through her purse, she stops behind a bright-blue Beatle and nods toward it. “Get in.”
“You want me to get into a Beatle?” I stare at her.
“Yes.” Defiantly, she looks at me and unlocks the car.
I snatch her keys from her hand, pull her purse from her arm, chuck it in the trunk, and lock the car. “No chance.” I pocket her keys and grab her hand to drag her behind me.
“Jack! What are you doing?”
We stop behind my bike, and I pass her a helmet. “Put this on.”
“What? Where’s your car?”
“At home in the garage,” I inform her, putting my own helmet on. “You getting on or what, babe?”
“Er, I’m going to go with ‘or what.’”
“You’re real fucking cute sometimes.” I take the helmet from her and put it on.
She argues with me when I lift her and set her on the back of the bike. Not giving her a second to move, I swing my leg over and start the engine.
“Hold on tight.”
Macey hesitantly wraps her arms around my waist. Her grip quickly tightens when I turn the bike around and join the flow of traffic. I’m also pretty sure she screams when the light switches to green and I pull away.
I laugh. She grabs me even tighter, this time winding her fingers in my shirt. She even scoots forward so her pussy is pressing right against my ass, and sweet fuck. I should not be thinking about her pussy right now when I’m driving.
Or the fact that her gorgeous tits are squashed against my back. Fuck.
I swallow hard and take the road that’ll lead us right to my house. The journey is long and painful, to say the least. My mind seems incapable of stopping the thoughts about her tits against my back and wanting them against my front. Of wanting her ass in my hands and my fingers to brush her pussy.
Jesus. I’ve never wanted a girl this way. Never craved their touch or body as badly as I crave hers.
The second we’re done talking, I’m taking exactly what I need from her and giving her what she needs in the damn process. Nothing but sweet oblivion.
I stop the bike outside my house and kill the engine. I pull my helmet off then turn to take Macey’s from her.
“You live in Long Beach?”
“I live on the beach,” I laugh, opening the garage.
Macey stares at me, her eyes wide. “You do?”
“Grew up on the beach in Rhode Island,” I explain, taking her hand to help her off the bike. “I was never livin’ anywhere else.”
“Whoa. I didn’t know that,” she breathes quietly. “How far away is the beach? From here.”
I wheel the bike into the garage, lock the door, and half grin. She’s staring at me with her eyes slightly narrowed, and the suspicion in her eyes draws a laugh from me. I approach her slowly, and my fingers thread through hers. I pull her after me around the side of the house.
“This far away. It’s a private stretch.”
“No way,” she whispers. “This is your beach?”
“Well, it came with the house and I own the house, so yeah.” I laugh.
“Wow.” She turns, her eyes now wide. “Your house is massive.”
“It’s not big. Not really.”
“How many bedrooms do you have?”
“Four.”
“Yeah, I have a one-bedroom apartment that’s basically the size of your garage.” Her eyes flick back. “This is much bigger.”
No arguing with that.
“Come on.” I lead her into my house and leave the back doors open.
We walk straight into the kitchen, and I wait as she looks around. The glossy, black cupboards are the ones my mom hates so much, but I love them. They’re so easy to keep clean, and the marble countertops are wipe-clean easy, which is great for my lazy ass.
“Wow.”
I smile at Macey. “You want a drink?”
She nods, and I let her go.
“I don’t have tequila,” I warn her.
A smirk tugs her lips, and she pushes some hair from her face. “Coffee will do.”
“You sure? Should I see if anyone can bring me an emergency supply for our conversation?”
“Do you have wine?”
“Vodka, maybe.”
“Then I should
“You want me to get into a Beatle?” I stare at her.
“Yes.” Defiantly, she looks at me and unlocks the car.
I snatch her keys from her hand, pull her purse from her arm, chuck it in the trunk, and lock the car. “No chance.” I pocket her keys and grab her hand to drag her behind me.
“Jack! What are you doing?”
We stop behind my bike, and I pass her a helmet. “Put this on.”
“What? Where’s your car?”
“At home in the garage,” I inform her, putting my own helmet on. “You getting on or what, babe?”
“Er, I’m going to go with ‘or what.’”
“You’re real fucking cute sometimes.” I take the helmet from her and put it on.
She argues with me when I lift her and set her on the back of the bike. Not giving her a second to move, I swing my leg over and start the engine.
“Hold on tight.”
Macey hesitantly wraps her arms around my waist. Her grip quickly tightens when I turn the bike around and join the flow of traffic. I’m also pretty sure she screams when the light switches to green and I pull away.
I laugh. She grabs me even tighter, this time winding her fingers in my shirt. She even scoots forward so her pussy is pressing right against my ass, and sweet fuck. I should not be thinking about her pussy right now when I’m driving.
Or the fact that her gorgeous tits are squashed against my back. Fuck.
I swallow hard and take the road that’ll lead us right to my house. The journey is long and painful, to say the least. My mind seems incapable of stopping the thoughts about her tits against my back and wanting them against my front. Of wanting her ass in my hands and my fingers to brush her pussy.
Jesus. I’ve never wanted a girl this way. Never craved their touch or body as badly as I crave hers.
The second we’re done talking, I’m taking exactly what I need from her and giving her what she needs in the damn process. Nothing but sweet oblivion.
I stop the bike outside my house and kill the engine. I pull my helmet off then turn to take Macey’s from her.
“You live in Long Beach?”
“I live on the beach,” I laugh, opening the garage.
Macey stares at me, her eyes wide. “You do?”
“Grew up on the beach in Rhode Island,” I explain, taking her hand to help her off the bike. “I was never livin’ anywhere else.”
“Whoa. I didn’t know that,” she breathes quietly. “How far away is the beach? From here.”
I wheel the bike into the garage, lock the door, and half grin. She’s staring at me with her eyes slightly narrowed, and the suspicion in her eyes draws a laugh from me. I approach her slowly, and my fingers thread through hers. I pull her after me around the side of the house.
“This far away. It’s a private stretch.”
“No way,” she whispers. “This is your beach?”
“Well, it came with the house and I own the house, so yeah.” I laugh.
“Wow.” She turns, her eyes now wide. “Your house is massive.”
“It’s not big. Not really.”
“How many bedrooms do you have?”
“Four.”
“Yeah, I have a one-bedroom apartment that’s basically the size of your garage.” Her eyes flick back. “This is much bigger.”
No arguing with that.
“Come on.” I lead her into my house and leave the back doors open.
We walk straight into the kitchen, and I wait as she looks around. The glossy, black cupboards are the ones my mom hates so much, but I love them. They’re so easy to keep clean, and the marble countertops are wipe-clean easy, which is great for my lazy ass.
“Wow.”
I smile at Macey. “You want a drink?”
She nods, and I let her go.
“I don’t have tequila,” I warn her.
A smirk tugs her lips, and she pushes some hair from her face. “Coffee will do.”
“You sure? Should I see if anyone can bring me an emergency supply for our conversation?”
“Do you have wine?”
“Vodka, maybe.”
“Then I should
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