Page 74 of Rogue Riders Duet

I close my eyes to block it all out, but the moment they shut, he’s there, with his cheeks flushed, hiccupping, half-wrecked, every breath a question. I remember the scar on his hip. The warmth of his weight against my back when I carried him, the defiant fire in his eyes.

I’m hard again in a heartbeat, no porn needed, no fiction. Just him. Every broken, breathtaking piece of him.

My hand moves again before I can stop it, and science offers no explanation for why one stroke turns into two. For why I picture the way his breath caught when I touched his forehead. His little scoff when I flicked his nose. His thighs clenching, his hoodie sliding up just enough to flash bruised skin and sharp hips. The way he said my name in outrage when I picked him up.

One more stroke, and I come harder than I have in my entire fucking life. My eyes roll back, and my whole spine arches off the mattress like I’ve been struck by lightning.

Panting, I blink down at myself, the mess spread across my stomach, and the hand responsible, still twitching between my thighs.

And then the horror hits.

Fuck.

I grab the nearest cloth—maybe a shirt or a towel, I don’t even look—and wipe myself off in a rush. Then I scramble for my phone on the nightstand, heart pounding so hard it feels like it might bruise the inside of my chest. My fingers jab the screen until the call rings through.

“Maman.” I gasp when she picks up.

“I saw it, mon soleil,” she says softly. “I watched it on TV. I’m so sorry.”

For a wild second, my post-orgasm brain thinks she means my explosive masturbation.

Shaking myself, I take a deep breath. No. My racing failure is not why I called my closest confidant.

“Maman,” I blurt, voice cracking as I sit naked in my shame. “Am I… bi?”

FIFTEEN

“No, I’m sorry, Mister. We don’t have that here.”

“You sure you don’t have any cold medicine?” I plead with the woman behind the counter of the hotel’s reception desk. “Something basic. Cough syrup. Decongestant. Anything.”

Dane is sick as shit. Coughing like he swallowed gravel. Once I realized what was happening, I shoved him into the back of the bus like a plague rat because I can’t get sick too. Not now, and not with my lungs.

Pain, I can handle. But colds?

No.

They sink into my chest and tear me down from the inside out. Breathing, let alone riding, becomes impossible, and I’m already hanging on by a thread thanks to my hip pain.

Yes, I finished in second place yesterday, but Luc coming in fourth screwed with the overall points, and now Raine is leading the standings.

And I fucking hate it.

She shakes her head, offering a sympathetic smile. “No, I’m sorry. We don’t carry that here.”

Of course you fucking don’t.

“Is there a pharmacy nearby?” I ask through gritted teeth, trying not to snap at her as she opens her mouth to give me the answer I’m braced for.

“The closest is in the next town over. Maybe twenty kilometers. It’s a small area here,” she says, like I haven’t noticed we’re surrounded by trees, goats, and fucking nothing.

“Right. Thanks.”

I stomp away from her, already planning the most efficient way to drive our monster of a bus through a bunch of tiny, winding Polish village roads without killing myself or someone else when a hand lands on my shoulder, drawing me to a halt. I freeze, heart leaping into my throat.

“Hey, you okay? What was that about medicine?”

I relax at Finn’s voice, but step back so his hand falls away. His backpack is on, and he looks as ready to hit the road as the rest of the circuit, all buzzing around in the lobby of the hotel. Concern is etched into the furrow of his brow, though, and those stupidly perceptive blue eyes are scanning me from head to toe.