“Lead the way, babe,” I say, standing up, my hands steadying her as she slides off my lap, right onto her feet. We’re a team, moving through the crowd, her hand clasped in mine, an unspoken promise between us.
The stairs creak under our boots, every step a beat closer to the haven above. The door to our room swings open, and we slip inside, away from the chaos, into our own slice of peace, just Highway and Lyric, the way it’s meant to be.
The moment the door clicks shut, it’s like a switch flips. My hands are all over her, pulling her close with an all-consuming hunger. She matches my intensity, her fingers tearing at my cut, the heavy leather falling onto the bed.
“Highway,” she breathes out, and it’s a spark right to my core.
“Lyric,” I growl back, our lips crashing together, a collision of need and desire.
Her taste is intoxicating, sweet, and fierce, and I’m downing it like the finest whiskey.
Clothes shed like unwanted skin. We’re bare, the moonlight spilling through the window painting her in silver.
“God, you’re beautiful,” I mutter against the valley between her breasts, my voice rough like gravel.
“Yours,” she whispers, and that one word sends me over the edge.
Climbing onto the bed, I sit with my back against the headboard. Lyric climbs on me and slowly impales herself on my cock. I thrust up inside her, a relentless rhythm, and she’s meeting me with every drive of my hips. The world outside doesn’t exist—it’s just us, tangled sheets, and the sound of our union filling the room. Sweat beads on our skin, the air charged with electricity, every touch sparking fire.
“Highway!” she cries out, her nails digging into my back, marking me as much as I’ve marked her.
“Lyric!” I echo her cry, my release tearing through me, a tidal wave that leaves nothing untouched.
We collapse together, a twisted mess of limbs and satisfaction. Our breathing slows, hearts still pounding out a wild beat, a testament to what we’ve just shared. I cradle her against me, her head on my chest, the rise and fall of her breathing syncing with mine.
“Do you remember you promised me we’d escape on your bike?”
A smile creases my face, the memory of that night flooding back. “Sure do. The open road and no looking back.”
“Do you think we could cut it short and take off for a week?”
“Why would we do that?”
“Highway…” she starts, her voice a soft murmur against my skin. “I’ve got news.”
“Shoot,” I say, my hand stroking her hair, the silky strands slipping through my fingers.
“I’ve been offered an assignment…” she says, and there’s a tremble in her words. “A photographic gig in Ukraine to document the war. They want me to leave in eight days.”
The words hang in the air, heavy as lead. War zones are no playgrounds—they’re hell on earth. But this is brave,unstoppable Lyric, and if anyone can capture the chaos and beauty of life in the midst of destruction, it’s her.
My hands ball into fists, tension builds in my chest like a coiled spring. “Ukraine’s a goddamn war zone, Lyric. It ain’t safe.”
She nods against me, her resolve a tangible thing. “It’s important, Highway. To show the world.” Lyric grabs my hand, her grip strong and unyielding. “This is about my goals and my life outside the club.”
“Your life is here, with me,” I say, the words barreling out before I can stop them. The thought of her in some distant battlefield, camera in hand instead of my fingers entwined with hers, it twists my gut.
“Highway.” Her voice softens, and she traces the tattoo on my arm. “I love you. You’re the man I want, the only one.” She leans closer, her breath warm against my cheek. “But this… this is something I need to do. You understand chasing something that matters, don’t you?”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I’m silent, grappling with the tightrope between my need to protect her and my respect for her passion. The room suddenly feels too small, the walls closing in as the weight of her confession settles over me.
“Lyric…” I start, but the words don’t come.
How do you argue with a woman who has dreams bigger than any horizon I’ve ever chased?
“Hey,” she says, a small smile playing on her lips, the kind that tells me she’s not asking for permission, more like she’s telling me whatwillbe. “This is important to me. As important as the club is to you. Can you understand that?”
And dammit, I do.
