Brentwood seems like a cross-country trek.
Giving her my helmet, I make sure it’s secure before straddling my bike and motioning for her to climb on behind me. She slides onto the seat, the inside of her thighs gripping the outside of mine. The heat of her full, soft breasts pressed against my back. Her soft, shallow breath against the nape of my neck. Reaching back, I find both of her hands and pull them forward, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Hold on. Follow my lead,” I say, giving her hands a brief squeeze before starting the engine. The sudden rumbling vibration of the bike seat between her legs pulls a sharp gasp from her that goes straight to my dick. In an instant I’m so hard I could hammer nails with the head of my cock, the rigid bulge of it mere inches from her hands. Turningmy head just enough to see her mouth, I give her a crooked smile. “I’ll go slow. Take it—”
Leaning forward, she rests her chin on my shoulder, bringing her mouth to within a breath of mine. “Don’t.” She settles into her seat even further, pressing herself tighter against me. “I don’t want to go slow.” She whispers it, her inner thighs gripping around my hips. “I don’t want you to take it easy on me.” I have a feeling she’s talking about more than the bike ride we’re about to take.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, shifting the bike into drive before opening the throttle and we take off like a shot.
Five
Ellenore
For the firsttime I can remember, I have no idea what’s going to happen next. Even when Derek broke up with me, I had a backup plan. A hastily assembled backup plan, but it wasstilla plan, even if I was weaving myself a safety net while I was falling.
Right now, with Lex, on the back of his bike, flying down dark, unfamiliar city streets, the last thing I’m worried about is tomorrow. The only thing I’m thinking about isnow.
Lex slows and I lift my head. Opening my eyes, I expect a run-down apartment over a liquor store. Or maybe an outrageously priced studio, coveted for its swimming pool and zip code. That’s not where Lex takes me. Scanning my surroundings, there isn’t an apartment building or liquor store in sight. We’re in a quiet, residential neighborhood. I notice how far apart the houses are. How far they’re set back off the street. Security gates. Guard shacks. Privacy hedges three times as tall as I am.
Lex turns onto a private drive, rolling to a stop in front of an unoccupied guard shack before planting his feet to keep the bike steady. Standing sentry in front of it is a box with a keypad andsmall blank screen. Leaning to the side, he presses his thumb to the screen and there’s a faint humming noise while the screen glows green. A few seconds later, the huge iron gate in front of us starts to roll open on its track, letting us in.
We follow the cobblestone driveway past the main house, a gorgeous, ivy-covered château that looks like it was plucked from the French countryside and transplanted in LA, before finally rolling to another stop in front of what looks like a converted carriage house. A long wooden staircase runs along the side of the building before ending in a platform outside a curtained French door. It might be my imagination but I’m pretty sure the curtain just twitched away from the door, like someone is checking us out.
As soon as Lex cuts the engine, I let go of him to reach up and unfasten the strap on my borrowed helmet before pulling it off my head. I hand it to him over his shoulder before sliding off the back of the bike.
Standing close by, I wait while Lex engages the bike’s kickstand and secures the helmet before climbing off to stand beside me.
“You have questions.” He sounds resigned when he says it. Like it’s inevitable. Like answering them is the last thing he wants to do.
He’s right. I do have questions. I have a million of them, and every one of them is encouraging me to be rational. Think this through. Run away. “I have one…” I take a deep breath and give it a voice because right now, it’s the only one that matters. The only question I care about. “Will you kiss me again?” I say it in a rush because the fact that I actually said it is equal parts embarrassing and terrifying. “Because when you’re kissing me, I stop thinking and I’d really like to not—”
Lex steps into me, lifting his hand to wrap it around the back of my neck to pull me close. His mouth presses against mine,his tongue skimming along my lower lip before pushing its way inside. This kiss is different than the one at the bar. That kiss was slow, almost methodical. Perfectly designed to get me here. To coax me into saying what he wanted to hear.
