The Rider List: An Erotic Romance (8 page)

Chapter Nine

Audrey

After my run, I get ready for work and make it to Adam’s bungalow at nine.

I feel an equal sense of excitement and dread each time I think about going to see him. The excitement part is self-explanatory; the dread part stems from fear of losing my job. It could easily happen. I know I’m being ridiculously irresponsible and taking a crazy risk, but the dread just can’t seem to outweigh the excitement.

Case in point: I knock on the door and he answers wearing blue cotton workout shorts and nothing else. His hair is wet.

He steps aside and I walk through the door.

I turn around and ask, “Swimming this morning?”

“Shower. You just missed it. I went for a run.”

“You run?”

“A few times a week.”

I don’t know why I’m surprised to hear this. He’s in amazing shape, so surely he does something in the way of a workout. Maybe I’m just thinking…

“I run, too,” I say. “Maybe we can run together one day.”

He steps toward me, his hand rising, and then it’s on the side of my face. His palm feels smooth and warm against my cheek. He dips his head and brushes his lips across mine. I smell and taste peppermint. My eyes close instinctively. My lips part as I feel the tip of his tongue drag across my lips, and just barely between them.

He stops. His voice is a deep, low whisper as he says, “You really should have been here for that shower.”

I really should have. “Maybe later.”

“Definitely later.”

At the risk of ruining the moment, I have to make something clear to him. He doesn’t need to know the details about Wyatt, and I don’t feel like talking about it anyway. But with Wyatt’s call to the house and all the issues related to our breakup, I’m feeling an especially urgent need to make this known. “I’m not looking for anything serious. I just can’t.”

He looks at me for a short moment. His face isn’t that far from mine. He searches it, his gaze landing on my eyes. “I know.”

“You do?”

He nods. “You work here. It’s risky.”

Oh, that. Yes, it’s important, but it’s not the primary reason for what I just said. Because I don’t want to get into the Wyatt issue, I just agree with him by nodding. And then I add, “Plus, it’s not like you’re going to be around for long. Just the summer, right?”

“Right.”

“That’s barely enough time to get to know someone anyway.”

“Right.”

His responses are short, clipped, and quick. He’s either thought of this already and we’re on the same page, or it just doesn’t matter all that much to him. Either way, I’ve said what I needed to say.

And it’s weird…he’s agreeing with me on all of this, the discussion went exactly as I had hoped it would before I brought it up, but there’s a little pang of regret in me over it. Almost like I wish it could be more, all the while knowing it can’t.

Adam pulls away from me and walks toward the kitchen.

I follow, watching the perfect muscled lines of his back and the way those cotton shorts cling to him.

“I was just making a smoothie,” he says. “Want some?”

“No, I’m kind of in a hurry. I stopped by here first today.”

He walks past me to the door that leads out to the deck. “Come outside for a few minutes. It’s nice out.”

I follow him and we sit in lounge chairs facing the ocean. He’s right—it’s a nice morning, low humidity, a nice breeze coming in off the water, and the beach is quiet this time of day.

“Tell me something about you,” he says.

“Like what?”

“Anything. When did you know you wanted to be a graphic designer?”

I cross my legs and put my hands on my lap. “As long as I can remember. I used to draw all the time. I mean, I sucked at it but I loved doing it. Then I got better—maybe when I was about twelve and my mom signed me up for a summer drawing class—and I started spending most of my time with my face six inches away from a sketch pad. I would draw everything. Things I was looking at, but also things I just thought of; I didn’t need to be looking at something to draw it. Then I started using computers and learning about design elements and how things are rarely hand-drawn anymore… Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“No, not at all. This is interesting.”

“Really?” I say, looking over at him.

He’s looking back at me, then moves his eyes back to the water. “Yeah. Go on.”

“My mom started enrolling me in all kinds of classes—”

He cuts me off to ask, “Was your dad as supportive?”

I take a deep breath. “My dad’s been gone since I was eleven.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine that he left. I’m just over it.” I wasn’t really over it, and probably never would be fully over it. I rarely talk about my father but somehow telling Adam is easy. I get back on topic. “So I take all the classes, love everything about it, and then I take up photography and love that, too.”

“You’re an artist.”

I shrug. “Honestly, I never really put a label on it. And this might seem strange but I find it weird thinking of myself as an artist. It sounds…I don’t know, it just sounds kind of pretentious.” I look over at him again.

He has a grin on his face and he’s cocked his head to the right a little. “Why is it pretentious to call yourself an artist?”

“Just is. Can’t explain it. Plus, it’s kind of vague. I’m not a musical artist or a sculptor, I’m not a painter, I don’t do graffiti. I don’t write poetry or novels. I like saying what I am specifically, a graphic designer and photographer.”

He’s laughing.

“Why are you laughing at me?”

He stops. “I’m not laughing at you. I’m just amused. You’ve really thought this out. I find it interesting. I find you interesting. Everything I know about you so far is interesting.”

I wait a beat before saying, “Anyway, design just became my thing. Everyone has something like that. What about you?”

“Guitar.”

“Really?”

He nods and sips from the blender. It makes me want a sip so I reach for it. He hands it to me without hesitation. I lift it to my mouth and give it a little taste. “This is really good. When did you start playing guitar?”

As he tells me about how he got started at age ten, I listen to every word he says, a little amazed that he even told me this much.

It’s the first time he’s opened up about anything personal. I’ve avoided pressing him on what he does for a living, and even though I’m still curious about it, this is more interesting.

As he talks about his guitar playing, there’s an intensity in his expression and there’s a point where it turns to regret.

“It’s been a while since I played,” he says.

“How long?”

“Too long.” He lifts the blender and sips, handing it to me when he’s done.

After I take a drink I say, “I’m going to have to start making these at home.”

“Told you they’re good.”

We sit in silence for a moment or two.

The tide is coming in, and birds are scooting around the waterline as it changes with each wave coming in and going out. A few boats from the shrimping fleet pass by, heading back to the docks with their morning catch.

“Do you have your guitar here?” I ask.

“No. Maybe I should, though.”

“Then you could play something for me.”

He laughs lightly as I look over at him. It’s an odd reaction, followed by, “Yeah, maybe so.” I can tell it’s something he loves, but it’s also obvious that there’s something else there he isn’t telling me.

I decide to respect his private thoughts and not ask. If he wants me to know, he’ll tell me. After all, there’s plenty I’m not telling him too.

He shifts in his chair, sitting up, feet on the deck. “I’d like to see some of your designs and pictures.”

I have no problem sharing them with him but I answer: “I’ll bring them when you play something on the guitar for me.”

“I told you, it’s not here.”

“So get one.”

He grins and shakes his head. “Tough negotiator. But you have a deal.”

My phone chirps in my pocket. When I grab it, I notice the time and how it’s gotten away from me. “Damn, I have to get my day started.”

I stand and head toward the steps that lead down to the beach.

He calls out, “You forgot something.”

I stop and turn around. He’s holding an envelope.

“Today’s list,” he says, as I walk back to get it. He stands and I take the list. “What time will you be back?”

“One, maybe two o’clock?” I say, unsure of what else I have to do before then.

“What time do you have to be home?”

“Seven at the latest.”

He raises a hand and I think he’s about to touch my face and kiss me. I don’t want to do that out on this deck, with the potential to be seen. But that’s not what he’s doing.

“You have something here.” His thumb makes contact with my chin. “Smoothie.” He wipes it off my chin, and it makes me think of the other day when I was on my knees before him. “Why don’t you come back when you’re done with work?”

He wants more time with me. I’m feeling flush. I want him to kiss me but we can’t. “You say I’m a tough negotiator, but that sounds perfect to me. You have a deal.”

Chapter Ten

Evan

I was on the verge of telling her my real name. I wasn’t going to go so far as to come entirely clean and tell her my full name or what I do for a living, but I wanted her to know my real first name at least.

But then she brought up the fact that this is all temporary. She didn’t use the word “fling” but she might as well have. It was then that I realized I was looking at her differently.

Not only differently than I’d looked at other girls over the years, but differently than she was looking at me. And I thought to myself as we stood in the hallway:
She’s keeping her distance, I’m not. Correct it, Evan. Fast.
I dismissed all thoughts of telling her my real name. And no way was I going to tell her I was feeling more than a simple urge to fuck her all day long.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been tempted to let that guard down and get close to a woman in more than a physical way. I thought things might be headed in that direction with Audrey, but once she made her intentions clear, I realized I was wrong.

. . . . .

I spend most of the day on the beach reading. I listen to a little music. And I wait for Audrey to get here after work.

She shows up a little after five o’clock. She holding a large bag that contains take-out from a restaurant. The bag contains dinner for two, just as I’d put on the list.

“Sneaky,” she says as she puts the bag down on the counter. “You could have just asked me, you know.”

“I thought this would be a subtle way of inviting you to have dinner with me.”

She smirks. “Or a sure way to get me to wonder if you’re having someone else as a guest tonight.”

I walk over and stand behind her, my hands slipping around her waist to her front. “Is that what you really thought?” I whisper in her ear as I bury my face in her hair.

“Maybe.”

I groan without saying anything.

She tilts her head to one side as I kiss her neck. “I’m the only guest, right?”

“Maybe.”

She grabs my arm and squeezes. “Better be.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Not really, why?”

“Let’s go for a run.”

She looks down, then quickly back up. “I don’t have my running shoes.”

“You’re not going to need them on the beach. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

She takes her shoes and socks off. We go out to the porch, walk down the long wood part over the dunes, and then down to the beach.

It’s windy, and her hair is down so it’s blowing wildly, some of it sticking to her mouth. She pulls it back and twists it behind her head.

“This way,” I say, and we run down the waterline where the mud is more firm than the sand. We head toward the lighthouse.

“I usually run on concrete,” she says. “This is so different.”

“You’ve lived near the beach all your life and you’ve never run on it?”

“Nope.”

“Well, now you see what you’re missing. Barefoot running is getting big.”

“It’s a fad.”

I look over at her. “I know you’re into advertising, but you sound like a shoe company shill saying that.”

“At this point, I’d say anything for a job in advertising.”

I drop the subject. I know how much she wants that to happen. It strikes me how we’re seeing the career part of a life from two different perspectives. She’s looking ahead and dreaming of great things; I’m looking back and wanting to leave it all behind.

We dodge people heading for the water, split our paths around a few kids making a mud castle right along the waterline, and take a short detour out of our otherwise straight path when we get to a line of large rocks that start halfway in the sand and extend out into the ocean.

We run silently until we get to the lighthouse.

“That’s three quarters of a mile,” I say.

Neither of us is out of breath. I’m only lightly sweating, and I can see she is too. It would be worse in this late afternoon humidity if it weren’t for the stiff wind coming in off the water. I taste the salt on my lips and I want to taste it on hers, too. But I think she’d freak out a little, with us being out in the open and the possibility of one of her co-workers seeing her.

“Head back?” I ask.

She nods. “Yeah. This was good.”

We get halfway back and she says, “Race you.”

“What?”

“Let’s race.”

I laugh. She’s serious, though, and I like the playfulness on her face and in her eyes. “Do you need a head start?”

“Ha ha. No.” She does this weird thing where she’s running almost sideways, facing me. It catches me off guard for a few seconds. And then she says, “Go!”

She takes off full-speed and I push off, trying to catch her.

I don’t catch her. She’s hauling ass like she’s in a horror movie, running from a monster.

She gets to the steps of my bungalow porch well before I do.

“Best out of three?” I say when I reach her.

She laughs. “A silver medal is nothing to be ashamed of.” She jogs up the steps and I follow her, eager to get her alone.

. . . . .

We use the outside shower to wash our feet and legs before going inside.

I tease her, playing with her shirt like I’m going to take it off.

“Not out here,” she says. “Maybe some other time.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“You’d better.”

We get inside and take a real shower, massaging the body wash on each other’s skin, rinsing each other, and somehow, miraculously, we avoid fucking.

But as soon as we get out, I quickly dry her with a towel, then dry myself, and I can’t stand this any longer.

She laughs and makes a little bit of a squealing noise as I swing my arms under her legs and lift her. I carry her out of the bathroom and over to the bed.

I lay her down on her back, her arms at her side until she pulls them up over her chest, almost like she’s being defensive. I look at her for a moment until she moves them again. She just doesn’t know what to do with them, that’s all.

“This isn’t going to be a quickie.”

Kissing her ankle and laying her leg back down, my mouth trails up to her calf. I plant little kisses on her skin, occasionally stopping to suck on her smooth flesh. It’s warm from the shower, and she tastes so fresh.

She parts her legs a little as I move up her thighs. I look up her body to meet her eyes that are looking back at me. “You’re eager.”

She grins and nods a little.

I run my tongue along her thighs. I’m on all fours above her, partially lying on her, and my cock is hard against her foot.

It’s been a long time since I’ve taken my time like this with a woman. I feel like a guy who’s been denied food for a long time and has found a feast. My craving for this type of sex is crazier than I thought.

I tease her with my finger, feeling her getting wetter as I play with her.

“Did you like what we did the other day?”

She nods.

“I want to hear you say it.”

Her lips open a little before any sound comes out, but she finally speaks. “I loved what we did.”

I kiss the insides of her thighs, alternating between left and right.

“You drove me crazy when you were here this morning.”

“I did?”

“Yes. I had to distract myself from thinking about you coming on my tongue again.”

She closes her eyes and lets out a deep sigh, arching her back and throwing her head back as my tongue makes a sudden and hungry contact with her clit. She’s so wet, so ready.

I have no intention of making her come like this right now, but she doesn’t know that. So I play with her a little, then stop, kissing up her body and grazing my tongue and teeth over her nipples as I talk to her.

“When you bought the condoms the other day, what were you thinking?”

She’s silent as I take one of her nipples in my mouth, my lips sucking hard on it, my tongue teasing it.

I let it go with a wet sound and say, “Tell me.”

“I…I wondered if you were having a guest.”

Her answer surprises me. I look up at her face. I’ve taken her other nipple in my mouth and I let it go. “They’re for us,” I say, my voice probably coming out a little more sternly than I had planned.

It’s the second time she’s indicated that she thinks I am doing something with another girl. She’d mentioned it regarding the food and now this. Both on the same day that she made it clear she doesn’t want anything serious.

Do I sense a little insecurity or jealousy in her? Maybe. But I’m not going to try to figure that out right now…

Her neck is soft under my lips. I run my tongue along the outer edge of her ear and whisper, “Touch me.”

She doesn’t hesitate to reach down and I feel both of her hands are wrapped around my cock. She’s touching it lightly, softly, like she’s exploring it.

I sit up. She looks at my chest—even sees the tattoo on my shoulder, but pays no attention to it—then her eyes drift down to her hands working me.

Reaching over and opening a bedside drawer, I remove a condom and sit back up.

“Are you ready?”

She nods.

“Have you ever been tied up?”

She stills. Her facial expression goes blank, and freezes. Her hands are still on me, but she’s not playing anymore. “No.”

Her panties are on the floor next to the bed. I saw them when we got out of the shower. I reach down for them and hold them up. “Want to try it?”

“With those?”

“These will do for now.”

Her answer comes faster than I’d expected. I anticipated a hesitation, maybe even a no, but she quickly says: “Yes.”

I lift her arms over her head and loop her panties through the iron bars on the headboard, then around her wrists a couple of times, twisting to tighten them just enough to hold her hands in place.

“Okay?”

She nods.

The sight before me is astonishing. Beautiful, intriguing Audrey, bound to my bed. Her face has a blank look on it, she’s not sure what to expect. Her eyes are trained on mine until I look down and see her chest rising and falling. She’s breathing a little heavily in anticipation.

There’s an ache in me now as my cock grows harder than I can remember it being in a long time. Maybe as long as it’s taken me to be able to do this again since the last time. She has no idea about the significance of this moment for me. I’m about to say something to let her know, but I don’t want to talk anymore. I just want to do this.

As I roll the condom on, I wonder what’s going through that mind of hers….