Page 4 of My Wild Biker

The heat hasn't broken, worse now with asphalt radiating warmth and air thick enough to taste. Cicadas impossibly loud.

The parking lot is mostly empty. My car is under the streetlight, and his motorcycle is closer to the building.

We walk to my car and stop next to the driver's door.

Face each other.

The want is right there between us. I feel it in how close we're standing, in how his eyes drop to my mouth again, in how my breath is coming too fast.

I should say goodnight, get in my car, drive back like a sensible person.

"I should probably go."

My voice doesn't sound convinced.

"Yeah. Probably."

He doesn't move and neither do I.

He steps closer, not crowding but closing distance by six inches. Close enough now I have to tilt my head back to keep eye contact.

"I should tell you something." That drawl is more pronounced, words stretched. "Been thinking about kissing you for the last hour."

My stomach drops in the best possible way.

"What took you so long?"

He grins.

Then his hand cups the back of my neck and he kisses me, not tentative or testing but claiming.

His mouth is firm and sure, and it goes deep immediately. I make a sound I didn't plan and press closer. His free hand finds my hip and grips hard through denim. The pressure pulls a gasp and he takes advantage, deepens the kiss further.

I fist both hands in his shirt and kiss him back like I've been thinking about this for hours too.

His beard is rough against my skin. His body is solid everywhere mine is soft. When his tongue touches mine the heat that's been building all night breaks through completely.

The kiss ends because we both need air.

I'm breathing hard and so is he. His hand is still on my hip, thumb pressing into softness above my jeans. My hands still fisted in his shirt.

"You're only here four more days," he says, and it's not a question.

"Leave Sunday morning."

"That's a shame."

I look at him, at the lust in his dark eyes, at how his chest rises and falls faster than two minutes ago, at his mouth which I now know tastes like whiskey and heat.

I could get in my car, drive away, keep this simple.

Or I could make a different choice.

"I've got tonight though."

He goes very still. "You saying what I think you're saying?"

"How do you feel about one night? No strings, no complications. I leave Sunday, you do your thing, clean ending."