It’s a truth I’m not ready to face.
Ciprian plants himself in my path. Holding both of my motorcycle helmets, he stretches one out to me, his expression carefully blank. “Want to find a bridge to throw me from? I promise to be terrified.”
It’s outrageous. And perfect.
His joke disrupts my spiral, puncturing the airtight bubble around my lungs. For the first time since Luca suggested movie night, oxygen floods my brain.
I take the helmet from Ciprian and grab his hand, glancing at the others over his shoulder. “Meet us at my apartment.”
They don’t respond, but I’m not worried. They’ll be there, and by the time Ciprian and I join them, I’ll be myself again. I’ve got to be.
Silently, Ciprian climbs on my bike behind me, his face hidden behind the helmet. His hands settle on my hips, sending bolts of awareness along my skin.
I rev the engine.
Release the clutch.
Then we’re off, leaving a trail of burning rubber behind us.
I consider riding along Boulder Highway, but I don’t want to deal with traffic lights. Instead, I head north toward one of the few remaining stretches of Old 91 that’s still open to drivers. Made mostly obsolete by I-15, the highway was all but abandoned decades before I stumbled through the celestial gateway to make a new life for myself.
I lose myself in the ride, chasing the weightless feeling thatreminds me of the freedom of flight. Pushing my bike to her limits, I careen around the curves and punch the throttle on the straights until we leave the city behind, and the desert swallows us whole.
True to his word, Ciprian lets me drive exactly how I want. The tightening of his thighs around mine is the only sign that he’s nervous. If I lose control, we’ll be little more than a smear on the cracked pavement—but it’s worth it. Gods, is it worth it.
A coyote howls in the distance, and goosebumps creep up the back of my neck. I lean sharply to avoid a crater-sized pothole, and my heart skips a beat. Ciprian must be freaking... hard as a rock. My core clenches, and arousal hits me fast. The vibration of the bike adds to the sharp, needy ache between my legs.
The jealousy, the fight, the hot promise of his body against mine. It’s too much.
I let off the throttle, pull off the road, and slam on the brakes beside a craggy formation of rocks. Once a popular scenic desert vista, this turnout is little more than a crumbling slice of pavement left to break down under the unforgiving summer sun.
It’s perfect.
Dropping the kickstand, I spin on the seat, draping my legs over Ciprian’s.
I’m panting, but I need to see his face. I need to know if he’s turned on by the fear or by me.
I yank our helmets off and drop them both on the ground.
As merciless as gravity, I tumble into the inky depths of his eyes and groan. My gaze drops to his mouth. Ciprian’s bottom lip is puffier than usual, like he spent the ride tormenting it with his teeth.
“Don’t get any ideas,” I whisper.
He cradles my cheeks, his fingers trembling. “It’s way too late for that.”
I kiss him with all the pent-up emotions I’vebeen fighting since I learned who he was. It’s not a gentle kiss, but it’s exactly what I need.I know what I want now.
I sigh into his mouth. My decisiveness is back with a vengeance. If I’m going to fall, I’m going to do it thoroughly. And if Ciprian’s lips end the night swollen, it will be because of me.
His thumbs move against my cheeks, and he groans, the kiss a hot and messy tangle of teeth and tongues. I taste salt—there’s no escaping the heat, even at night—and scoot further into his lap.
Ciprian yanks his lips away from mine to nibble on my earlobe. “You mad at me, Celine?”
I fist a handful of his hair and pull his mouth back to mine. “Fucking furious.”
“Yeah?”
I bite his bottom lip. “Yeah.”
