Saturday, 12:25 pm
He hesitates briefly before walking farther into the room and turning on the light.
I can't believe my eyes. It's a damned Ducati—in my favorite color: red. And if I'm not mistaken, at first glance it seems to be a 2009 848. Very nice.
"Wow!" I exclaim, partly because of the beautiful piece of machinery in front of me, but mostly because Edward owns a motorcycle.
"You like?" I can sense his pride in owning a bike like this.
"Yeah. A lot." I walk to it, looking over it in detail, and run my hand lovingly over the fuel tank and seat. "It's beautiful, Ed. Have you had it long?"
"I bought it new, mid-2009." He smiles as he looks from it to me. "I won't have it much longer though."
"Really? Why?"
He stalks over to me and whispers, "I'm trading up."
Could he mean? "Please tell me, you're getting a 1199 Panigale to replace it." My heart is actually pounding at the thought. I love bikes—I mean, I really love bikes—but I'm surprised by how turned on I am at the thought of him owning one of those. Of him riding one of those. Of him fucking me on… over… in front of, one of those. These thoughts override the fact that he's into bikes… Can this guy get any more perfect?
"Yes." His voice is a low seductive growl. And I am hard as a rock in my jeans.
"Fuck."
"You like the thought of that, Jazz."
"God, yes."
I feel his hand push into my hair and hold it out of the way and then the wet slick of his tongue as it wipes across the back of my neck.
"I thought you might."
Interesting. He must have noticed my BMW when we got in the car earlier. "Did you see my bike at the house earlier?"
He laughs. "Actually, no, I didn't. I'll admit my mind was elsewhere." And I know it was; he was so worried. Christ, he didn't even comment on my car, and no one, male or female, ever gets into my car without commenting on it. But his tone leads me to believe he is well aware I own a bike as well.
"So how—"
"Maybe I haven't been as closed off to you as I thought I was, Jazz." He must recognize my confusion. "I'm only realizing now that I knew you had a bike. I hear things. I've seen it in your parking space." His lips are so close to my ear; he doesn't need to speak loudly, but every word is like a scream. "I even stopped a moment to look it over the first time I saw it. How could I not appreciate it—I do love a hot ride."
"Oh." Is he doing this intentionally?
"I haven't seen you ride it though… Can't wait for that." I turn in his arms. "To see you in black leather after you've just taken your helmet off… your curls would be damp and you'd look so sexy." His lips meet my neck, and nibble their way to my ear, and he continues, "It's a sexy bike, Jazz. The blue reminds me a bit of your eyes." His words are so seductive. He's describing my motorbike, the BMW K1300S I bought last year, but every word is so much more.
I slam my mouth against his, the contact so severe that he stumbles backward and has to take a step, but he stands his ground and we continue to kiss. I can feel his body at every point we are connected. Our hands grasp at each other; mine: one palm-flat against his lower back, the other, pistol gripped around his jaw; his: one clamped on my ass, the other holding my bicep. We are nearly manic in our movements; the tension of this morning coupled with our immense desire for each other an absolute driving force.
My hands leave his back and face and grip the hem of his tight t-shirt and begin to lift. Understanding what I'm doing he does the same to me. We don't stop kissing until it is evident we are tangled, and only then for the quick moment it takes to move away enough to pull our own shirts off.
His chest is like a beacon; I need to touch it, lick it… fuck, I don't know. I just know we are too far apart. I grab the waist of his jeans and pull him to me, my lips immediately meeting his throat and kissing all over it. A combination of pecks and sucks has him voicing his pleasure.
"Jasper… Don't stop." I can feel his voice box vibrating under his Adam's apple and linger there. Letting go of his jeans, I trail my hands up his body until they meet his chest and I rub my thumbs purposefully over his nipples as I kiss my way to meet them. "Jasper, Jasper," he chants; my name like a red flag to a bull, as I lick and suck at his chest. I want him so badly—every part of him.
As I move lower my tongue delves into every valley of his body. His stomach is tensed and his muscles are tight; he is fucking sensational. As I drop to my knees, I make sure to pull the loose buttons of his fly open as I go. Unlike yesterday, there is no pretense here this time. I hook my fingers into his briefs and drag them both down quickly. He springs free as I lift over his cock, nearly hitting me in the face. Yes!
He kicks the clothing off as soon as it hits his ankles and stands legs splayed and ready; his fingers immediately weaving into my hair.
I look up at him through my lashes, taking him firmly in hand, and then smile, before plunging my mouth around and down his length.
"Fuck," he screams.
Hope there wasn't too much 'techspeak' there for you. Personally, I find the thought of these two having a mutual interest, especially one that involves expensive European motorbikes, very sexy.
Well done to those who guessed a bike was behind the garage door. You were obviously in my head with me. Those that picked a car, alas not this time, but you may have noticed Jasper's thoughts mention one. Wonder what it is?
Check out my Tumblr—cocoalvinoz—for pics of the bikes.