Page 62 of Contracted to the Bikers

“She’s okay.” Rook’s voice is low beside me. He knows exactly where my thoughts just went. He places a kiss on the back of my shoulder.

“She is,” I say, not taking my eyes from her, not yet.

“She’s more than okay,” he adds. “She’s thriving.”

That makes me smile. “You’re right.”

“Wow,” he chuckles. “Finally, we agree on something.”

I laugh. He’s right on that front, too. We still verbally spar, disagreeing often, but with less venom than before; it’s more good-natured, the enjoyable bickering couples who have been together a long time have.

With one last glance at Jessy, I shift, turning slightly on the blanket, the fabric warm beneath my skin, grains of sand sticking lightly to my legs. I glance at Rook. He’s stretched out on the picnic blanket, one arm braced behind his head, the other lazily reaching for the bottle of sunscreen beside him. He looks like a Greek God, Poseidon maybe, his muscled body on full display, tight trunks giving me a glimpse of the impressive bulge underneath.

“Turn around,” he says, shaking the suncream.

I raise an eyebrow. “That didn’t sound like a suggestion.”

“It wasn’t.”

I huff a quiet laugh but do it anyway, turning so my back faces him, pushing my hair over one shoulder. His hands are warm when they touch my skin. The contrast between the cool breeze and the heat of his palms sends a subtle shiver down my spine.

“You’re going to burn,” he says. He squeezes a line of sunscreen across my shoulders, and spreads it slowly, deliberately, his touch firm but unhurried.

“Maybe I just like living dangerously.”

His hands pause for half a second before resuming, slower. “You’ve got enough danger in your life already.”

I glance back at him over my shoulder. “That didn’t stop me from becoming your old lady.”

His gaze meets mine, dark and steady, hunger flickering beneath the surface. “No,” he says quietly. “It didn’t.”

His hands slide lower, smoothing the lotion across my back, fingers pressing just enough to make my breath hitch slightly.

“You’re being very thorough,” I murmur.

“I’m doing my job.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

His mouth curves faintly. “You complaining?”

I smile. “Not even a little.”

His thumbs press along the line of my spine, slow, deliberate, and suddenly this feels like less about sunscreen and more about something else entirely. Heat coils low in my stomach. My vagina thrums, responding to his touch. “Rook—” I murmur. I should add, ‘not here’, the words don’t quite come.

“Yeah?” he purrs, knowing full well what he’s doing.

“You’re distracting me.”

“Good. I could distract you some more, if you like, I saw an empty lifeguard hut down the beach…”

I laugh softly, shaking my head. “Subtle.”

He grins, moving to kiss me. “Never claimed to be.”

A splash of water arcs toward us suddenly, breaking the moment as Cruz’s voice cuts through the air. “Get a room!” There’s no annoyance in his tone.

I turn just in time to see him grinning like an idiot, water dripping from his hair as Jessy clings to his side, equally soaked and equally delighted.