Page 28 of Texting the Wrong Bikers

I haven’t felt this drawn to someone in a long time. Maybe not ever. It would be so easy to just—

“I think I’m a mom.”

“You’re so much more than that,” he murmurs, staring into my soul. He steps closer, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. His touch is electrifying.

My heart pounds in my chest. I should move away, should stop this, but God, I don’t want to.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, his words a caress, his lips dangerously close.

I place a hand on his chest, so warm and hard. I can’t find the words, I don’t know what I want to say, what I should say.

Sensing my hesitation, he freezes. “If you want me to go, I’ll go,” he says, though it sounds as if it pains him.

I shake my head, my body responding before my mind can catch up. I worry about Owen. About him waking to find me with a strange man. I should tell him to go. Why can’t I?

A low, distant rumble of thunder rolls through the silence, and then the rain starts, quickly building to a downpour, the kind that heralds a big storm. Thunder claps again. I should tell him to leave, before it gets worse, but I can’t send him out into the rain. The excuse is weak, even to me. Plus, with the storm rolling in, there’s no way Owen will wake up now.

I can’t believe I’m really considering hooking up with some strange man while my son is asleep upstairs. I must be a terrible mom.

No. Stop that, I tell myself, thinking what Dani would say. I deserve happiness. I deserve to feel like more than just a mom, to feel desired, and the way Kane is looking at me right now, do I feel desired.

“Sadie,” he says, snapping me from my inner turmoil. “You don’t need to worry. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want, not ever. You don’t owe me or anyone else anything.”

His words dispel any last doubts I had. “I’m not worried about doing something I don’t want. I’m worried because I want it. I want you,” I admit, surprising myself again with how candid I am.

Those words ignite something feral in him, and the energy changes. He steps closer, his voice low and thick with arousal. “Say that again.”

The words barely come out above a whisper. I know once they’re out, there’s no going back. “I want you, Kane.”

He pulls me into his arms, kissing me with a passionate ferocity I’ve never experienced before. Every thought, every concern, disappears from my mind, there’s only him, only now. His lips are soft, yet his kisses are hard and hungry. Strong hands grip my waist, pulling me closer. My neck arches back almost painfully; he’s so much taller. As if reading my mind, he lifts me and sets me on the counter without coming up for air. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, running my hands down the strong planes of his back as he kisses my neck. My body responds like a flower in bloom. My pussy throbs, getting wet without even being touched. My nipples harden, rubbing against the lace of my bralette. God, I want him so badly it hurts.

I come to my senses enough to gasp out, “Not here.” Realizing that if Owen comes downstairs, he’ll be met with a sight that will well and truly traumatize him.

“Where?” Kane growls.

“The living room, through there.” I point.

He lifts me with ease, wrapping my legs around his waist and striding into the living room, kicking the door shut behind us without breaking our kiss. I tug at his shirt, growing frustrated when I can’t pull it over his head like this. He lays me down on the couch, pulling away for a second to remove his t-shirt, giving me an eyeful of his muscular body. Practically every inch of his skin is covered in tattoos. I stand, walking over to touch them, feeling along the hard contours of muscle.

“You’re a work of art.”

He cups my chin, drawing my gaze to his. “No, you are.”

From anyone else, it would sound like a cheesy line, but in that moment, he sounds totally sincere. It gives me the confidence to remove my clothes. I shrug my top over my head, hair cascading back down, tickling my shoulders. I step out of my pants too, so I’m just in my bralette and panties. I feel conscious of my curves, of the soft slope of my stomach, of the stretch marks, but Kane looks at me like I’m the sexiest woman alive. He pulls down his jeans, and my eyes widen at the impressive bulge in his jeans, remembering the monster cock pic he sent me. I gulp, feeling apprehensive once more. But that all falls away when Kane steps closer and captures my lips again. His calloused hands are warm and solid on my waist as we move toward the couch, and I lie down.

I’m impatient now, so turned on and hungry for him that I grow bold. I reach down to feel his erection through his boxers, and he emits a low groan that borders on animalistic. He kisses my neck again, trailing kisses down my chest, his breath hot on my nipples as his tongue flicks out, teasing them through the lace. I moan, the sound breathless, and his cock dances in response in my hand. He expertly removes my bra, and my breasts tumble free. Bigger since Owen, too big, falling to the side instead of pointing straight up, and perky.

Kane doesn’t seem to notice or care. And when his mouth clamps around my nipple and his tongue darts out to roll around it, nor do I.

Ethan and my previous partners were never ones for foreplay, but Kane seems to love it. My impatient moans and attempts to remove his boxers are thwarted by his murmured assurances of, “I want to take my time.”

And take his time, he does. Fingers caress my soaking wet panties through the lace, finding my clit immediately and circling it with his thumb. I watch the muscles in his shoulder ripple, the tattoos dancing in time as he explores every inch of my body, worshipping it. When he removes my panties, I eagerly arch my hips to help, aching for more. His fingers glide inside me with ease, and he slowly, agonizingly teases me with his fingers before his tongue circles my clit in languid, experienced strokes.

I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out too loudly, grateful for the thunderstorm that is now well underway outside, which stifles my moans. I feel utterly senseless, completely throwing all caution to the wind as I let go. His fingers thrust faster inside me, his tongue dancing around my clit, bringing me closer and closer to the edge. I slide my fingers through the short hair at the top of his head.

“Fuck,” I moan. “I’m close.”

I expect him to move away, to finally drive inside of me and fuck me to reach his climax. But he doesn’t stop. In fact, it only drives him on. The orgasm hits me like a freight train, sending me shuddering and bucking as his arms hold me in place, his tongue lapping up every drop of my arousal. I cry out, clutching a pillow to my face to muffle my screams. It’s been so long since I’ve climaxed, and I’ve never had an orgasm like this. It doesn’t stop coming.