Without touching me, he reached past me and pushed some of my desk clutter out of the way. My stapler clattered to the floor.

“Oops,” he said, before grabbing my waist and hoisting me up onto the desk.

I leaned back on my hands as he lifted my feet onto the top. My knees dropped open, inviting him to touch me. Which he did. His fingers slid into my hot wet pussy as he leaned forward to kiss me.

“Warned you, baby,” he grunted, “I’ll never have enough of you.”

He fumbled open his jeans with his spare hand and pushed them down below his hips. I braced my hands on the desk behind me, as he coaxed me close to climax with his probing fingers.

“Damn, I can’t hold out any longer.” He grabbed the condom.

I watched with impatience as he rolled it on. “If this becomes a sure thing, then we can talk about going condom free.” It was something I’d never said to anyone. He paused and I worried that I’d just scared him off with the mention of a sure thing.

Instead, he pulled my legs so that my bottom was hanging off the edge of the desk. He stared at me with a heavy heated gaze as he slid slowly inside of me. “Far as I’m fucking concerned, baby, this is a sure thing.” He pushed in farther. I held my breath at the feel of him entering me with such slow, delicious precision.

I kept my hands braced on the desk and wrapped my legs around him. He rocked against me as he reached down between our bodies to stroke my clit. It took him only seconds to bring me to a shuddering orgasm. My arms wobbled beneath me as I held my body against his thrusts.

My head was still spinning from coming. The feel of him bringing himself to climax inside of me made my eyes ache with tears. I was overwhelmed with it all. All I could think was that this all felt so right. Maybe I’d finally found the man who wouldn’t disappoint me.

Chapter 23

Cole

A few of us stood by on our bikes, suited up and ready to race, waiting for the massive water truck to waddle its way around the track. A long, dry summer had squeezed every last bit of green out of the surrounding chaparral landscape. An early fall rainstorm midweek had blown through and carved some new ruts in the track. I’d been spending so much of my time practicing freestyle jumps, I hadn’t been out to ride in months. I was going to feel it at the end of the day. A day riding motocross wrung out every muscle and took all my energy. It was definitely one of the most taxing sports. The pros were some of the toughest athletes in the world.

As we waited for the water truck to rumble down the final stretch of track, a shiny red and blue truck pulled in. I hadn’t seen the guy ride out here in a long time, but the logos and colors assured me it was Nate Harkin coming to grace us amateurs with his presence.

I glanced back toward my truck. Kensington had driven out to meet me after she’d worked her horse. She was sitting on a chair under a tree reading a book. She hadn’t noticed the truck pulling in. Not that it mattered to me. Harkin could ride all he wanted out here as long as he left Kensington alone. Her reaction to seeing him at the freestyle contest had assured me that she was completely done with the guy.

The water truck lumbered off the track. Dust control was a major problem with the Southern California tracks, one of the few places in the states where we could ride all year. I hadn’t been out on the track for a few months, so it took me two good laps to warm up and find my line.

We’d been digging foundation ditches all week at work, and my arms were a little more wobbly than I liked. But after a few minutes, I was ready to grab some throttle and ride. On my third lap around, I saw Denver enter the track. He’d nailed second place in Saturday’s competition. But shit like that never went to his head. I knew he’d spent the night staring at his ceiling recalculating all his moves, trying to figure out how he’d failed by taking second. My other, less fortunate, roommate had not forgiven himself or the forces that be for taking him out in the first round. But the pain in his head had kept him low and sulky for the rest of the day. He came out to the track but said he still felt like shit. He hadn’t even suited up.

I ignored the clutch and twisted the throttle as I flew off a jump, landing with a solid thud on the other side. There were plenty of riders out on the main track. Even the peewee track was busy. With the gnarly summer heat slowing up, it seemed all the moto riders were pulling their gear and bikes out for a day of fun.

I’d been riding neck and neck with a guy on a two-stroke. He was a regular, a veteran ex-pro from the nineties, and he was still fucking fast. He tried to cut in, but I held my place. He flew past me on a jump.

I raced around the end where my truck was parked. Harkin and his crew had pulled in right next to us. Kensington was at the fence watching us ride and seemingly trying to ignore the giant, shiny truck next to her. I caught a glimpse of her beautiful smile as I rode past. It gave me the burst of energy I needed to ignore the fatigue in my arms and hands and go a few more laps.

As I hit the straightaway, I heard a bike coming up on my outside. I glanced back. Denver was barreling down on me. I leaned forward and grabbed some throttle. We played tag for a few minutes, switching lead position several times, but, eventually, Denver fell back. It was hard to believe that he had anything at all to give after yesterday’s contest.

I determined I had enough energy and hydration to go two more laps. As I passed the entrance, I saw Harkin riding toward the track. His helmet turned as he watched me ride past. The guy had already made it clear that he hated me, so my strategy was to stay the fuck out of his way. Even though his champ days seemed to be behind him, a harsh reality that was probably contributing to him being such a douchebag, he was still way faster than me and on a much better bike. I wasn’t a pro. I was a weekender, a rider who loved the sport, but one who’d never had the time, energy or drive to take it to the competitive level. I was good with that. As long as I could suit up and ride whenever the urge overtook me, I was a happy fucking camper.

I circled around the far side of the track where there was nothing but dried shrubs and trees beyond the fence. It was a cool spot on the track. If you took the jump high enough, you could catch a glimpse of the small lake tucked against the low hills. Of course the drought had pushed the water level down to puddle size, but it was still the only patch of blue in an otherwise parched stretch of land.

I heard a bike coming up behind me and glimpsed back. I was slowing down from fatigue, and the rider behind was coming on fast. I moved out of the way to let him pass. Which he did. It was Harkin. He glared at me through dusty goggles as he rolled past. Then he pulled a move that let me know just how big an asshole he was. We were the only two people on that section of track, and there wasn’t anyone gaining on him.

I was moving like a fucking slug on two wheels, but Harkin jumped on my line. Before I could react and grab the brakes, he let off the throttle. My front tire tapped his rear wheel. He wobbled a few seconds and threw dirt at me as I went flying off the side of the track. I popped up over the handlebars as the bike laid down behind me. I’d managed to tuck my body and roll so it wasn’t a straight on landing, which saved my back. But the air rushed out of my lungs. Tiny prickling lights filled my eyes as I struggled to get back my wind.

Another rider stopped along the side of the track. He cast a shadow over me while I worked to return my breathing to normal. I finally took a solid gulp of air. I focused on the person standing next to me.

Denver was leaning over me. He’d pulled his goggles down and yanked off his helmet.