Page 20 of My Wild Biker

"Yes. God, yes."

He sets a brutal pace, hips snapping forward, and I meet him thrust for thrust. Every time he drives into me I feel it everywhere, feel the weight of him, the heat of his skin against mine, the way his breathing goes ragged. My breasts bounce with each thrust and his eyes track the movement before he lowers his head and takes my nipple into his mouth.

The combination of sensations makes my head fall back. His mouth on my breast, his body moving inside mine, his hands gripping my hips hard enough I know I'll bruise. Everything is intensity and need and the specific awareness that we're both here, both alive, both choosing this.

I turn my head and bite his shoulder, not hard but enough he feels teeth. He makes a sound and his hips snap forward harder, deeper.

"Fuck," he breathes against my neck. "You feel so good."

I can't form words anymore. Just sounds, gasps and moans that I can't control. The pressure is building low in my stomach, coiling tighter with every thrust. His hand slides between us and finds my clit, pressing hard circles that make my back arch off the bed completely.

"That's it," he says. "Let me feel it."

I cry out his name and dig my nails into his back hard enough to leave marks. My body clenches around him, and somewhere in the middle of it I hear him groan and feel him follow me over, his body shuddering, his hips stuttering.

We collapse together breathing hard. His weight on me is grounding. Real. Proof we're both here and whole and safe.

For a while we just lie there. His face buried in my neck, my hands in his hair, both of us trying to catch our breath. I feel him soften inside me but neither of us moves to separate yet.

Eventually he lifts his head and looks at me. Searches my face for something.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Yeah. I'm okay."

He pulls out and shifts to lie beside me. I immediately miss the weight of him. He pulls the sheet up over both of us and we lie facing each other in the dim light from the bedside lamp.

"You really not scared?" he asks quietly.

"I'm terrified. But not of you. Of what your world means. Of whether I'm strong enough for it."

"You're stronger than you think."

"How do you know?"

"Because you went outside tonight when I told you to stay inside. Because you watched me beat a man unconscious and your first question wasn't 'how could you' but 'is he dead.' Because you're lying here now instead of running." He touches my face with bandaged fingers. "That's strength, darlin'."

I close my eyes and feel his thumb trace my cheekbone. The gauze is rough but his touch is gentle. "I leave Sunday."

"I know."

"That's two days from now."

"I know."

"Is this crazy? Wanting more time with you when we barely know each other and my whole life is built around leaving?"

He's quiet for a moment. "Probably. But I haven't wanted anything like this in years. So if it's crazy, at least we're both crazy."

I open my eyes and look at him. Really look at him. The weathered face, the gray in his beard, the lines around his eyes. Forty-eight years old and still doing violence in parking lots because that's what the code requires. Still protecting Bloomfield and everyone in it. Still living in this empty temporary house because he's never stayed anywhere long enough to make it home.

"What happens Sunday?" I ask.

"I don't know. You drive to Millbrook. I stay here. We figure it out from there."

"That's not much of a plan."

"No. It's not." He pulls me closer until my head is tucked under his chin and my body is pressed against his. "But it's two more days. We'll figure out Sunday when Sunday comes."