Copyright © Nicole Austin, 2015
The brilliant blue sky is clear as far as I can see with the exception of a few fluffy white clouds. It’s a beautiful day with birds happily chirping as they flit among vibrant spring blooms. Everything is peaceful and calm until a red and black streak roars down the street and into the parking lot. Wind buffets my lithe body as I lean into a controlled slide, stopping on a dime amid the sweet sound of squealing tires in a cloud of burned rubber. “Fuck yeah!”
There’s nothing in the world I find more exhilarating than pushing my custom Ducati to the limits, with the exception of great sex. Considering how long I’ve gone without a male between my legs the bike has become my endorphin high substitute. And bonus, my bike lacks the faults common in most males. No commitment issues, completely monogamous and never suffers from performance problems since I keep it in tip-top condition.
After pulling off my sunglasses and securing my helmet, I bend over at the waist, shaking out my long auburn waves to alleviate any sign of helmet hair. Several sets of eyes watch my every move from the open repair bay doors, but I ignore the unwanted attention and flip my hair back as I straighten. Popping the dark glasses back on, I head for the main entrance, catching sight of my rumpled, fresh-fucked appearance in the mirrored glass door.
Looking good, girl!
Strutting in as if I own the place, I move the glasses into my hair, pulling it back from my face. Giving a jaunty salute to the slack-jawed woman sitting behind the reception counter, I make a beeline for the open doorway under a neon sign announcing it to be the showroom.
A few steps inside the huge space, I let my gaze glide over an impressive array of chrome and shiny paint on wheels, giving a low whistle of appreciation. Beautifully restored cars and bikes spanning several decades gleam beneath precisely placed lights and have me popping girl wood. Sure, I’d seen pictures on the website but in person, damn. Just damn!
Spotting my sister staring through the lens of her ever-present Nikon, I head toward the 50’s drive-in set. “Whoo-damn, Lore. No wonder you never came back to San Antonio.”
She’d left three months ago with the owners of Davenport Restorations and didn’t look back. Not that I could blame her, mated to smokin’ hot twins with this place as her playground. Pretty sweet.
After carefully setting down her precious camera, she turns and races into my arms with a squeal of delight. “I’m so glad you’re here, Haidee.” Letting me go she spins around in a circle, arms extended, looking happier than I’ve ever seen her. “Isn’t this place incredible!”
Not a question but I respond anyway. “I could happily get lost in here and never surface.”
Lorelei gives me a thorough once over, taking in everything from my unzipped leather jacket to black riding pants tucked into high heel boots. On the way back up she stops at my grey V-neck and pulls my lapels farther apart to read the text.
“Accountant, because badass isn’t an official job title.” She arches her brow, laughs and pulls me into another full body hug. “So very you.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the most stunning sight. Peeling her off me, I head toward a beautiful orange and black racing bike in the center of the showroom. “So who do I have to blow to get some quality time with this bad boy on the track out back?”
“Haidee!” Lorelei turns my name into a chastisement, a feat she’s mastered over the years as only a sibling can do.
“No, seriously. I’d give my left tit to wrap my legs around this sexy beast and take it for a long, hard ride.” Trailing my fingertips along defined lines from gas tank, across the seat and down the tail, I imagine flying over the asphalt with my body plastered to the sleek bike. I can almost feel the hum of the engine generating fierce vibrations that would blast through my pussy as machine and rider become one. I’m getting turned on just thinking about taking it on. My breasts grow heavy, aching for stimulation as my blood heats, elevating my temperature.
“That’s my girl. I’d be happy to take you for a spin on her.”
The masculine, whiskey-rough tone tugs on something deep in my core but I don’t turn around to look. No way can the man himself be half as hot as that made-for-dirty-talk voice.
“No thanks. I don’t ride bitch,” I growl. “Not for anyone.”
Lorelei mumbles a curse I don’t even try to catch. “Jase, this is my sister, Haidee Portman. Demon spawn—”
Whirling around to blast her with a snarky comeback, I freeze as my gaze catches on a vision pulled right out of my favorite wet dream. The world tilts, causing me to stumble and I choke. Did I just swallow my tongue? Sure feels like it.
“Meet Jase Wesgate,” my sister croons, “our head mechanic.”