These past three weeks have been the best of my life—chaos, heat, laughter, and more than I ever thought I’d have.
I wipe a bit of salsa from the corner of her mouth and chase it with a quick peck on the lips.
“I’m glad I bought you, Cricket.”
Her fork stills. The smile she’d been wearing softens, just a touch. Those green eyes find mine, and for a second, there’s no teasing in them—just something darker, deeper.
“Yeah,” she murmurs, voice low. “Me too.”
That’s the answer I’ve been waiting for.
We toss our trash, climb back on the bike, and I feel her arms wrap around me like she never wants to let go. The highway opens up in front of us, dark and endless. I tap her leg twice—our silent signal—and she squeezes me tighter just before I gun it, pushing as fast as I dare with her holding on like I’m the only thing keeping her tethered.
When I ease off the throttle, she loosens her grip and spreads her arms out wide behind me, hair whipping in the wind.
“I love it here,” she calls over the roar of the bike. “I feel so free.”
I take the long way around the airport, pulling into a spot I know by muscle memory—where the planes fly low enough torattle your chest, and I’ve spent more than a few nights filming myself tearing down this stretch.
I kill the engine. Cassidy swings off, but I stay put, watching her. Helmets come off. Mine hits the ground. She follows suit.
“Get your ass up here,” I tell her, patting the space in front of me.
She climbs on, straddling the bike, andfuck. Those leather pants hug her like they were painted on. In this position, her ass is flush against my lap, and she knows exactly what she’s doing when she arches and grabs the handlebars, glancing back over her shoulder.
My hands slide over her cheeks, giving them a firm squeeze. “Goddamn, baby.” I drag one palm up her spine, the other locking on her hip.
“Let me take a picture of that.”
She smirks, nodding, then glances at me over her shoulder as I snap the shot. It’s obscene how good she looks.
“I’ve got a surprise for you too,” she says, mischief curling in her voice.
Curious, I help her turn to face me. She scoots forward, settling on the gas tank, boots braced on my knees so her legs are wide open. My hands are halfway to that zipper when she reaches for her jacket.
And unzips it.
No shirt. No bra. Just bare, perfect tits staring me in the face.
“Holy shit,” I breathe.
It’s all I can say. She’s rendered me fucking speechless.
My hands come up automatically, cupping her. My thumbs brush over her nipples, and she tips her head back with a low moan. “It feels so good when you do that.”
I lean in, swirl my tongue around one tight peak, kissing and sucking until she’s arching into me.
“Let me take your picture like this,” I say, reaching for my phone.
She gives me a look that’s pure challenge.
“If you think I’d let anyone else see you like this, you’re fucking crazy.”
Her lips curve. “Well… I suppose.” She shifts, posing just enough to make my pulse spike.
Black leather pants. Black jacket. Dark hair tumbling loose. And then those tits—creamy, full, perfect—above a body that looks like sin itself. Her green eyes are locked on me like she’s already imagining me inside her.
She poses for me and I snap every one. Her hands braced on the tank pushing those full breasts together like a fucking invitation. Then biting her finger. Slipping the jacket down one shoulder, then both. Wrapping her arms around herself and perching those perfect tits on her forearms.
