Before she can grab her helmet, I catch her wrist and pull her in again. This kiss is different—harder, wetter, full of the rush from running through the storm.
“Every girl needs to be kissed in the rain at least once in her life,” I murmur against her lips.
She smiles like she’s storing the moment somewhere permanent and kisses me back, rain and all.
The rain’s not letting up. It’s not just a shower—it’s the kind that soaks you straight through in seconds.
“We’ll need to wait it out a little,” I tell her, swinging a leg over the bike and looking around for some kind of shelter. There’s nothing but wet trees, a narrow strip of road, and the view behind us swallowed by gray.
But she doesn’t move toward cover. “I don’t want to,” she says. “Feels nice.”
She’s standing there with her face turned up to the sky, rain dripping down her hair, her jacket molding to her body in all the right ways, and I swear she’s going to kill me.
Then she looks at me sideways. “How many other girls have you brought out on your bike?”
“None.” My voice leaves no room for doubt.
Her brows lift. “None?”
“You’re the only one I’ve put on the back of it.”
Her lips twitch. “Have you ever had sex on it before?”
Only in every wet dream I’ve had about her for a long time. But I shake my head. “No.”
She tilts her head. “Then how would that fantasy go?”
I grin, get back on the bike, and pat the space in front of me. “Come here and I’ll show you.”
She climbs up, straddling the tank, her ass in my lap. The contact is immediate and addictive. I rock my hips into her, slow at first, my hands sliding over her rain-slick thighs. She’s warm under the gear, every shift of her body pressing against me just right.
One arm wraps around her, pulling her tighter as my other hand slips between her legs. My fingers find her through the damp fabric, adding steady pressure to her clit while I rock her forward and back. The rain’s pounding on us but neither of us cares.
I lean in to her ear, my voice low. “If we weren’t in the middle of a storm, I’d take my time. Strip you bare. Have you riding me right here until you couldn’t remember your own name.”
Her breathing’s heavier now, her hips moving with mine, and I know I’ve got her.
I shift, lifting her like she weighs nothing, turning her around to face me. She’s perched on the gas tank, her knees bracketing my hips, and I’m already imagining her there without all this gear.
“I could eat you like this,” I tell her, sliding my hands under her thighs.
I hook one leg over my shoulder, making her lean back against the handlebars to keep balance. The way she looks at me right now—lips parted, eyes dark—I know she’s drenched under those pants, and not from the rain.
I kiss the inside of her thigh, slow, before biting just hard enough to make her yelp.
“Thought so,” I murmur.
I pull her back down to straddle me, my hands gripping her ass, moving her hips against me. Her arms loop around my neck, and when I kiss her again, she grinds on me like she’s been waiting for this all day.
She leans back, bracing herself on the handlebars, working her hips in slow circles over my cock. The friction’s brutal in the best way. I keep my hands on her, guiding her pace, murmuring in her ear,
The wet leather squeaks against my gloves, and every drag of her body over my cock has me fighting for control.
“Does this feel good?” I murmur against her ear.
She nods, breathless.
“Say it, Cricket.”
