I grab her wrist, rubbing the inside with my thumb. “We don’t have time for explanations. We have to go. Now.”
We hurry down the alley, back towards our vehicles, and I go to my bike. Madison hesitates.
“Get on,” I urge, holding out the helmet for her.
“I’ve never…” she begins, taking the helmet and eyeing the motorcycle with fear. She glances behind her at her car. “Can’t I just follow you?”
I shake my head. We can’t risk it. We don’t know who that was, or who sent him. What if they have her car’s information? What if there are more? Motorcycles are the perfect getaway vehicle. They can weave through traffic, fit down tight alleys, and they accelerate faster than most cars.
Madison glances up, then goes pale. “Gun!” she screams, pointing behind me.
I whirl. At the mouth of the alley, a man gets out of a tan sedan and crouches behind his door for cover.
I grab her, curling around her protectively, and drag her down just as a gunshot rings out. The metallic plink tells me it went wide and hit her car. A second later, a car door slams closed, and I know we have seconds until he’s on us.
I haul her up and hop onto my bike. This time, there’s no argument. She throws her leg over, falling gracelessly onto the seat behind me, and leans her full weight against me, hugging me so hard around the middle it makes breathing a challenge. But it’s good. I need to feel her to balance us, and if she’s hugging me, I know she’s all right. I hit the starter, and the engine roars to life, revving and drowning out her screech of alarm as I peel out of the alley where the first assailant’s car is blocking the path. The gunman won’t be able to follow us past that car.
Moving too fast to pause, we careen out into the street, cutting off a small lorry and eliciting angry honks. I speed up even more, weaving through traffic and avoiding red lights so I don’t have to stop. The blood is pumping so hard in my veins it’s audible over the sound of the wind rushing in my ears. There’s so much adrenaline and fear and panic, I can’t even enjoy the experience of having Madison as my backpack.
I keep checking my mirrors, but we’re not being followed by anyone. So I zigzag across town, arriving at the Ulysses Grand and pulling right into the parking garage under the building. Usually I find a spot on the top level for easy access, but now I keep going until we’re several levels down, in an area where no one parksunless they have to. Down here, the agility of a motorcycle will outmaneuver that of a car if we get into a tight spot again—and it’ll be obvious if someone is lying in wait, since there are only a handful of occupied spaces.
As I pull into the furthest corner and gently slow our momentum, I realize that Madison is trembling. Her grip on me is tight, right up until the instant she senses it’s safe to dismount. Then she’s gone. Not waiting for assistance, she scrambles off my bike so fast that she falls onto her arse.
“Fuck,” I curse, shutting off the bike and putting down the kickstand. “Are you all right?”
I swing my leg over just as she picks herself up. I reach for her, and she backs away a step, her usually warm eyes darker than normal in the low light of this parking cave.
“Madison—”
That’s all I get out. She launches herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck and dragging me down so she can smash her lips onto mine. The adrenaline in my veins roars its response, shifting from fear to desire in an instant. I clutch her tightly, wrapping my arms around her and squeezing her to me, letting my instincts take over—the ones that need to hold, touch, take and claim. She’s here. She’s safe. She’s mine.
My need for her becomes an overwhelming thing. I need to be as close as possible. I need to be inside her. That’s the only way to satisfy this urgent terror. The only way to prove to myself she’s all right—that we’re both all right.
I start to thread my fingers into her hair, but she pulls back, gasping. Her pupils are so dilated that her eyes appear black. She stares at me, chest heaving, then drops to her knees without a word.
“Madison—” I choke out again, this time in shock and surprise as I stumble back half a step and hit the side of my bike. The stand is sturdy, so it barely jostles.
She doesn’t say anything, but there’s an edge of mania in her eyes as they stare up at me in a silent plea. The fear is being edged out by lust and relief so acute and potent it must feel like love. So I don’t stop her as she reaches for my zipper.
There are so many sensations throughout my body; my system is confused and a little numb.I’m fairly certain I’m not all the way hard, but Madison doesn’tcare. She takes my cock out of my trousers and immediately takes the tip into her hot, wet mouth.
I shout and weave my fingers into her hair. The sensation is powerful, and the knowledge that she’s on her knees for me is heady. My legs give, and I land on the seat of my bike before I can recover to stand on my own. Her tongue swirls around the most sensitive part of me, stroking the nerve endings and eliciting a deep, rough sound from low in my chest.
Her lips are so soft, and her tongue is wet and silky against my skin—this is so much better than the roughness of my palm—so it’s not long before the blood shifts, moving to fill my cock. It grows in her mouth, making her hum in desire and approval. The vibrations of the sound shoot straight up my spine.
She releases me with a fleshypopof her lips. The sight of her staring up with those warm brown eyes through her lashes is nearly enough to do me in. And that’s even before she makes her demand.
“Fuck me,” she says, rasping and breathy. “Need it. Need you.”
24
Madison
Will you let me take care of you?
So many emotions—sour, terrible ones—were immediately silenced the second I dropped to my knees. All that existed was the two of us, and I’d never wanted anything more than I wanted him. I needed him inside me so badly; I didn’t care how or where. I needed to inhale that feeling of safety and get lost in the taste and scent of him until I couldn’t hear any other horrible thought. And now that he’s hard, he can fucking do something about this ache that’s trying to burn a hole in my insides.
Releasing my head, Wesley reaches down and grabs my waist. I gasp as he lifts me off the ground. There’s an instant of an odd, bottomless feeling in my stomach as he jerks me around, pulling me forward and pivoting so I’m against the bike and he’s behind me. I catch myself on the seat, gripping the edges and digging my nails into the leather.
