Authors: Susan Elizabeth Phillips
The flimsy shower stall was barely larger than a phone booth, and every time she moved, she banged her elbow into the plastic panels. She tried to imagine Panda attempting to wedge his body into such an uncomfortably small space.
His naked body.
She dropped her hands from the breasts she’d been soaping for too long. She was female. She couldn’t help the way Panda stirred her baser instincts. There was something primal about him. He was earthy and carnal, all brawn and muscle. Made for sex. It would be rough and raunchy, so different from sex with Ted, who’d been the gold standard of male erotic perfection—polished, inexhaustible, selfless.
Only now could she begin to admit how taxing that selflessness had been. She’d wanted to give back as good as she got, but what she got was so perfectly executed that she had no idea how to return it in equal measure, and that kept it from being as good as it should have been. She’d worried that her moans were too loud, her movements too awkward, her caresses too tentative, too rough, not in the right place. What if she was taking too long or her breath was bad or her thighs were jiggling? What if she farted?
All that stress.
It would be so different with Panda, so easy. He’d only be out for himself. And who cared what she did or what he thought about it? She could respond or not respond, however she felt. She wouldn’t need to worry about how her words, her actions, her moans—or lack of them—affected him.
The idea of simply taking what she wanted from a man who expected nothing except access to a female body tantalized her. All through high school and college, she’d fantasized about the wild men she sometimes encountered: the son of a wealthy socialite who’d supplemented his income dealing drugs, the college basketball player with the mile-wide grin who’d cheated on his exams, the guys with the cocky struts and cigarettes dangling from the corners of their mouths, the ones who drove too fast, drank too much, worked their bodies instead of their brains. And now Panda.
How would he react if she walked out naked? She couldn’t imagine that he’d turn away.
This trip was nearly over. She understood that, even if he hadn’t spelled out the exact timetable. Any day now, he’d be dumping her. Would she ever have a better chance for free, dirty, uncommitted sex? This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Was she going to let it pass her by?
Two weeks ago, she was engaged to another man—a man she still loved in so many ways. Jumping into bed with Panda would be unforgivable.
Still, the idea wasn’t altogether repellent.
She felt an irrational urge to talk this over with Ted. He was always clearheaded, and she wasn’t clear about anything right now.
Even as she dried off, she was still thinking about it. She knew what she wanted. Didn’t know what she wanted. Finally she decided on a coward’s compromise. She wrapped herself in the threadbare towel, opened the bathroom door, and said, “Don’t look.”
He looked. Not even being subtle about it but studying her in a way that made her skin hot. Long seconds passed before he spoke. “Are you sure about this?” No games. Straight to the point. Pure Panda.
“No.”
“You must be fairly sure.”
“I’m not.”
He took more time thinking it over than she’d expected. Finally he rose from the bed and jerked his T-shirt over his head. “I need a shower. If you’re still wearing that towel when I come out, lose it.”
She didn’t like this. Not the fact that he intended to shower—she knew exactly how grimy they were from their long bike ride—but she didn’t like having more time to think than she wanted. Was this the best way to move on from Ted or the worst?
The bathroom door banged shut. He’d left his phone behind, proof that he’d wiped it out again. She made a call. “Meg …”
“Luce? Honey, are you all right?”
“I’m … fine.”
“Why are you whispering?”
“Because …” Lucy paused. “Would I be … like … a total skank if I slept with another guy now? Like in about ten minutes?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Do you like him?”
“Kind of. He’s no Ted Beaudine, but …”
“Then you should
definitely
sleep with him.”
“I want to, but …”
“Be a skank, Luce. It’ll be good for you.”
“I guess if I’d seriously wanted to be talked out of this, I’d have called somebody else.”
“That tells you a lot, then.”
“You’re right.” The water shut off in the bathroom. Panda had taken the fastest shower on record. “I have to go,” she said in a rush. “I’ll call when I can. Love you.” She hung up.
The bathroom door opened. Now there were two of them wrapped in threadbare towels, Panda’s draped so low she could see the entire plane of his stomach … and the bulge beneath.
He held his discarded clothes in one hand, his hair a long wet tangle, his lips thinned in something approaching a scowl. Water beaded on his chest and on his bare legs, which were—no surprise—free of any disfiguring scars. What was surprising, considering the lack of sunlight they received, was how tan they were. Even more surprising was how foul his mood seemed to be for a man about to get lucky.
He cocked his head in the general direction of her towel.
“I’m still thinking,” she said.
“No, you’re not. You made up your mind.” He yanked his wallet from his jeans pocket, flipped it open, and pulled out a condom. “I only have one of these, so you’d better be good.”
“Might be. Might not be,” she said. “It depends on my mood.” Her words exhilarated her.
He dropped his clothes, walked over to her, and dipped his index finger into the fabric between her breasts. With a single tug, the towel fell to the carpet. “Time to taste the forbidden fruit,” he said in a barely audible rasp.
Who was the forbidden fruit? Herself or him? She didn’t want to think, only to feel. He dipped his head to her shoulder, but she wasn’t going to be the only naked person in the room, and she tugged off his towel. It fell across their feet as their bodies met. His lips touched her collarbone. He nipped. Moved onto her neck. He hadn’t shaved, and his beard scraped lightly over her skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps.
She’d spent hours today pressed against his body, and now that she’d made up her mind to do this, she wanted to feel more of it. She splayed her hands against his chest. He lingered just below her earlobe. She didn’t want him to kiss her, and she turned her head before he could reach her lips. The movement exposed more of her neck, and he accepted the invitation.
Before long, his hand went to her breast, his thumb to the crest. Hot blood rushed through her. He flicked it, and she did the same to him. His breathing came faster, and so did hers. He hooked his arms under her bottom, lifted her, and carried her to the bed she’d staked out for herself. No kisses. No endearments. Nothing that would remind her of Ted.
He flipped the covers back with one hand. As they fell into the sheets she accidentally scratched him. She didn’t care. She dug her hands into his wild curls and tugged simply because she wanted to.
“Ouch.”
“No talking,” she said.
“Like it rough, do you?”
Yes. That was exactly how she wanted it. No solicitude or consideration. No tender caresses.
She slipped her hands between his legs and squeezed. Not hard enough to cause him pain. Just enough to make him feel the tiniest bit vulnerable.
“Watch it,” he said.
“You watch it,” she said.
He reared above her, one corner of those sadistic lips kicking up. “Aren’t you full of surprises …” And just like that, he’d pinioned her wrists to the bed and pressed her into the mattress with his body.
A dangerous thrill shot through her.
He dragged his unshaven jaw across her nipple. The deliciously painful abrasion made her gasp. He did it again. She twisted beneath him, a movement that left her open and vulnerable.
“I was hoping for a little more foreplay”—he ripped the foil around the condom with his teeth—“but if that’s the way you want it …”
She’d never imagined anyone could pull on a condom so fast. He recaptured her wrists. With one powerful thrust he drove inside her.
She gasped. Her legs fell open. He gave her no time to adjust to his size before he began to pump. He displayed no finesse. Only deep, powerful strokes that touched her very core. Strokes that required nothing of her but a submission she didn’t feel like offering. She wrapped her heels around his calves. Bucked beneath him. His teeth gleamed as he smiled.
Before long, sweat beaded on his forehead, but still he thrust. Refusing to give in until she did.
But she wouldn’t go first. She’d hold out forever. Die before she let him win this battle, which, like most wars, had lost its point. His dark eyes grew glassy. His weight heavy. A whimper slipped through her lips. Another. His grip slackened on her wrists. She curled both hands around his sides. Dug in her nails. She owed him nothing.
And with that knowledge, she gave him everything.
At the exact moment he lost his own battle.
His back arched, shoulders lifted, hips drove. Flurry. Quake. Flood.
“W
ANNA BEER
?”
HE SAID AFTERWARD,
not looking at her, every bit the great Neanderthal.
“No. I want to sleep. Alone.” She pointed toward the other bed, as rude as she could be.
He didn’t seem to care.
T
HE SOUND OF THE MOTEL
room door awakened her the next morning. She forced her eyes open. Panda stood there, holding two cups of coffee he must have picked up in the motel office. Being a skank was a new experience—not nearly as much fun the morning after. She wanted to pull the sheet over her head and beg him to go away. She left the sheet where it was and reached for a little attitude. “I want Starbucks.”
“Hurry up and get dressed.” He set the coffee on the dresser.
Pretending last night hadn’t happened would only make her feel worse. “Sex is supposed to be a mood enhancer. What happened to you?”
“Real life,” he retorted, as prickly as his day-old stubble. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
So much for cozy chitchat, but what did she care? She’d broken one more link—the final link?—in the chain that bound her to Ted. He was no longer the last man she’d slept with.
Panda was standing impatiently by the bike, her helmet dangling from one hand, his coffee cup in the other, when she emerged from the motel room. A storm during the night had left the air heavy with humidity, but she doubted that was the reason he looked like a time bomb about to detonate. Trying to conjure up all the impertinence and bravado of her fourteen-year-old self—her fourteen-year-old
virginal
self—was useless in this case, but what about Viper, her biker chick alter ego? Her eyes narrowed. “Chill, dude.”
Ohmygod!
Had she really said that?
He scowled and pitched his cup into an overflowing trash can. “It’s two weeks, Lucy. Time’s up.”
“Not for me, babe. I’m just getting started.”
She’d thrown him off balance almost as much as she’d thrown herself off. “Whatever you think you’re doing,” he said with a glare, “stop it.”
She grabbed her helmet from him. “Maybe you want to stand here all day and talk, but I want to ride.”
As she strapped on the helmet, he muttered something she couldn’t hear, and then they were off. It didn’t take them long to cross the Arkansas border and reach the Memphis outer belt. Until yesterday, Panda had stayed off freeways, but not today. He blew past a sign for Graceland, switched lanes, and merged onto another freeway. Before long, he pulled off at an exit. The triumph she’d felt over her display of bravado vanished when she saw the sign.
MEMPHIS INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
She squeezed his ribs and shouted, “Where are you going?”
He didn’t answer.
But she knew, and the scope of his betrayal was so huge she couldn’t take it in.
He pulled up in front of the airport departure area and stopped between two SUVs. “End of the road.”
He said it as if it didn’t matter, as if she should hop off, shake his hand, and breeze away. When she didn’t move, he took over. He grasped her arm, and the next thing she knew, they were both standing next to the bike. “It’s time for you to go home.” He tugged her chinstrap free, pulled off her helmet, and secured it to the bike.
Her lungs had collapsed. This was the way Ted had felt. Blindsided and deceived. “That’s my decision to make,” she said.
Instead of responding, he unfastened her pack and set it on the sidewalk. He reached into the saddlebags, withdrew an envelope, and pressed it into her hands. “Everything you need is in here.”
She stared at him.
“It’s two weeks, Lucy. Two weeks. Do you know what I’m saying? I have another job waiting.”
She couldn’t—wouldn’t—grasp his meaning.
He stood before her. Withdrawn. Indifferent. Maybe a little bored. She was one more woman. One more female body. One more job …
GAS, GRASS, OR ASS. NOBODY RIDES FOR FREE.
And then something shifted. The smallest furrow gathered between those dark eyebrows. His lids dropped, and when he lifted them again, she saw everything the man she knew as Panda had worked so hard to suppress. She saw the intelligence he’d kept so tightly veiled. She saw pain and doubt, remorse maybe. And she saw a soul-deep hunger that had nothing to do with smutty T-shirts and obscene bumper stickers.
He shook his head slightly, as if he wanted to clear away those vulnerable emotions. But he couldn’t seem to do it because he lifted his arms and cupped her cheeks, his big hands as gentle as a butterfly’s wings, those cold blue eyes tender and troubled. He slanted his head and did what she hadn’t let him do last night. He kissed her. At first the softest touch, then something deeper, a hungry joining with her face protectively nested in his palms.
His mouth moved over hers as if he could never get enough. And then he let her go without warning, turned away before she could stop him. He straddled the bike and kicked the engine into life. A moment later, he was gone, roaring out of her world on a beat-up Yamaha Warrior plastered with bumper stickers that no longer fit the man she’d thought she’d known.