Page 19 of Hemlock

"Don't chicken out on me now, Owen."

The sound of that fake name on her lips makes me open my mouth for another reason, but making a confession about who I really am isn't possible. I straighten and remind myself of who I am and what I'm doing here.

"Ready?"

She dips her head in a nod as she releases my jacket, leaning back to make it easier for me to climb on the bike without kicking her.

Before I can put the bike in gear, she covers my back, her arms circling me as much as she can, her hands not reaching and making me realize our size difference.

My heart rate changes like it always does when she's close, and, for some reason, less than a minute after I pull out onto the road, I lift my hand from the handlebar and cover one of hers with it.

Before long, I have to pull it free because the next curve will require both hands in order to clear it safely. It shoots a mix of relief and regret swirling in my gut.

My bike follows the curves of the mountain, our climb slow and relaxing. With each twist and turn, her hands glide lower on my body, leaving my stomach, and inching toward my crotch. By the time we're near the overlook, both of her hands are covering my cock.

Instead of reaching down and pulling them free, like I know I should in order to maintain control of this situation, Ireach down and press one hand on top of hers, making her press harder against me.

I swear the heat between her legs pressing against my ass increases, and just that thought makes me want to pull the fucking bike over, bend her over the fucking seat, and shove inside of her.

My blood is pumping, my body on fire, as we make it to the top. It shouldn't be such a struggle to decide whether to make the U-turn and descend the mountain or to park and feed that need that's growing inside of me.

When we get to the very top, she doesn't speak when I turn the bike off, letting the world settle around us, darkness swirling, the clouds swimming in and out of the stream of moonlight.

Chapter 10

Zara

There's just something about fresh mountain air that makes me feel wild and free. Riding on the back of Owen's bike is much different from any ride I ever shared with Billy. Owen is easily twice Billy's size, and not once, even on some of the sharpest curves when we had to really lean into them, did I feel unsafe.

Owen commanded this piece of machinery like it was an extension of his own body, as if he's done nothing but drive this thing his entire life. There was a sense of safety in that for me, but the security I felt begins to fade the second he turns the bike off at the overlook.

Despite the cold air that's gently blowing against us, all I feel is the warmth of his body against mine.

Along with the wildness scratching at my skin, I also feel a sense of bravery, as if I can be anyone on the top of this mountain. My history doesn't matter. The fact that I haven't been attracted to any man in a very long time is a distant memory. None of it matters in this moment.

Surprisingly, he doesn't jerk my hands away from his body, but he doesn't press his hands to mine, forcing me to touch him hard either. It seems he's leaving it to me, but I also know just how easily his mood can shift. He wanted me the other night. I felt the proof of it against my back, but it still didn't stop him from walking away. The man has more control and restraint than I've ever seen, and there's something alluring about that.

Billy gave everyone a ride that even glanced in his direction. He told me once he couldn't control it. He explained that to me the one time I visited him in jail, requesting his signature on the divorce papers. In the end, he told me that in prison he could stay faithful. The ignorant man didn't see the problem with steel bars being a requirement for him to stay true to his wedding vows.

I pull in a deep breath and release it, sending with it any and all thoughts of my ex.

Instead of listening to the whisper in my head that is telling me I could very easily end up alone, walking back to my car on this isolated road if Owen once again changes his mind, I work to unzip his jeans, taking it as a good sign when he leans back, giving me a little better access to it.

His groan rumbles through his chest, and I can feel it through our connection at his back when he falls into my hand. He doesn't hiss and pull away despite the temperature differences in our skin.

I feel more than a small hint of disappointment when he climbs off the bike, breaking our connection, but in the next breath, he's pulling me from it as well, his eyes locked on mine as his forefinger and thumb clamp onto my chin. The pressure is rougher than a lover's touch, but the aggression behind the slight tremble in his fingers turns me on, probably more than it should.

I don't know this man. He could be just as dangerous as I've imagined he could be, but would a man who wishes me ill will sit and stare at me in front of witnesses several times? Would he let people see his face to the point he could easily be identified by people in the bar and still have intentions of hurting me?

"Are you going to hurt me?" I whisper, knowing he could easily lie to me in order to make me feel more at ease.

"Probably," he whispers, his voice still as gruff as it was the first time he came into the bar and ordered a beer.

I dip my head in understanding, but I think there's a very good chance he's reading more into this than he needs to be. I didn't plan to make that filthy confession the other day, but nothing has changed for me. I don't need my life to revolve around another man. I spent over ten years in an unhealthy marriage because I thought love and affection were all I needed in life.

Good sex with no expectations seems like a better bet.

With his fingers still clamping my face, he leans in closer, but the kiss I expect never comes. Instead, warmth from his breath curls around my neck.

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