Page 61 of Life Or Death

I glance at him, surprised by the consideration. “I didn’t even think about that.”

“The exhaust pipe gets hot,” he explains. “Real hot. If your skin made contact with it, it could cause damage to the grafts.” He pauses, his jaw tightening slightly. “We should probably ask your doctor about it. See what he says before I take you out on the bike.”

The thought of riding behind him on his Harley—my arms wrapped around his waist, my chest pressed against his back—sends a jolt of heat straight through me. I shift in my seat, and Lucifer notices, his gaze lingering for a beat too long before returning to the road. “Have you ever ridden on a motorcycle before?”

I shake my head. “No.”

Something flashes in his eyes—dark, hungry, possessive. His gaze drops to my mouth, then lower, tracing the neckline of my tank top before settling on my chest. His eyes darken, and I watch his throat work as he swallows.

“You wore a bra.”

My skin prickles beneath the fabric, my nipples tightening in response to his attention.

“Didn’t want to anger my boss,” I whisper, my tone somewhat breathless.

The corner of his mouth twitches, and he returns his focus to the road, but not before I catch the way his grip tightens on the steering wheel.

He parks in front of a small diner on Main Street and kills the engine. The sudden silence that follows feels heavy, charged. A restless energy simmers in the pit of my stomach—the kind that occurs when a woman is desperate for an orgasm.

I reach for the door handle, but before my fingers can close around it, Lucifer’s hand covers mine. His body leans across the center console, his chest brushing against my arm. The heat of him seeps through my tank top, and I freeze, my breath catching.

“Don’t.” His voice is rough, commanding. “You wait for me to open the door for you. Got it?”

I turn my head, and his face is inches from mine. His eyes are burning into me, and I can see the flecks of gold in the brown.

“Didn’t peg you to be such a gentleman,” I murmur.

Something dangerous flickers in his gaze. He leans closer, his lips nearly brushing my ear.

“You wouldn’t be calling me a gentleman if you knew the shit going through my mind right now.”

Then he pulls back and exits the truck, slamming the door behind him. I sit there, my thighs clenched together, my pulse racing so fast I’m lightheaded. My skin is on fire where his hand covered mine, and I can still feel the ghost of his breath against my ear.

I’m a fucking needy mess.

I watch him round the front of the truck, painfully aware that even the arrogant way he walks turns me on. When he reaches the passenger side, he yanks the door open and steps into the space between me and the doorframe. His hands find my thighs, and he swings my legs toward him, spreading them apart as he steps between them.

My breath hitches.

His hands slide from my thighs to my ass, and he pulls me forward until I’m at the edge of the seat, my body flush against his. I can feel every hard inch of him through the thin fabric of my sweatpants, and my fingers curl into the leather of his cut, holding on for dear life.

His hands slide back down my thighs, slow and deliberate, his fingers tracing the seam of my sweatpants. The touch is barely there, but it sends sparks shooting through my entire body. His eyes are locked on mine, and I can see the same hunger I felt last night—the same barely contained need.

He’s torturing us both, and he knows it.

Then he brushes my hair away from my shoulders, and his gaze falls to my neck. “I hate that these will fade,” he growls.

“You can always add more.”

He licks his lips. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ll decorate this pretty neck with something else.”

“Like what?” I rasp.

His finger trails down the column of my neck, and his gaze flits back to mine.

“A pearl necklace.”

Then he steps back, putting a few inches of space between us. He holds out his hand, palm up, and I slide mine into it without hesitation. His fingers close around mine, and he helps me climb out of the truck, steadying me.