I swing my leg over the bike, feeling the familiar thrum of power beneath me. “Try to keep up.”
The wind tears through my hair as we speed down the island roads. Every mile puts more distance between me and the woman who used to apologize for breathing too loudly. Is this what freedom feels like? Is it the taste of fresh air and the roar of a beast that obeys only me?
For now, it is.
We arrive at the old safe house, the secluded cabin where Tristan and I shared a bed for the first time. The beach alcove stretches, waves crashing against rocks that have stood here longer than any of our troubles.
Tristan removes his helmet. “You beat my ass, Birdie.”
“C’mon, you let me win. Or is it the arm? Does it still hurt?”
“No, and no. You ride like you’ve been doing it all your life. You sure you haven’t touched a bike since you moved in here?”
“Even before that. Shane taught me how to ride, but I’ve never had my own bike.” I climb off the Ducati and wrap my arms around his neck. “Thank you for this. It means a lot.”
“Anything for you.”
“I heard about what happened to Shane. Blake wouldn’t have done it, so I guess it was you?”
“There is no limit to where I’d go to protect you, Reagan.” His lips crush mine with a hunger I feel in my bones. His mouth tastes of devotion so intense it borders on worship.
We move against each other until my back vibrates with the Ducati engine. His hands map every inch of me. The kiss turns reckless, open, consuming.
“Want to ride the Ducati?” I tease.
“I wanna ride you on the Ducati.” His hands sneak around my waist and lift me on the leather seat. “Just like you let me be the Mad Dog to your Vixen, let me be the Dusty to your Cammie.”
I throb vigorously at how hard I came on Tristan’s cock while Blake’s dead eyes watched from hell. I clench harder when I realize, for certain, Blake’s story ended with no chance of a sequel, and it’s all because of Tristan. He killed Blake. He left the apartment spotless and dumped my dead husband’s body in a crack house, making his death look like an overdose accident.
My forbidden bodyguard takes off my pants, and I straddle my bike. He pushes inside me from behind with untamed desire. The wind whips my hair as he moves with a force that rattles through the machine and into my veins. Every thrust is a claim, every groan a vow. The roar of the ocean drowns out my cries, but I know he hears them.
“Look at you taking my cock like that. Such a good girl, taking it all for me.” He drives deeper, harder, twisting my hair around his fist and pulling it. “My dirty little whore, my filthy queen.” He smacks my ass. “God, I can fuck you like this forever, Reagan.”The savagery rising in his voice and thrusts drive me insane. He takes me so fast and rough in the end until my body splinters around him, and I lose myself in the sound of my name ripped from his throat and the feeling of his cum inside of me.
Without pulling out, he holds me tight. His lips print little hot wet kisses on my neck. “I love you, Reagan.” His voice is jagged, almost broken. “I love you, and I will never stop.”
My body tenses beneath him. “Tristan, I…”
“I know you’re not ready to say it back, but I’ll say it for the both of us until you are.”
I clear my throat as I shift. He takes a hint and breaks our union. I put my pants back on, and he zips his, a frown on his face. “Did I say something wrong?”
My lips part, but the truth won’t come out straight. “No, you didn’t.”
“But?”
I brace myself because what I’m about to say will hurt us both. “I don’t think I’ll ever say it back, Tristan.”
His eyes flare, as if I’ve just cut his heart out with my bare hands. “Yes, you will. Of course, you will. After everything I’ve done for you… My cum is literally dripping from your pussy, Birdie. You’ll say it when you’re ready. You just need time, and I’m a very patient man.”
“Detective Ashford does have one sister,” I stare Tristan in the eye, “but her name is not Melinda.”
Tristan’s throat bobs with a swallow. “Did he tell you that? Because he’s lying.”
“Her name is Nancy, and she’s twenty-one, not twenty-three. I know that because I signed a book for her. I also know she’s never been in our school because the student list you gave me, the one on my computer, doesn’t have any Nancy Ashford on it. That means you only added that made-up name, Melinda Ashford, to your copy of the list, on the spot.”
He steps toward me. “Birdie, please.”
“The breach at the decoy safe house was staged. Blake was in Florida then, and it definitely wasn’t Reid. What, you had one of your men dress up as the stalker to get caught on camera?”
