I've always had a thing for Carmyn Rafferty. She carries herself as a reserved and proper woman, but I see a tension in her. A slight glitch in some of her movements lets me know she's aching to be liberated. She wants to let go. In a way she never has. A way she's afraid to get too close to. Her boyfriend's obviously never been able to take her there.I could, though.Maybe that's what has always kept me drawn to her. She wouldn't just be another lay to me. I'd be breaking her in, kind of like taming a horse, but I'd be setting her free.

And on the point-zero-five percent chance that I do lose, it'll get her on my bike, spreading her legs to straddle the leather and steel. No matter how much I've stuck to my self-imposed rule of "no chicks on the bike," that alone might be worth the small risk.

Oh, hell no!" I yell at them. They are not about to negotiate as to whether they get to see my goods. "Denton, I swear to God, if you come over here, I am sending you anthrax in the mail!

What I'm realizing is that a broken heart isn't a solitary event. There is the initial shatter, but then there are repeat breaks, creating more and more shards. A word that reminds you of what you used to have, a smell that reminds you of your dreams, a flashed memory in your mind's eye that reminds you of the betrayal. Each time it's a new injury. Each broken piece takes me further away from ever being whole again.

I believe this is yours." I hand her the last dart in my hand. "And this is mine." I cup her face in my hands before she can think anything else, and I kiss her.

Carmyn drops her glass from her lips first and bites into the slice of lime she's holding in her other hand. Her lips wrap around the flesh of the fruit, and my dick flexes in earnest. I've watched women suck on me and not look nearly that seductive.