Her fingers slipped into my hair and tugged, sharp. My hips surged before I could stop them. She smiled like she just discovered a lever.
“You’re dangerous,” I rasped.
“I’m just doing as told—filing requests with my mouth and making it real convincing,” she murmured, shifting in a way that killed me. “I do believe I was ordered to touch you, keep touchin’ you, and don’t fuckin’ stop touchin’ you.”
“Christ, you’re killing me. You keep this up and I’ll forget how to be polite.”
We made out until time bled into nothing but her mouth and my heartbeat. Our clothing stayed on, but the couch started to feel like sin. When she rolled her hips just right and my restraint snapped tight enough to hurt, I pulled my mouth from hers and dropped my head back, eyes closed, breathing like I’d run a mile.
“Fuck,” I said to the ceiling.
She followed the line of my throat with her mouth. “Is that a good fuck or a bad fuck?”
“Best kind.” I opened my eyes. She was a mess. Kiss-drunk, hair wild, cheeks flushed. “But if I keep going, I’m not stopping. And I’d rather set fire to this couch than make it our first-time memory.”
She studied me for a moment. Then she said, “Google did me dirty. Everything I read about bikers was doom and danger. Not one of my searches mentioned ‘actually a good guy who makes you feel safe.’”
“Yeah, the internet’s full of shit.” I pulled her in close again. “You wanna know me? You look right here.” I kissed her one last time and then smacked her ass gently. “I’m taking you home before I’m arrested for indecent public behaviour.”
Home was ten minutes on the bike. Ten minutes of her body pressed tight to mine, arms locked around my waist. Ten minutes of pure torture.
I wasn’t fucking her tonight even though I wanted to. Hell, I wanted her more than I’d ever wanted anyone. But wanting wasn’t enough. I’ve seen what happens when a woman says yes because it feels easier than no. I’ve sat with my sister after nights she wished she could take back. I learned from her that sex should never come from pressure, not even the quiet kind.
So, I always wait. I don’t sleep with a woman unless she makes it damn clear it’s what she wants. Not half-clear. Not maybe. Crystal fucking clear. And with Eden, it was even more than that. She felt like someone I wanted around for a long time. Our first time had to count. To matter. To mean more than just heat and hunger.
At her door, she turned to me. “Are you staying?”
I cupped her jaw, pulled her close so I could feel the warmth of her breath. “No.” My thumb ghosted over her bottom lip. “Not yet. I’m not that guy who gets in fast, takes what he wants, and fucks off.”
The way her eyes flared told me she knew I was talking about what she’d shared last night about the assholes before me.
She smiled. Soft as hell. “Yeah, Google’s broken. I may have to take it upon myself to update the biker database.”
I kissed her. “You do that, darlin’. But don’t sell me too good. I’ve still got a reputation to protect.”
“True. And if I hype you too much, every woman in Brisbane will be lining up and I’ll be stuck fighting them off.”
I grinned, sliding my fingers into her hair. “Let them line up. They won’t get past you.” Dropping my mouth to hers, I meant for it to be quick. I should’ve known better. Nothing with Eden would ever be quick. I could drown in her and still need more.
When I finally tore my lips from hers, I lifted my chin at her. “Open your door. Let me watch you get inside safely.”
Unsteady on her legs and catching her breath, she gave me an amused look. “You live next door. Do you really think someone’s going to attack me while you walk from here to there?”
Fuck, I liked her smart mouth too much.
“Do me a favour, sweetheart—stop fucking with my dick and go inside.”
She fought a grin, and when I stepped back, she followed, fisting my jacket, “Thank you for tonight. I had a good time, even if you failed to make me a better player than my brother. Honestly, kinda tragic. I was hoping for the full package.”
She hit me with another grin, far fucking sexier this time. Then, she kissed me. Mercifully, quick. “Sleep well, biker man.”
A moment later, the door closed behind her, and I pulled in a jagged breath. Christ. I was already hers and she had no fucking idea.
THE PROBLEM WITH EARLY MORNING ENCOUNTERS (AND WHY YOU SHOULD ALWAYS WEAR A BRA TO CHECK YOUR MAIL)
Posted by Anonymous at 10:22 a.m.
March 31
