Page 172 of The Invite
My eyes bug out when I catch an open doorway that leads into another attached room. Mesmerized, I let go of Augustus’s hand and walk toward it. My breath catches in my throat as I enter it.
Shit you not!
On the far wall, a shiny vintage Harley-Davidson motorcycle is suspended with a bright overhead light on it. It ensures your eyes go straight toward it, as if the huge bike itself wouldn’t draw attention.
I’m in awe. Slightly afraid it may fall. But I know I’m just being silly.
As I look around, I realize this isn’t a showroom but a high-end garage, solely focused on two-wheelers. Multiple bikes in different stages of completion are spread around the room. The scent of motor oil, metal, and sweat is heavy in the air.
Sudden warmth, followed by a press of a possessive hand on my waist alerts me to Augustus’s presence. His spicy scent floods my lungs at my sharp intake of breath.
“Is your fascination with bikes newfound or was it always there, little prey?”
His teasing voice sends tingles across my skin. As for my fascination, it’s for sure deepened since meeting him. Not that I’ll admit it. His ego is big enough as it is.
“Just curious about my surroundings,” I answer vaguely. His low chuckle lets me know he knows I’m full of shit. “I know you said we’re here to shop, but I’m not in the market for a bike. I don’t even know how to drive one.”
“I can teach you.”
I lean sideways and glance up at him in intrigue. “You’d let me ride yours?”
“If you’d prefer mine, sure. Or if you want a brand-new one, I can arrange for that too.”
Oh my god. He isn’t kidding. “Just to teach me?”
“Yes.”
“What if I crash it?”
His gaze narrows playfully. “Are you questioning my teaching abilities, teach?”
“At the moment, I’m questioning your financial literacy.” Crossing my arms, I question skeptically, “How can you even afford it? You don’t have a job. You haven’t even graduated high school, Augustus!”
As I point it all out, it dawns on me just how far down the rabbit hole I’ve sunk. Why do I keep forgetting he’s mystudent? One I’ve already slept with in the raunchiest and most dangerous of ways.
He doesn’t notice my bubbling internal panic, and shares, “I got access to my trust fund when I turned eighteen. Even if I didn’t, the subscription business I have on the side earns me plenty.”
He says it without bragging. Nevertheless, I can’t get past him owning a salacious business at such a young age, much less it being successful. Or that he tricked me into believing he put our videos for his subscribers to watch in full sordid detail.
So many questions are running rampant in my head. What made him think of this is at the very top. However, a different question pops out of my mouth. “How old were you when you started it?”
I hope it wasn’t while he was underage.
It will be a crime, won’t it? And even more wrong than what we’re doing.
Sensing the trepidation in my voice, he soothes it away by replying, “Only after I turned eighteen.”
“Why treat it as more than a hobby?” I probe, craving a deeper understanding of why he was attracted to the idea. “Weren’t your followers on the app enough?”
“There’s a thrill, freedom, in seeking the forbidden, Nessa. A powerful rush in being the object of someone’s fantasy and knowing you’re the puppet master holding their strings.”
“And because you love control.”
The hand resting on my side curls around my waist, and he dips his head to murmur, “See, you’re getting to know me just fine.”
I suppress a shudder, and chastise, “You shouldn’t waste the money you earn from it, Augustus.”
“Spending it on you isn’t a waste.” Trailing his palms to my ass, he pulls me closer. “I’d be doing it more for my pleasure, anyways.”
