Page 10 of The Biker's Forbidden Craving

“How can you tell that I’m lying?”

“Easy. When people lie, they either stop moving their eyes completely, or they move them more to overcompensate for trying to look natural. That, and there’s a slight change in their tone of voice, which you’re already exhibiting.”

“I’m drunk.”

“And you’re also uncomfortable.” His giant hand lands on the top of my head. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No. You’re a douche. You’ve always been a douche.”

He grins. “Not true. Your voice says your uncomfortable.”

“And yours says you’re a douche,” I say again, enjoying the weight of his body against my frame.

“It’s no big deal. You don’t have to tell me. I’ll gladly tickle you. I’m guessing you’re most ticklish on the back of the neck and the ribs. Am I right?”

I do hate to be tickled, though I wouldn’t mind his big body all over me as I squirm beneath his touch.

“I’m getting desperately close to choosing tickles.”

“Is that your final decision?”

I drag in a deep breath and let it out slowly, staring up into his dark brown eyes. He’s hovered over me, and though we’re not feeling the same things, I can’t help but feel a sexual charge between us. Unfortunately, there isn’t one, not in reality. Clearly, he’s into some other woman. A Catwoman. A sexy, little bitch with a lean, agile body and red lipstick.

I’m none of those things. Not even one. In fact, I’m sure I’ve just embarrassed the hell out of my sober self by telling the jacket story.

“Tickle me,” I finally say, realizing in the moment that a desire not to answer his question about us is in fact an omission of guilt, but I realize it too late. His hands are already on my frame. He’s already rolling me back and forth, I’m already giggling like a crazy person, and we’re already touching…everywhere.

His big, rough, inked-up hands tickle my ribs, my stomach, the back of my neck, and my thighs as I roll back and forth, hysterically laughing like a hyena. It’s not a good look, I’m sure. My stomach is all squished up, I’m sure I’ve got ten chins, and the laugh is anything but cute and adorable, but I don’t care. For a second, his heavy weight is on my body, and the more he presses, the more I love it.

I lift up and run my hands over his hard body, tickling him beneath his arms.

Jesus, he’s firm.These biceps are crazy. I mean, I’ve looked at him, but I’ve never touched him like this before. It’s just as great as I thought it would be.

He laughs, though it’s not as gregarious as mine. A second later, I feel a poke. A distinct, hard poke that drives into the side of my stomach.

Oh, God.Is he hard?

He’s hard.

My eyes widen and I wonder for a second if maybe I’m dreaming. The slight haze, the touching, the laughing, the fact that Hank is at the center of it all. The vibe is screaming‘dream.’Then again, maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe one beer gets me more drunk than I thought.

My brother’s big, hot, best friend is sitting over me, touching me, and he’s erect.

This is definitely a dream, right?

When he realizes what’s happening, he stops tickling me and pulls away. “Fuck! Sorry! Jesus Christ!” I can’t gauge what his reaction means. There’s too much going on. All the blood has drained to my thighs and they’re aching for relief.

The room is quiet, and I can’t think of anything good to say, but I’m pretty sure my eyes are saying something. They must be because he stares back at me. He stares back at me so hard that my entire body erupts with pure, hot, glorious fire.

Then all at once, without another word, he grabs me, pulls me close, and presses his lips against mine.

Chapter Four

Hank

I have no fucking clue what’s happening, but the world is turning as though there’s a plan being set into motion. A plan that’s always been written. A plan that’s playing out whether it’s right or not.

Our lips meet with quick, hard energy, pressing together as though we’ve held back for too long. Moments later, my hands are in her hair, on her skin, touching places I know I shouldn’t touch.

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