Conditional Offer (2 page)

She tilted her head. "Jesus, you are cute. But I'm guessing you know that."

He let himself have the blush, allowed the thick shock of his blond hair drop over his eye and then brushed it back. He moved to the left so the handlebars covered the movement under his khakis. A corner of her dark red lips lifted, mesmerizing him. "I'm Lindsay." She held out a hand.

He took it, lingered just the right amount of time. "Craig." He said. "And this," he put his hand back on the expensive bike, "is a classic Steve McQueen Bonneville. And if you are considering it for yourself, may I just ask now – will you marry me?"

Her light, pleasant laugh made his skin pebble. She touched the leather seat. "Talk to me Craig. Convince me I should spend ten grand on a motorized bicycle."

"Well, first off you have to change your attitude about this machine," he put his hand near hers, close enough to feel the heat of her skin. "It's hardly a bicycle." She leaned forward, giving him an unimpeded view of the tops of her breasts. He raised an eyebrow at her, forced his inner beast down under a layer of polite exchange. "The classic lines are just the beginning here," he put his hand on the cold chrome handle, slid it down to the fuel tank. "She is so very responsive," he let his fingers trail towards her. "Smooth and powerful," he walked around to the back and rested both hands firmly on the leather, imagining the woman's hips under his palms in front of him. "And when you red line her, I mean really bury the throttle deep," he smiled when she blinked, gratified by the way she swallowed hard. "Well, then you know you have really," he touched her hand then moved away, crossing his arms over his chest, "really scored."

She threw her head back and let loose with a throaty laugh. Craig smiled and saw the line of salesmen across the back of the luxury bike shop watching him work. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he turned back to the woman. The fall of her inky black hair, the deep blue of her eyes, and the promise of what lay under the simple silk and denim made him take a long deep breath. "Okay Craig. I think you need to take me for a ride."  He let his smile linger as she leaned over the bike seat close enough to kiss him. "On the bike, I mean." She stepped back, tucking her camera into a case. "You know, so I can really get a sense of how much I can score." Before he realized she could move that fast she was around on his side of the bike. Her hand touched his shoulder, then slid down and practically caressed his bicep. He tried not to gulp. He did not like feeling out of his league, and this woman had a strange kind of predatory vibe about her that had a red flag waving in his brain. "On the bike." She grinned, and her smile was sincere when she took her hand off him. He shook his head, cleared the cobwebs, and refocused on the task.

"At your service," he said, turning and catching the keys another salesman tossed his way. He grabbed two helmets and walked the bike outside. The woman's scent – a subtle, floral aroma surrounded by a clear spike of lust – was all up in his head, making him a little dizzy. His sales manager appeared by his side.

"Robinson, listen, the last time you did this," he lifted his chin to the woman who stood nearby, strapping on a helmet. "I didn't get the damn bike back for a week."

Craig put a hand on the man's shoulder, looked him right in the eye. "Don't worry boss. I'll bring the bike back soon. I promise," He leaned in to the guy's very married ear. "I gotta ride this one out, you know." He glanced over his shoulder.

The man's eyes glazed over at the sight of the walking orgasm looking at Craig as if she was about to eat him alive. "Yeah. Um, okay." The man backed away. Craig hopped on, fired up the engine, and let the woman mold herself against his back, her breasts mashed to his body, arms around his waist gripping his torso. He smiled, revved the engine, and took off into the near dusk of Ann Arbor.

Yeah. Get laid. That's the answer.
He smiled as her hand moved along his chest, then down, just as he knew it would. He put the bike through its paces on the four-lane Jackson Road all the way into Dexter. He then flipped them onto the interstate, flooring it and letting the roar of the machine and the feel of lovely female against him block out all the noises he'd been entertaining lately in his brain. The messages from his mother,  brothers and sisters-in-law about getting his act together and going back to school, the clear signals from his dwindling bank account, and the yammering of his own ego were an annoying cacophony. But the cool air whipping over his face and the feel of Lindsay's breath on his neck gave him strength. This was what he needed, period.

"Get off at State Street" she said in his ear. "Twelve eleven Pauline Drive. That's my place. I think we need a little break before taking the bike back."

He nodded, and drove them up the exit ramp. The sky was getting purple, clouds scudded over the moon, and he felt like five million bucks. He was going to fuck this woman's brains out and all was right in his world. Her hand hit his thigh. "You okay with that, sales boy?"

He chuckled and gunned the bike through the intersection making her squeal and press against him, in a most satisfying way. He let her whisper guide him, her hand moving up his leg and blatantly cupping his erection, as he steered the bike over South Main and past Michigan Stadium to Pauline. It was near dark when they pulled into her drive and under an overhang, in lieu of a garage. He put the kickstand down and took off his helmet. Her hands trailed back up his torso and lingered over his shoulders. He climbed off and let the helmet drop to the concrete. His body was calling the shots, and he let it, happy to rest his brain that had been causing him no end of stress and anxiety. She lifted one long leg up and over the seat and then just stood, letting her helmet dangle from her fingers.

"You said something about a break?" he whispered. He willed her to make the first move. As he expected, she planted her feet on either side of his, and ran her hand up his arm, gripped his neck, but stopped, letting her lips linger just close enough.

"I want more than a break Craig," she said, her low voice making his cock even harder, if that were at all possible. "No games. No bullshit. I want you," she reached down to unbuckle his belt, "to fuck me." She leaned up and bit his earlobe as he reached back and gripped her ass, taking hold of the firm flesh under her jeans. He sighed into her neck as she unzipped him and shoved his khakis down.

"Hmm…well, that might cost you extra." He bent her back over the leather seat, cupped her breast, then yanked her shirt up and flicked open her bra. "I mean, you know, I'm not that kind of guy."

"Really," she said, wrapping her hand around his cock, and bringing her lips to his. "I think you are very much that kind of guy. And I like it."

He licked her lips, stopping just short of kissing her. His brain buzzed, and his body tensed.  He loved the buildup almost more than the act itself. Almost. "You have too many clothes on," he said, and unzipped her, shoving her jeans down before picking her up and setting her on the black leather Triumph seat. He could smell her dark, lusty energy and wanted to taste it. Her breathing was ragged as he stepped away, then dropped to his knees, running his hands along the slim musculature of her legs.

"Oh yes," she hissed as he licked his way up her inner thigh then flicked his tongue over her bare clit. "Somehow I knew you'd be good at this," she groaned as he slid his finger inside her. Her hips angled and she draped her long lean legs over his shoulders digging her heels into his back. Her smell swirled in his brain and his body took over as he sucked and finger fucked her to a loud, operatic orgasm. He stood slowly, and she wrapped her legs around him, tugging him into her orbit. "Now, about that first order of business." She sighed and threaded her fingers in his hair. He angled into her, let the head of his cock have full contact with the heat of her glorious pussy. "Remember? Fucking me?"

"Yeah," he said, leaning over her and grabbing the seat to brace himself. "I remember." He thrust hard, and let her low moan of satisfaction fill his ears and his brain. She grabbed his ass, met him thrust for thrust, but he held back, counting backwards from twenty, and mentally reciting baseball stats while watching her face. There was nothing he loved more than the shape of a woman's lips, the look in her eyes as he fucked her, really, really satisfied her. And this woman –
Lindsay
, he reminded himself – was a classic multi-orgasmic example of exquisite older womanhood. She knew what she wanted, and took it. And he was happy to be taken, if it meant quieting the increasingly unhappy noises in his head.

"Oh God," she yelped as he spread his legs to brace himself and leaned over her to suck one of her hard nipples into his mouth. He reached down to stroke her clit, sensing she'd come again that way, less from the actual penetration. He'd been deflowered by an older woman, a high school teacher actually. Their affair hadn't ended in a sordid news-worthy story but in a mutually satisfactory parting of ways when he graduated. She'd taught him a lot, and the string of older women he'd been drawn to since had only added to his skill set. Most women could not climax from pure penetration. There had to be some kind of friction against her clit, and he knew just how to give it. So he rubbed that hard bud of her flesh and let her grip him as he pounded into her. She came just as he knew she would, long, loud and sweet, dragging him with her. He grunted, and let go of the bike, trusting it to hold them up as they shuddered in each other's arms, their tongues tangled with a kiss.  The gloom of dusk settled fully into night as his vision clouded over from the intensity

"Mm hmm," she sighed as he slipped out of her and stepped back, hands on his hips. "Just as I suspected." She leaned back on the bike, her hard nipples pointed up in the dark, her legs still parted and the glistening pulse of her sex shining in the moonlight.

"How's that," he said, tugging up his trousers.

"Never mind," she giggled, hooking her finger in his belt loop and tugging him close. His brain was still foggy, but he knew he should go, take the bike back, and face his empty, lonely condo again--alone, to contemplate his unsure future. She cupped his still half-hard cock. He smiled and tucked her long hair behind her ear, letting her continue. "I think this should be an appetizer. To be followed by a full-fledged four course meal with gourmet dessert." She nipped his lower lip.

He started to step away, knowing he should leave. "I've been known to serve it up that way," he put his arm around her shoulders, laid a well-practiced kiss on her, then tugged the bike into a dark corner, praying no one would steal the god damned thing while he stayed here and fucked this woman's brains into complete oblivion.

But she handed him a helmet, put hers back on and patted the seat. "Your place lover boy. Take me there." He shrugged. Here, there, wherever, this was gonna rock.

Chapter Two

"Take 'em off baby. C'mon." Lindsay giggled and rolled over onto her stomach, gripping the camera. "You are just this side of photo shopped. Lemme see it."

Craig rolled his eyes, picked up his guitar and tried to ignore her, but he knew she would not be. She was fucking insatiable, and he'd spent the better part of the last three months playing walking dildo for her. His cock was rubbed raw, but the distraction did manage to shut up the constant mental reminders that he should not be here, but back in school. That alone was worth it. He strummed, sang, and she snapped his picture constantly. He had on shorts and nothing else. His phone buzzed on the table next to him, but he ignored it in favor of staring at Lindsay: the amazing lean line of her bare legs, the way her long black hair draped over her shoulders as she clicked away, keeping the camera between them.

He already regretted agreeing to a video camera in the bedroom. That night, she'd come over to his place with it, along with some of the most amazing pot he'd ever tried. They drank cheap wine, smoked, and had gymnastic sex that he barely remembered the next morning, other than her smell lingering all over his face. But the camera was there, blinking, ominous and a little intimidating, when he awoke the next morning nearly stumbling over it in his quest for coffee. HHe'd stood, his body quivering, staring out the kitchen window, half of him wondering how he got to this odd point in his life – nearly twenty-four years old, no college degree, making decent money selling motorcycles, playing in a half-assed rock band, and fucking a woman nearly fifteen years his senior, but unable to stop any of it.

"Craig, sweetie, humor me," she purred, rising from the bed in her full naked glory and running her hands through his hair, down his face, and settling on his lap. She set the guitar aside and slanted her lips over his. He drowned in her kiss, tried very, very hard not to make this into anything more than sex.  He loved every single one of the women who'd taught him, who'd been drawn to him like bees to a bright flower. But eventually he'd let them go. Lindsay, however, made his whole body shiver and his ears get hot. He wanted her, all of the time. Love? Not likely. But it would do for now.

He smiled at her, stood and slid his shorts off, fisted her dark hair when she got to her knees and sucked him down her throat. He groaned at the absolutely incredible sensation when she slid her expert fingers under his balls and stroked him there, then inched her way towards his ass. He thrust into her mouth grunting with the simple exertion of getting off, yet again. His brain clicked in for some reason at the last minute and he groaned and bent over her, trying to stop about ten seconds too late.  He gripped her hair harder, but she kept up her exquisite suction then her finger slid deep into his ass.

"Fuck!" he cried out, and pounded down her throat, furious at himself but helpless to stop. He came for what felt like an hour, groaning with the effort-slash-pain-slash-pleasure.

She released his cock with one last lick, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and grabbed that infernal camera again. "Craig," she sighed, "show me."

He sighed, ran his hands through hair, his cock still hard and throbbing. "Jesus. Whatever," he flopped down onto the couch and caught his breath. He heard the camera clicking away but ignored it, reaching for his guitar as a sort of shield. He plucked out a tune, sang, his voice croaky with exhaustion and frustration.