Page 95 of Throttle

“I guess we both have insecurities.”

She moves closer to me, resting her head on my shoulder. “Let’s agree. No more secrets between us.”

“Agreed.” I kiss the top of her head. “I’m serious about us. This. I know I’ve said it before, but I want to make sure you understand I’m done playing games and keeping my feelings tucked away. I like you so much more than just my best friend, Tequila. And a part of me always had.”

“It's been a while since we both realized there was more than just friendship between us.” Her smile dies, and I sense she’s holding something back.

“Can I kiss you?” Jackass, you really know how to be blunt.

Gradually, she turns her head and gives a nod. Victory.

Thank God.

When our lips touch, a blazing fire erupts inside me as I cradle her face in my hand. A single kiss from her weakens me.

I handle her gently, but as I stroke her bare thigh, I make a mistake. All I desire is to explore further and see if she's aroused.

I distance myself from her, my gaze fixed on her swollen lips, and slide my thumb down them, causing her mouth to open. I crave more—want to do more but I need to show her just how serious I am about us. And trying to get in her pants isn’t how.

“Come on, my rose. Dinner awaits.”

With a hint of pink on her cheeks, she smiles while I help her down. Her dress rides up, showing me more of her bare, smooth thighs.

If there’s one thing I know, Tequila in this dress is going to kill me.

TWENTY-NINE

Tequila

I'm a mess of intense lust. Throttle took the seat next to me during dinner. Not across. With our shoulders brushing. Legs touching and his touch on my bare thigh made it impossible for me to focus. Tonight, has been a series of fumbles and knock-overs like I've never experienced before. I lost to the water glass; the score is two to zero.

The memory of his rough hands sliding up my upper leg makes my cheeks burn. If I had worn underwear, they would have ended up soaked. I was so eager that I almost shouted at him to feel me more. Lift those beautiful hands and touch me already. However, he's acting like a complete gentleman. I have no interest in him being chivalrous and patient. I wanted him to strip me and fuck me every which way on the restaurant table. I was drowning. Couldn’t breathe. Why did he have to be so attractive? I had to excuse myself twice to take a breath and find space.

Lord.

Our only moment of effective communication because we were both suffering was when our food arrived, and he released me with disappointment. My skin never felt so lonely after that.

We discussed his childhood in greater detail, focusing on the comfortable aspects, while I elaborated on my school experiences and post-graduation plans. To be honest, I prefer to remain here. Remain close to everyone, and now that we’re considered dating, Throttle wants me to stay with him. Live with him. I mean, it only makes sense at this point.

All or nothing.

Throttle pays and we depart. As he opens the door, the chilly night air kisses my face. However, I embrace it because it was like being trapped in hell inside.

Due to it being so busy, Throttle's truck was a good distance from the restaurant. Hand in hand, we stroll along the sidewalk, experiencing a natural connection. Comfortable. Like we’ve been doing this for years.

“Thank you for dinner. It was fun and well... interesting.” I chuckle. Fun with my vagina screaming in agony.

Throttle comes to a stop and upon receiving no reply, I glance upward, noticing a faint hint of tension on his face. With a tightening grip, he silently warns me.

I follow his line of sight and my heart thumps faster.

He embraces me tightly, and despite his predatory appearance, he appears calm except for the slight strain in his jaw.

A gentle breeze tousles my hair, sending fallen leaves swirling. Apart from the people crossing the street, it's just us and our unwelcome guest who hasn't made a move toward us. With a half-cocked grin, he's leaning against his Harley and staring at me and Throttle. With a flick of the cigarette, he advances in our direction, as if we are his sole purpose. It's probably not the right time to mention his unhealthy habit and littering. These men are terrible at throwing their trash away.

One thing I recall is his imposing stature and many tattoos.

“Pipe.” Throttle’s arm tightens around my shoulder.

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