“You have no idea what you do to me,” he growls, his breath hot against my lips.
Then his mouth crashes onto mine with desperate hunger. His desire makes my knees buckle. His lips move against mine like he’s a starving man, and I’m the meal that grants his salvation, like he might die if he stops touching me.
My hands fist in his leather jacket as I kiss him back with equal ferocity. The taste of him floods my senses—dark and dangerous, utterly addictive. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming, then demanding, and I give him everything.
“Mira,” he breathes against my lips, my name a prayer and a curse rolled into one.
I arch against him, fisting my hands into the shirt under his jacket, needing more contact, more of this overwhelming connection that sets my blood onfire. His hands slide into my hair, angling my head so he can deepen the kiss further.
When the kiss breaks, we’re both breathing hard, our foreheads pressed together. The afternoon sun beats down on us in this empty lot, and the rational part of my brain screams that we’re completely exposed here.
“Xavier, we should go?—”
His hands grip my hips, spinning me around with shocking speed. Before I can process what’s happening, my palms slam against the warm metal of his motorcycle, and he bends me forward over the seat.
“Xavier!” I gasp, trying to straighten up. “What are you doing? We’re in public!”
His chest presses against my back, trapping me against the bike. I can feel the hard length of him through his leather pants, and my core clenches despite my protest.
“You love this,” he growls in my ear, his hands already working at the button of my jeans. “The danger. The thrill of being caught.”
“That’s not—” But my words dissolve into a whimper as his fingers slip inside the waistband of my jeans.
“Don’t lie to me, Mira.” His breath is hot against my neck as he yanks my jeans down to my knees in one swift motion. “I can smell how wet you are.”
My panties follow a second later, the cool air hitting my exposed skin makes me gasp. The motorcycle’s engine is still warm beneath my palms, the metal radiating heat that seems to echo the fire building insideme.
“Someone could see us,” I whisper-shout at him.
The sound of his zipper makes my pulse spike. “Good. Then they’ll know who you belong to.”
His hands grip my hips, and I hear his sharp intake of breath as he takes in the sight of me bent over his bike.
“God, I’ve missed this perfect cunt,” he growls, the crude words making heat flood my cheeks.
“It’s only been twenty-four hours,” I say.
“Twenty-four hours is too fucking long.”
Then he slams inside me without warning, filling me completely. My cry echoes through the parking lot as I stretch to accommodate him. The angle is intense, deeper than I remember, and spots dance behind my eyelids.
“Xavier,” I gasp, my fingers scrabbling for purchase on the bike’s surface.
“That’s it,” he breathes. “Say my name.”
My fingers grip the warm metal of Xavier’s motorcycle as he drives into me with relentless force. Each thrust sends shockwaves through me, the bike rocking beneath us.
“Xavier, Harder,” I gasp, the word escaping before I can stop it.
Xavier’s laugh is dark. “You want harder?”
His hands tighten on my hips, fingers digging into my flesh as he changes his angle. When he slams into me again, I cry out, my back arching as he hits that perfect spot deep inside.
The warehouse looms ahead of us, its broken windows like watching eyes. Anyone could walk aroundthat corner. A security guard, a vagrant, and some kids looking for a place to smoke. The thought should terrify me, should make me demand we find somewhere private.
Instead, it makes my core clench around him with desperate need.
“God, you’re so tight,” Xavier groans, his voice strained. “You love this, don’t you? The idea that someone might see you taking my cock like the perfect little slut you are.”
