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|Throttle Me(Men of Inked #1) by Chelle Bliss|
I stepped back, keeping my eyes trained on him, as I dialed the only person close enough to help - Sophia. The phone rang and his eyes traveled up and down the length of my body – with each ring, my stomach began to turn. I didn’t have anyone else to call.
Tapping the end button I sighed. “There’s no answer. Thanks.” I gave him a sheepish smile as I handed him the phone.
“Let me take a look and see if there’s anything I can do. Okay?” he asked, as he began angling the bike to shine the headlights on the hood.
“Sure.” I hit the unlock button on my car key before climbing in. I put the key in the ignition, but stayed aware of his proximity. No one will hear me scream if he tries to kill me. I couldn’t let my guard down.
He put the kickstand down, climbed off the bike, and placed the helmet on the seat. Pulling the hood latch next to my seat I watched him from the relative darkness of my car, my face hidden by shadows. He was large, larger than he looked sitting on the Harley. He had to be more than a foot taller than me and looked more solid with the bike illuminating his body. I stared at him, mouth open slightly, my breathing shallow as I looked at him like a piece of meat through the gap between the hood. He oozed masculinity and ruggedness and I tried to picture him without all the skintight clothes. The muscles in his arm rippled as he touched the parts under the hood.
What would it be like to be with a man like him? Every man I’d dated just didn’t work out. They were nice guys, but the spark I wanted was always missing. People think I’m a good girl, and I am, but my mind is filled with dirty thoughts that I could never share with a mate. I’ve shared them with Sophia, but she doesn’t count. No one had ever done anything fantasy-worthy with me. I can barely speak the words that are needed to describe the things I want done to me, or that I’d want to do to another person in this world.
“Ma’am,” he said, snapping me out of the evaluation of my sex life, or lack thereof.
“Can you try and start it for me, please?” he said, leaning over the hood, his hands placed on either side of the opening. “Now,” he said. The car churned and churned. “Stop.” I heard him yell over the screeching noise. He moved methodically throughout the engine of the car. “Try it again.” I turned the key causing the engine to rattle, but not start.
He stood, rubbing the back of his neck as curses spilled from his lips. The only thing I could see was his crotch. I stared motionless. His t-shirt covered the belt loops and stopped just above his groin. Damn. He fills out those jeans. He has to be big. Everything about him is big – he couldn’t, just couldn’t, have a small cock, could he?
The last guy that I’d slept with was more the size of a party pickle. It was the most unsatisfying sexual experience of my life. He was a teacher and I wanted someone who was educated and self-sufficient, but he was boring in and out of the bedroom. I thought I’d found that with Derek, Mr. Pickle, but I was wrong. He was a wreck and filled with more mental issues than anyone I’d ever know. He was germ-a-phobic, which was problematic when having sex. He’d jump right out of bed immediately after sex to shower and wash the dirty off. I sighed to myself remembering his need to be clean, never mind that he was an ass**le too.
The hood of my car made a loud thump as he slammed it. “Your car is a little tricky. Foreign cars can be complicated. I can’t seem to get it to start,” he said walking toward the driver side door.
“It’s okay. Thanks for trying.” I climbed out not wanting to be trapped inside. What the hell am I going to do now?
“I was heading to the bar up the road. Want to join me?” He smiled and tilted his head as he studied me. “You can call a tow truck from there. It may take them a while for them to get out here.”
I couldn’t think of any other option. He was my only hope, my saving grace from the dark roadside and a means to an end. There are worse things than climbing on the back of his motorcycle and wrapping my arms around him. “Okay, but I’ve never been on a bike.”
“Never? How is that even possible?” he asked, shaking his head, a small laugh escaping his lips. His teeth sparkled in the light, straight and white. His jaw was strong, his cheekbones jutted out more when he smiled, and a small dimple formed on the left side of his face.
I looked down at the ground, my cheeks heated. “I don’t know. I just never knew anyone that had one and I find them totally scary.”
“It’s not far from here and there isn’t much traffic. I’ll keep you safe,” he said, holding out his helmet.
My stomach fluttered as I closed the car door and thought about my first motorcycle ride. The black round helmet felt cool against my fingers as I took it from him. I scrunched my eyebrows together as I studied it. I didn’t know if there was a front or a back, or how to put it on.
“Here, let me help you,” he said as he reached for the helmet, removing it from my grip. His hand touched mine and I felt the spark again. Not a real spark, but electricity that I felt with every fiber of my being from the slightest touch. My body wanted his touch but my mind was throwing up the caution flag.
Placing it gently on my head, he ran his rough fingers down the straps, almost caressing my skin, to adjust it to fit my face. I inhaled deeply trying to fill all my senses with him, he smelled different than any other man I’d smelled. He didn’t smell of cheap cologne but there was a spicy woodsy scent that reminded me of home. I closed my eyes, and relished the feel of his warm skin against mine.