Headlights on the horizon bring me crashing back to Earth.
Without a word, Ciprian helps me sit up, using his discarded shirt to shield me as the car passes. Then he looks at me and beams. A wide, genuine smile, with more teeth than practiced charm.
My heart stutters, and I distract myself by digging around in the bike’s top case for the pair of cotton shorts I keep stuffed there in case of emergencies.
Ciprian puts the folded leather shorts in the compartment, but he seems reluctant to give them up. That’s when I remember: this is the second time I’ve crawled on top of him, come hard enough to alter my blood pressure, and left him hanging.
“I didn’t...” I wave my hand clumsily in the direction of his crotch. It’s too dark to see much, which I’m thankful for, because I’m blushing for absolutely no reason except the fact that I’ve never sounded less sexy.
Ciprian laughs and scrubs his hand over his tangled blond hair. “I came when you did.”
I blink at him. “The second time?”
He releases a heavy breath and shakes his head.
I’m officially confused. Is he trying to say he came as soon as he tasted me? Because that is by far the most ludicrous, far-fetched, flattering lie anyone has ever told me.
“There’s no way,” I blurt, annoyed that he would fib for no reason.
“Well, I’m not proud of it, that’s for sure,” Ciprian says.
“You’re messing with me.”
He shakes his head, studies my face, then groans like he’s in pain. “I can’t believe—you know what? I don’t give a fuck. I’ll prove it.”
Swinging one leg over my bike, he stands and unzips his jeans, dropping them below his ass and dipping his hand into his boxer briefs. With jerky movements, he pulls his fingers free and holds them out for me to inspect.
They’re dripping cum.
I giggle, not because it’s funny, but because I’m shocked.
Ciprian closes his eyes, the night sky showing me a handsome face that’s growing redder by the second.You’re ruining it, Celine.The thought snaps me back to reality.
I grab his wrist and pull it to my lips, sucking his fingers into my mouth one at a time. His eyes snap open, and he watches, mesmerized, until I’m done.
Finishing with a kiss to his cheek, I give him a moment to reset his brain while I retrieve our discarded helmets and reflect on all that’s happened between us.
I think about who he is and everything he hid from me. The murder investigation. His real identity. The things I shared and the things he concealed.
Next, I consider how he saved Alistair’s life, lied to his family about Roscoe to protect me, and helped cover up the battle outside my apartment.
When I add in the fact that he came in his pants from the taste of me alone, the sting of our turbulent history doesn’t hurt as much as it used to. Ciprian Casanell isn’t bad or good—he’s everything in between, and gods help me, I’m falling for him.
“Hold on tight. We’re missing movie night,” I say, cranking my bike. He chuckles and sags against me, radiating pleased exhaustion from every pore. “Oh, and Ciprian?”
“Yeah, hot wings?”
I smile under the safety of my helmet and raise my voice to be heard over the roar of the engine. “You taste good too.”
THIRTY-TWO
Unspoken rule of the Fringes #233:
A stubborn pessimist is every bit as annoying as a relentless optimist.
LUCA
Celine and Ciprian slink into the apartment an hour and a half behind us, windblown, frazzled, and reeking of sex.
