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We were in bed, tangled around one another. My head was against his chest, and he kept brushing my hair away from my temple and kissing my forehead.
I leaned back so I could look at him. I traced the scar across his face.
“You don’t have the body of a forty-three-year-old,” I said softly.
“No?”
I shook my head. “Definitelynot.”
My fingers trailed down his muscular chest to his flat stomach, and then I inched lower. His head hit the pillow and his eyes shut as I continued to play with him. It wasn’t long before he was clenching his jaw and muttering curses.
Slash rolled me over and pinned me beneath his body, and in one swift movement he was inside of me again. My back arched in pleasure, and he reached under to hold the meaty part of my ass where it met my thigh. I hooked my leg around him as he drove into me over and over again. Our skin dampened, and sweat beaded along Slash’s brow. Just as I came again, Slash had a release of his own.
He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine, and then he slid out of me. The sheets were a mess and so were we.
I rolled out of bed, my nipples pebbling in the cool air of the bedroom. “Shower?” I asked him.
Nodding, he got up and trailed after me.
My bathroom was hardly big enough for one, let alone a giant biker who took up most of the space, but we made it work. Hot water beat my muscles, which felt like jelly.
I turned off the shower and reached for two clean towels. We bumped into one another as we attempted to dry off.
“Why do you live here?” he asked suddenly.
“The building, you mean?”
He nodded.
“This area is zoned for commercial and residential. When I had the building renovated, it made the most sense to turn the storage room into an apartment. The building’s been paid off for years, but I had to take out a loan against it to pay for the renovation.”
“What was it before it was a bakery?” he asked.
“My dad’s leather store and workshop.”
“Where was he living if not here?”
I opened the dresser drawer and pulled out a T-shirt. “You’re asking a lot of questions.”
“I’m curious.”
“So am I,” I said pointedly.
I threw on the T-shirt and a pair of underwear, and then I went to strip the bed. Slash removed the towel from around his waist and ran it roughly over his hair.
“What do you want to know?” he asked finally. He put on his boxers but left his chest deliciously bare.
“Where are you from?”
“Tiny little town in Oklahoma that you’ve never heard of.”
I extracted a clean pair of sheets from the sliver of a linen closet in the hallway and brought them back into the bedroom. Slash helped me with the fitted sheet.
“How’d you get the scar?” I asked.
“I got between my mother and the drunk piece of shit who called himself her boyfriend. He was coming at her with a broken beer bottle.”
