Page 16 of Crash’s Secret

“Constantly.” His teeth graze my jaw. “Take your shirt off before I tear it off.”

The cold shocks me the second the shirt clears my head. I drop it across the handlebars, and his hands are already there, palms hot, sliding up my ribs. He looks at me, the valley lights faint on the side of his face.

“Fuck,” he says. “Look at you.”

“You could do more than look.”

“I’m getting there, Cass. Let me have a minute.”

He pops the clasp of my bra one-handed, and then his mouth is on my breasts. He’s not gentle, and he’s not rough. He’s thorough, with teeth and tongue and that beard dragging across my skin until I’m squirming in his lap, grinding down against him.

His thick ridge under the denim is exactly where I need it, and the seam of my jeans is doing devastating work. If he keeps his mouth where it is, I’m going to come before I’m even naked.

“Crash.”

“Mm.” He doesn’t stop.

“Take your clothes off.”

He lifts his head. His grin shows up out of the dark. “Bossy.”

“You like it.”

“I really fucking do.” He sits back. “But I also like it when my women take commands. Strip. I want to watch.”

I climb down. The cold raises every hair on my body, and I stand in the open desert night and take my boots off, hopping once, graceless.

He watches me with his forearm slung over the tank.

Next, my jeans. I push them down my hips slowly, underwear with them, and step out, and now I’m bare to the night air in front of a man I’ve loved for a lifetime.

He doesn’t say anything for a second. The wind moves between us.

“Turn around,” he says.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

I should tell him where to put the instruction. Instead, I turn, slow, arms loose at my sides. When I come around to face him again, he’s sitting forward over the tank with his forearms braced.

“Come here.” His voice is rough.

“You’re still dressed.”

“You’re stalling.”

“How am I going to fuck you if you still have your clothes on, Crash?”

That makes him stand. He shrugs out of his cut and lays it over the handlebars, then drags his shirt over his head. He has tattoos everywhere. Then he sits back down, unhooks his belt, gets a condom out of his wallet, and sets it on the tank. He opens his jeans and takes his cock out.

My mouth goes dry.

“Now come here,” he says.

I climb back into his lap, and I can’t get close enough, fast enough. His hand slides between my thighs before I’m even settled, two fingers dragging through me.

“Fuck.” He licks his bottom lip. “Fuck, Cassidy. So wet for me.”