“Okay.” Velma began unbuttoning her shirt.
“Okay?” He couldn’t move his eyes from where her fingers were undoing the buttons.
This was new. He usually made the moves on her…and failed. The last button undone, her shirt fell open. She shrugged it off. His mouth went dry, and he couldn’t pull his gaze from her lacy bra and the rack he’d dreamt about for weeks. The holy grail of breasts presented to him in silk and lace—and it wasn’t even his birthday.
“I think we should set some ground rules, though.” She scooted toward him. He stilled, and thanked fuck his mother had a climate-controlled garage. How far was Velma going to go with this?
When Velma tugged his shirt out of the waistband of his jeans and ran her palm up his abs, he got the idea.
He cleared his throat. “You want to tell me what you’re doing?”
“Setting down the boundaries,” she said against his temple.
His dick responded to boundaries like it had never responded before. “What kind of boundaries?”
“Well…” She scrunched her forehead and gestured to the fly of his jeans. “I guess we should probably be exclusive while we do…this.”
He could be on board with that. “Sounds fair.”
“And I think it’s just friendship and sex. Anything else should be discussed beforehand.”
Maybe it was the blood flow rushing to his zipper, but he had no clue what she was blathering about. “Discussed beforehand?”
“Like sleeping together…without sex. And, you know, if you wanted to take me to a movie or something and hold my hand. We should discuss that first.”
He glanced to her exposed bra. Her hand was not what he wanted to hold at the moment. His salivary glands worked overtime. Pretty soon, he’d be like one of those huge mastiff dogs, dripping slobber all over her. But in a good way.
“No sleeping. Got it.” He focused on her eyes. It was hard. “What, uh, were you thinking? We could go back to the apartment?”
“Can you really have sex on the back of a bike?” She glanced uncertainly to his Harley.
He nodded. “Yes.”
“If I’m going to do something crazy, I should go all in. You want to show me how?” She moved her palm over his pec, brushing his nipple, and fuck it. Yes, he did want to show her the many different ways one could hook up on a motorcycle. She’d been upset, though, and she wasn’t a quick fuck. He couldn’t take advantage.
Scruples really sucked sometimes.
“You’re upset,” he said, moving her fingertips from under his shirt and threading their hands together. He was always ready to gotherewhen it came to Velma. But her abrupt change of heart gave him whiplash.
“You make everything better.” She moved over him, straddling his thighs on the top step, her knees pressed against his hips.
He dug his fingertips into her ass, tugging her closer. His body responded in kind. But where the fuck had this come from? “What’s with the one-eighty?”
She shrugged, but something passed across her face he couldn’t read. “I think it’s time. You want me. I want you. Isn’t that enough?”
He had a dick, so that was enough.
His mouth met hers, and he deepened the kiss to the point she squeaked. His hand slipped along the lace cup of her bra and tugged it down. He finally got a handful of her tit and moaned into her mouth. Her nipple pebbled under his thumb. She gasped and arched her back, basically presenting herself as tribute. Bonus, it also provided opportunity for him to unclasp her bra. One of those handy front clips he appreciated in moments like this.
Not that he’d ever done a chick in his mother’s garage. Ah well, first time for everything.
She pulled the hem of his white tee up. With a bit of help from him, she got it over his head. And there they were, chest to breast, ready to carnally christen his bike.
“Stand up,” he directed her.
Another something he couldn’t quite understand passed over her face when she complied, but he was too far gone to be a gentleman and ask. Unless…fuck.
“I don’t have a condom.” He swore. Maybe he’d left one up in his old bedroom from when he was a teenager and thought it was a sign of awesome to keep a store, just in case. Those couldn’t still be any good. Condoms likely had a shelf life.
