Page 34 of Sexting the Bikers
“You’re not unwanted,” I say, leaning forward a little, resting my elbows on the table. “Just…complicated.”
She smiles at that—small, but real. “That’s one word for it.”
I shrug. “Could’ve used a few others. Dangerous. Reckless. Bad idea wrapped in better curves.”
That gets a laugh out of her, quiet and short, but it warms the space between us. She tilts her head, eyes narrowing in mock challenge. “And yet you’re still here. Still talking to me.”
“Yeah, well,” I say, grinning, “I’ve never been real good at steering clear of danger.”
She watches me for a long moment, like she’s trying to decide if I’m flirting or confessing something more. Truth is, I’m not even sure myself. The longer I’m around her, the fuzzier the lines get.
She hugs herself, arms wrapped tight like she’s holding her own pieces together.
“I need to find somewhere to crash tonight,” she says quietly, not looking at me.
“You’ll stay here,” I say without hesitation.
She shakes her head, quick and dismissive. “Reaper will never allow it. I think you forget—he doesn’t want me here.”
“No,” I say, leaning back in my chair, watching her carefully. “That’s not it.”
She turns her head slightly, eyes narrowing.
“Your fiancé has been pulling our strings,” I say. “Holding leverage over some…merchandise.”
The word tastes like rust.
She stiffens. Her jaw goes tight. Then she crosses the kitchen in three fast steps, slams the handle of the sink down, and spits into it like the truth burned her mouth.
“Pig.”
“I thought you said he was an asshole,” I offer, voice light, teasing.
“Don’t,” she snaps.
Her voice cuts, sharp as a blade. I shut up instantly.
She stands there, staring down at the basin, shoulders high and tense like a storm she can’t hold back anymore.
“It’s bad enough my family thought it was a good idea to send me to him,” she mutters. “Like he was some fucking solution.”
She moves to the table in the center of the room, braces herself against it like she might collapse if she doesn’t lean on something solid. Her head drops forward. And for the first time since I picked her up, she actually looks…lost.
I can’t stand seeing it.
Before I even think about it, I move across the room and slip an arm around her waist, pulling her gently into me.
She doesn’t fight it.
Doesn’t flinch.
Just stands there, stiff for a second…and then melts into my side.
“I can’t even imagine,” I say, my voice quieter now. Honest.
She leans into me, and I press my lips softly to her neck, just beneath her ear.
She doesn’t pull away when I kiss her neck again—she leans into it, just a little, just enough to tell me she needs this.
