-One

A pair of hands laced through my hair. Their strength tightened against my scalp, digging deeper as I slipped him further into my throat.

A groan split through the air. "Fuck. You swallow all of me."

I hummed my satisfaction. The cock in my mouth throbbed harder. It tickled the slippery flesh of my throat. Sensations of resistance crept up my throat. I forced it back down.

I gripped his thighs. The black fabric wrinkled under my tightening hold.

His head fell back. "Yes," he hissed with a tightness in his chest.

Bobbing against his erection through the slit of his trousers had my heart pounding.

We met a couple weeks prior, at a street race. He was gorgeous, of course, and his car was sleek, modern, and so cool. So many women clung to his presence, with a large group of motorcycle rider friends that surrounded him too. I only followed my friend - coworker - through the crowd. Then before I realized it, I was in his presence and shuddering at the sharp edge of his jaw and the height of his cheekbones.

I floated the idea of giving him my number. He took it that moment. And I'd not even left the after party before he called.

That night, we hooked up at his apartment. Then, it rolled into a weekend long fuckfest that only stopped with the reminder of our day jobs.

Every weekend for one reason or another, we ended up spending the entire weekend in bed. I'd only planned to stay the night to have a wild ride before I went to my plans. Then I'd cancel the plans. Or he'd tell me he had a family thing to do but he'd never leave for said family thing.

It was like we got addicted.

He drove over after work today - Friday - with an invitation to take a ride with him. I accepted. Excitedly.

Things got off track when we stopped at his apartment first. He kissed me. I grabbed onto him. And things devolved from there.

He now stiffened under my touch. My scalp burned as he gripped me harder. I was shoved down harder atop his cock.

My tongue wiggled against the underside, sucking harder and awaiting the moment I knew would come soon. The sudden sharp tang. Its heat would fill my mouth, drip down my throat and swim in my belly.

It did just that.

He released a sudden deep breath, holding me there for a moment after his cock stopped trembling and then pulled me by my hair to standing. Hot bursts from his parted lips surged my face. The salvia against my chin cooled.

"Beautiful," he said. His dark eyes devoured my gaze.

The tip of his thumb caressed the wetness on my bottom lip.

Rumbles in the distance silenced the building of the moment to more…

We hurried down to the garage below his apartment. Motorcycles flooded through the open garage doors. It echoed beneath our feet. Now we moved quickly down to greet the noise: his friends.

Johnny Tran entered the space as a commanding force. It was his place. None stepped in his way.

Johnny walked over to his red motorcycle and walked it away from the wall.

I did not know about street racing much. But I read the signs that this man was more than he seemed. Dangerous. By the hidden weapons I'd found around his apartment on the weekends I'd stayed over, very lethal.

This motorcycle ride was a new experience for me, too. As we'd not really committed to being something more than a hookup, meeting his friends was unexpected. I'd seen them at the race but not been introduced. I did not expect to be shown his ranks.

So soon.

"Here." He handed me a helmet. "Wear this."

Its weight was significant in my arms.

The other girls on the back of the bikes did not wear any. Their hair was done in cute pig-tails or sleek buns.

Complaint did not leave my lips.

Maybe his insurance required helmets.

I pulled the black mirrored helmet down overtop my head. He, too, pulled one in the exact same style off the shelf. It slipped over his head.

Johnny threw one of his long legs over the body of the bike. He settled atop the machine. The wave of his fingers beckoned me to take my seat behind his back.

Something about the rumbling of the bike between my legs set me full of excitement. I thrummed. My thighs jittered and shook from the vibration.

The bike roared alive. It echoed out from the depths of the garage. We moved out the doors into the night air.

LA heat felt different as it whistled past. It was hot with a stinging edge.

My nipples hardened through the loose weave of my knitted two-piece set. It was light blue. A cute summer outfit- one of the few I owned that weren't stained pajamas or scrubs.

It rivaled the solid black of Johnny's entire ensemble. He wore a black leather jacket. It was lightweight but none the less, outerwear. His black pants and taut black shirt really hid the outlines of his impressive physique.

My hands knew the feel of it beneath my touch. As he drove through the winding streets I gripped his waist, his chest, his thighs. It was delicious.

The beauty of Little Saigon was unmatched. This part of the city held such history and culture.

One of Johnny's hands left the handlebar as we slowed. We turned back for home – Johnny's place. He rose straighter in his seat. He ran his hand along mine that held him.

It was a shred of intimacy that was not sexual, still felt personal between us.

We neared the garage when Lance - Johnny's cousin - waved his arm at us. He gestured up ahead at a car that just sped into the road. It was neon green with blue decals. The spoiler on the back looked slick. The stinging roar of its engine as it cut into the road echoed through the relatively empty city streets.

Another street racing car.

Johnny tensed. He gestured at the car. We again began riding hard.

The group of motorcycles took off after it. Lance took the lead. They boxed the car in an inescapable prison, guided it away from the main roads into a desolate parking lot and forced it to a stop.

I gripped Johnny harder as our bike mimicked the others. The engine clicked off. We were a part of this moment with this car. In the dead of night. Away from witnesses.

Thoughts raced through my head. I was a simple woman with a job and a boring social life. Meeting Johnny was an impulsive moment I'd allowed myself to get carried away into. This, this moment. I knew it meant something dangerous. None of it seemed friendly.

Each breath struggled in my chest. I did not want to continue.

My thighs trembled as I dismounted. Johnny followed suit. He pulled off his helmet. Then he pulled off mine.

My eyes were wide with fear. I was so naive to his life that every situation possible was what I thought would happen.

He handed me his helmet. His fingers caressed my hand before he revoked it back to his side.

The car doors swung open. Their whine caught against the quiet night air. My eyes flashed behind Johnny's back. He followed my line of sight.

Two men climb out onto the pavement. The days heat still radiated up in our faces.

"I thought we had an agreement," Johnny said loudly. He marched, unafraid, toward the two men. They were of little interest, it seemed. Johnny appraised the car. He looked down one side then the other. "You stay away. I stay away."

The big bald man answered. "We got lost."

He was the passenger. The driver was a floppy blonde-haired guy with black converse and cargo shorts. He was non-descript apart from the blinding blue of his eyes.

Johnny approached the passenger. "Who's we?"

"That's my new mechanic, Brian."

The weight of the helmets pulled at the strength of my arms. My shoulders ached. I felt the weakness start.

"Brian. This is Johnny Tran. That one over there in the snakeskin pants is his cousin, Lance."

My eyes instinctively looked at Lance who'd perched at the front of his bike. I caught the glimpse of a gun he held out from his chest.

A cold sweat turned my palms into a wet mess.

"This yours," Johnny asked the driver.

"Nah," Brian replied. He sounded like a typical surfer boy off the beach. How old was this kid? "It's his now."

"I haven't taken the car yet," the passenger responded.

The driver looked confused.

"Then it's no one's." Johnny shrugged. The sour scowl on his face as he looked at the bald man twisted my tensions tighter.

I should not be here.

I really should not be involved in this.

"Someone put in the wrench time. What do you think, Lance?"

"It's an amazing machine," hummed strangely from his cousin's lips.

"Hm."

My ears pooled with my own heartbeat. I felt every pulse of the muscle buried deep inside my chest.

I stared with utter pleading in my expression until Johnny finally gave the signal to leave. The others made a single sound as they fired alive at the same moment.

Lance and Johnny remained.

"I'll see you at the end of summer," Johnny said. "Be prepared to hand over your winnings."

The passenger scoffed. "You'll need something faster than that crotch rocket."

Johnny walked away. He said nothing more.

I finally managed a true breath as our motorcycle pulled out of the parking lot. My palms dried against Johnny's shirt. Hopefully he could not tell how nervous I was.

It is a short moment before he slowed. Out of the corner, I noticed Lance turned around.

My hands fisted his shirt tight.

"Get off," he said.

I leaned forward, sure I'd misheard. "Huh?"

He flicked up his visor. "Get down. Right here." His hand held mine as I eased off the motorcycle I blinked. Yes, it was reality. I was being left on the road.

Johnny leaned forward staring straight into my eyes. "Wait for me. I'll be back." He gestured at his crew. "Wait here."

He flicked his visor back down. A figure astride a motorcycle, no expression, no humanity. A being dressed in all black.

The mirrored visor showed the small reflection of my pathetic knees bent inward. Mortified I was the only one being ditched.

It ate away at me. The seconds that image blared at the front of my thoughts.

I'd blown this guy with the best suction in LA and he left me? I don't think so.

My little outfit was not suited for the hike back. I still did it. Home was the direction I marched toward. Stupid, cute, platform sandals slapped against the pavement as I walked.

Fruit trees overhang the sidewalks. Fallen oranges and pomegranates speckled the surface. I had to pay attention where I walked. Which disrupted my burning visions of skewering Johnny with my butcher knife I ever caught him with it in my hand

Sure, we weren't serious. A few weeks of constantly banging did not mean a commitment.

The standard of not ditching me on the side of the road, still, felt very normal.

At the very least, it was disrespectful to abandon someone taken on a ride in the middle of nowhere, at night.

Of course, the murderous glaze did overtake my eyes, so I went blind to the obstacles in my path. My ankle went sideways when I stepped on an orange. It threw me off balance.

Recovered, mortified and angry, I kicked the fruit as hard as I could. "Stupid fucking fruit!"

It did not take long for the zipping sound of a motorcycle to reach my ears.

It winded around me, closer and closer, growing louder with each passing moment until a fast red motorcycle passed right by.

Johnny nearly laid it down to turn around.

My feet stopped.

He flicked the kickstand with a fluid motion before approaching me on quick step. "I said to wait for me. Don't ever leave me like that."

"You left me!" I retorted.

All the silence had given me much spite to spew. I was more embarrassed than I was insulted. It was my first time with his friends. It singled me out, like I did not belong in their world, their gang. I didn't! Still, the difference did not settle well with my pride. My knees inwardly turned like a child. A singled-out girl in middle school all over again.

I was better than this. The sex was not worth the pain of it.

"Did you kill those guys back there? I heard the gun shots. It was you, wasn't it?"

"He overstepped his boundary."

"Really? That is how little it takes for you to jump to murder. Perhaps it is best if this be the last time we see each other."

"You knew who I was when we met," he countered.

"No. No I did not. I thought you had a cool car and some buddies with bikes. It wasn't my scene. I was brought there. You never said that's what you were," I passionately- loudly - said. "It never really mattered because we're just hooking up. Having fun. Not doing illegal shit together."

What insanity had my night become?

"You weren't there. You're not a witness. Not an accomplice."

I shook my head.

Johnny brought me a helmet. "Let's just go home. I'll make you those noodles you like."

"Are you crazy? I'm not going with you. You just shot those guys."

"Just their car. Not them."

They took the risk of being arrested over things and they shot the car instead of the people they disliked.

"Why?"

"One of them came to me as a friend. Wanted to learn the business out of my garage. But he used me and dishonored my sister, behind my back."

Wait. "You hate him because he slept with your sister?"

"She was shamed. She couldn't leave the house."

"But you aren't dishonored when you sleep with me. Why is that? Should my brother come and shoot up your bike since you've dishonored me?"

We did not live in a feudal age. This was the modern century.

"Let's just go home."

"I am going. To my home."

"Twenty miles." He glanced down. "In those shoes?"

It was an unrealistic goal. The shoes would tear away from my feet before I hiked the miles home.

Johnny watched me wrap my arms around my chest. He read the tension on my face.

"These streets aren't safe this time of night," he said.

He would know.

"You'll bring me home," I asked firmly.

He pushed the helmet into my hands once more. "Come on. Let's go."

I did not take the time to admire the way he straddled the bike like I typically did with great enjoyment. My anger burned too bright. I saw nothing but red.

The ride home did cool my temper. The air had cooled since we rode. It made quick work of my outfit. The wide weave of my cute two-piece was an enticing way I'd thought to impress Johnny. Not that he needed it. He woke up to my crazy hair, smeared makeup and wearing his sweaty shirt with no hesitation to bend me over the bed before breakfast.

My hands gripped the seat below me. Despite my attempts at separating, the seat leaned me forward into his back. I had no choice but to touch him.

Lights highlighted the yellow sign. Tall black fencing protected the lot. It protected the priceless cars and parts housed inside the tall walls. His apartment was on the second story, in the back. It was a small place. It blended in the darkness of night hardly noticeable.

He said he was taking me home. Not to the garage.

My teeth gritted as he tapped the code into the gate. Gears moved the gate. It allowed us passage into the lot.

"What are we doing here?" I yanked the helmet from my hair. Hair fell against my face in frizzy dissolution. "You said you'd take me home."

He tilted his head. "Your bag is upstairs."

Right.

I had wised up this time. I packed a bag for a whole weekend, so I was not trapped in the same outfit or his clothes for the duration of my stay.

Good use it did me.

He followed me up into the apartment. I thought it was to supervise me in his living space. He walked past where my bag was tossed carelessly against the floor toward his closet. He shred his leather coat. A strap hanged around his chest and shoulder. From it dangled an automatic machine gun. He did not shy away from showing it. The strap slipped away with the gun still attached.

The bed was on a lift with storage below it. It held his private collection of guns and cash. Some plastic baggies were stashed in between. It looked like bullets, or small metal electrical pieces.

I did not approach for a closer look.

"Tonight was not supposed to be this way," he said as he pushed the mattress back down until it rested flush on the frame. "I did not mean to put you in danger."

"It wasn't the danger," I admitted. Danger? Johnny was right there. How was I in danger? "I was a part of a crime. You put me in an illegal situation."

"Street races are illegal. You met me in an illegal situation."

My stunned silence was enough to send me over the edge. I did not have a rebut to that.

I'd been brought there, knowing it was a street race and not recognizing it as an illegal situation. I viewed it as something exciting. I wanted to be thrilled. My life was so bland that I needed a spark. Something different.

The fallen dark strands against his forehead were flat. It was rather long than the fluffy spiked style he typically wore.

He was a muscular tall man. His chest was broad with toned muscles. There was a slight bulk, but not much.

His brows were expressive, often straight with a slight lift at their ends.

The attractive way he walked toward me, calm and confident, with a suave little smirk in the corner of his mouth sent shivers through me. He was the sexiest man I ever met. His touch was like ice and fire all at once.

"The thrill is the risk we take," he pronounced very slowly. "That night could have ended in handcuffs."

"The risk of falling into bed with you is the only one I signed up for."

"That is the question then. Is the thrill worth the risk? I know I've given you the thrill. Many times."

A shimmer of excitement trembled up through me. I knew - I KNEW - what it meant.

"Is it worth the risk?" He asked.

Just this once, this one time with him. It was.

A/N:

This is a trial story; it will have multiple chapters. Another fandom I've never entered before. I am blending the year, keeping to the style and vehicles of when the story originated, but updating it with texting and cell phones in a more modern way. Hopefully you like the story. Leave a comment if you do! Also check out my other stories, if you are interested.