Page 8 of Vicious Betrayal

"You been on a bike before?"

She shakes her head. "It's an adventure, right?" Her voice is bright and eager, and fuck, I can't wait to hear all the filthy things that come out of her mouth when I have her naked under me.

All hesitation flees, and I start the engine. The Triumph comes alive under us, the vibration of it in my hands and chest. For a moment I feel, all over, every sense coming alive. The warm weight of her behind me, the chill of the air, the muffled sounds of the club, the taste of her mouth still lingering in mine. I'm painfully aware that I haven't felt this way in a long time. Not in years. Not since I was a different person in a different life.

I feel tense all over and freer than I have in a long time.

I roll the bike to the end of the alley, pause at the street, check both ways twice, and pull out.

The city opens up. The noise of the club drops away fast, replaced by wind and the low ongoing sound of the city at night. The lights of downtown spread out around us as I head north, the lake somewhere to the east throwing cold air off the water. This late on a Friday, the traffic's thinned out enough to move, the lights of the high-rises glowing through the darkness.

Oksana's arms tighten around me when I pick up speed, and I feel her settle. She's not afraid of the bike, just like she wasn't afraid of me. Her chin is still resting on my shoulder, and I can feel her breath against my neck, quick at first and then evening out.

I take the route I know, away from the club's neighborhood and the traffic around the main streets, cutting through blocks I've driven enough times that I could do it with my eyes closed. At a red light, I feel her shift, turning her head so she's looking at the city rather than at my shoulder, taking it in. I watch her in the side mirror, just for a second. She's grinning. It's not the seductive smile from the club, but a completely unguarded, delighted expression. It unfurls something in my chest and makes me feel a rush of desire for her. She looks so fucking happy, and I can't recall ever making anyone look like that. I've never seen someone smile like that because of something they were doing with me.

The light changes. I accelerate, and her arms go tight around me again. Somewhere behind us, the nightclub is still full of bodies and music, men watching a floor for a girl who turned her phone off and climbed onto the back of a motorcycle with a man her father's never heard of. I should feel worse about that than I do.

What I do feel, I don't want to think about. I want her with a lust that borders on feral, but there's something more to it. She's unlike any woman I've known in a long time. She's reckless and confident beyond her years, capable and determined when she wants something. She's brave and eager and thoroughly alive. She's making me feel alive.

I should have put a stop to this before it even got started. I've never had an addiction in my life, but this girl…

She could be something I can't easily quit.

4

OKSANA

Ipress my face into the back of Cormac's jacket, the wind going around us on both sides. Underneath me, the bike hums like it's something alive. I've never been on a motorcycle before, and I'm definitely not dressed for it, but I couldn't care less. I'm freezing from the whip of the wind past us, and my legs ache from holding on, but the vibration of the engine is purring through my body, and I know I'm soaking wet. I was before Cormac even kissed me, and now I'm achy and drenched with need, between our little makeout session in the office and now the hum of the bike.

My father's men are standing in a club right now, looking for me. The thought sends a bright, adrenaline-fueled jolt through my chest, and I have to stop myself from laughing into Cormac's shoulder. I know there will be a talk with my father that I'm going to have to deal with eventually, but eventually is later. Right now I'm on the back of a motorcycle with the wind in my hair and a man I just met taking me home with him, and I feel as alive as I think it might be possible to feel.

I've done things my father would disapprove of. That's not new. But this is different. Cormac is different, and not just because he's so much older. He didn't want to want me, but he did anyway. He held out as long as he could, and then he cracked. I did that. I broke down this man's defenses and made him want me so badly he's doing something that he clearly thought was a terrible idea. The rush of that is a high I could get off on again and again.

We're heading away from downtown, and the streets are getting quieter. The clubs and restaurants have given way to neighborhoods, and I wonder where we'll stop. I've never gone home with a guy before, and that feels exciting and thrilling too, and a little bit dangerous.

My hands are flat against his stomach, and I can feel the muscle through the jacket. The man is built like a wall. It's not the vain muscle of men who sculpt themselves for no purpose other than looking good. This man uses that muscle, and that turns me on, too. He's interesting, more so than any man I've hooked up with before or talked to.

The age difference doesn't bother me. If anything, it excites me. My father has had no trouble arranging a marriage for my sister with a man twice my age; I think it's hypocritical that anyone would be upset that I'd want to fuck an older man by my own choice, for my own pleasure. Cormac didn't talk me into anything. I wanted this, and I decided I was going to do it.

I can't wait to do it. I want to do everything I can think of with him tonight. I'm going to keep him up all night, and make him glad he did something he thought he shouldn't do. He's not going to regret a single second he spends with me.

The bike slows and turns down a residential street. He pulls into a thin driveway of a brick house and turns the engine off. The silence is startling after the club and then the whip of the wind as we rode—now there's just the ambient noise of traffic further off and a dog barking somewhere.

I pull the helmet off and try to shake out my hair. Cormac takes the helmet from me, secures both of them, and swings off the bike in one easy movement. He extends a hand, which is unexpectedly courteous, and I take it. My legs feel wobbly after the bike, and I've been holding my heels throughout the entire ride. The pavement of the driveway is a little rough under my feet, and Cormac frowns as I hesitate, then reaches down and picks me up.

I let out a small, startled yelp, and he pauses. "No, I like it," I say quickly, breathlessly, and he grunts, a small twitch playing at the corners of his mouth as he carries me to the front door. He sets me down as he unlocks it, and then we step inside.

I don't know why I assumed he'd live in an apartment. His house looks weirdly normal for a man who possibly works for the mafia. It's just a two-story brick house with enough space between it and the ones on either side that there's a small amount of privacy, not least of which because it's at the end of the block. My eyes adjust as Cormac tosses his keys down and locks the door behind us, the ambient light from outside coming through the windows. It looks clean and neat, simple, like a bachelor who knows what he likes and has gotten used to it lives here. There's no clutter that I can see, and it smells fresh, like it was recently cleaned. Idly, I wonder if he cleans or if he hires someone to do it. Does he make enough money to have a housekeeper?

I decide I really don't care. None of that pertains to what is going to happen tonight.

Cormac hesitates. "Do you want a drink?" His hand hovers near the light, as if he's deciding whether we're going to get right to the point or not. And I decide in that instant that I don't want him to turn on the light. I want to stay in this hushed darkness, and I don't want anything but the thing that we both came here for.

"The only thing I want in my mouth is you," I purr before I can think better of it, and I have a jolt of nerves, hoping it wasn't a stupid line.

The low sound he lets out tells me it was anything but. His body tenses. "Fuck," he mutters under his breath, and then before I can say anything else, my back is against the hallway wall and his mouth is crushed against mine again.

I don't know if he's been sporting an erection for the whole ride here or if he got hard again that fast, but he's rock-hard when he grinds his hips against me, his hands reaching for my wrists and pinning them above my head. My dress rides up my thighs, and I whimper against his mouth, rolling my hips against his to feel more of that hard length against me.