Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 32319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 162(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 162(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
My clothes on her back, actually. Which was its own kind of heaven.
She's brushing her hair in the bathroom mirror while I watch, sitting on the bed in room 3. The mattress creaks under my weight, springs protesting like they've seen too many nights and not enough rest. The sound of the brush through her hair is hypnotic—steady, rhythmic. Makes a man think dangerous thoughts.
"What?" She asks, our eyes meeting in the mirror. There's something vulnerable in her gaze, like she's still not used to being looked at by my hungry eyes.
"Just you."
She smiles, twists her hair up into a ponytail, turns, walks over to me, and sits in my lap. Smiles again. The weight of her feels right, like the last piece of a puzzle I've been working on for years.
"Don't rev the engine if ya aren’t gonna step on the gas," I warn. "Because if you get me started, I'll finish it. And that'll make us late for dinner. And just so you know, if we're late for dinner, I'll blame it on you." My hands find her hips, fingers digging in just enough to make her breath catch.
She leans in, kissing me. Someone must've given her some lip gloss because she tastes like strawberries. Sweet, and artificial, and addictive. "Later then."
"Later," I agree, smacking her ass and standing up, taking her with me. She squeals a little. But I capture that squeal in my mouth with a kiss. Her legs wrap around my waist instinctively, like her body remembers exactly how we fit together.
"Have you always been this horny? Or is this new?" I ask against her neck, as I put her down. Just breathing in the scent of her is enough to turn me on.
"What?" She smacks me on the chest, feigning offense but her eyes are dancing.
"Woman, I've fucked you like ten times in the last twenty-four hours. I'm just wondering if I should adjust my new expectations or this is me winning the jackpot." My voice is hungry, even to my own ears.
She giggles. "I can't help it." Then she grabs my dick, right through my jeans. Her face tilts up, eyes on me, all innocence and sin mixed together. "I've never been this horny in my life. I've never been so sore, either. But if this is the price I have to pay…" She grabs me again, fingers tracing the outline with expert precision. "It's worth it."
"I'm about to turn you over my knee and spank you 'till you come for getting me all hard again," I reach down, push her hand off me, and give my junk a little shake. The denim's too tight now, uncomfortable in the best way.
She flips her hair at me. Looks at me coyly over her shoulder. "When we get home, you can spank me all you want."
Fuck's sake. I'm about to tell her we should skip dinner when she opens my door and saunters out into the hallway, leaving me behind. The sway of her hips is deliberate, a promise for later.
I guess my dick will have to wait.
But I'll make her pay for it.
In the best way possible, of course.
Outside, I strap on my helmet, watching Savannah struggle with hers. The clasp gives her trouble. I reach over, fingers brushing her throat as I snap it closed. Her pulse jumps under my touch.
"Tight enough?" I ask.
She nods, smiling at me as I get on, back up, and nod for her to get behind me. "Legs up, arms around me, lean when I lean. Don't fight the bike.” The instructions I should’ve given her last night, but didn’t, come out clipped and professional. But there's nothing professional about how my body reacts when she slides against me, thighs pressing into mine, chest against my back.
The engine growls to life beneath us, and I feel her startle, then settle. Her arms tighten around my waist, fingers locking together over my stomach. For a moment, I just sit there, letting the vibration run through both of us. Letting her get used to the way it feels to have something powerful between her legs.
Then I pick my feet up and we're moving.
Once out of the gate, the dirt road stretches out ahead, a ribbon of mottled browns and reds that cuts through the badlands landscape. Evening light bleeds across the sky, painting everything gold and crimson. When we hit the black top, I take the turns easy, feeling Savannah's body tense then relax as she follows my lead.
But once we hit the two-lane highway that will take us to Havoc’s, I open it up a little. Not too much—not with her on the back. But enough to feel the wind push against us, enough to hear her gasp behind me when we crest a hill and the whole valley opens up below.