Page 2 of Her Mysterious Biker
“Torch, but you can call me Orion.”
“Orion, like the constellation?” My heart races. This has to be fate. My mysterious biker is named after my favorite constellation.
Some of my fondest memories with my grandmother are of stargazing under the night sky. She taught me a lot about astronomy and Greek mythology—only she would change the stories, so everyone had a happy ending.
Her story about Orion the hunter protecting the other stars until he found his true love, Side, which in my grandmother’s story had a happier ending than the ancient Greeks' version, was my favorite.
During my time in foster care, I would gaze up at the night sky, dreaming of my own Orion finding me and rescuing me from the system. He never arrived—until today.
“Yup.” He doesn’t remove his helmet with a tinted visor, so I can’t see his eyes to know what he’s thinking.
“That’s cool.” I pick up a lock of my hair and twirl it around my finger—it's a nervous habit I can’t seem to break. “My grandmother said I was named after the singer Stevie Nicks. I love her music. Actually I love all the music from the ‘80’s.”
A grunt is the only response I get. Until he surprises me with a few more words, “I’ll send Diesel a text. He’ll get your tire fixed.” He reaches into his vest and pulls out his phone, sending a quick message and getting an even faster response. “He said he’ll behere in about thirty minutes.” He places his phone back in the inside pocket of his vest. “Grab your helmet and hop on. I’ll give you a ride home.” He slides his leg over his bike more gracefully than I would have expected for someone of his size. Not that he’s fat by any means—he’s solid, muscular, and way out of my league.
What was I thinking?
“If it isn’t too much of a bother.” Hating the fake sound of my voice, I give up on trying to flirt—it’s not like he’s interested in me anyway. He’s just a nice guy who stopped to help someone in need. “I usually don’t dress like this.” I wave my hand in front of my body, unintentionally drawing attention to the short, tight outfit. “I didn’t have room for my phone, so I couldn’t call anyone.” I ramble, nervously filling the awkward silence. I grab my helmet from the ground and secure the strap under my chin.
I might not see his eyes, but the slight tilt of his helmet tells me he's definitely checking me out. The vain part of me is excited, thinking I was wrong and he might actually be interested in me. But the shy, fat kid braces herself for the teasing.
Instead of the fat jokes I was expecting, he extends his hand for me to take. The sensation of sparks shooting up my arm shocks me at the first touch of our hands. I’m not sure if he felt it or not—neither of us mentions it as he helps me climb onto the back of his bike.
Instinctively, I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my cheek against the warm leather of his vest. My thighs spread wide to accommodate his body. The shorts are so short that Iwasn’t able to wear panties underneath. My clit begins to throb, being this close to my obsession, as moisture leaks out of my core and onto the jean shorts.
Embarrassed at the thought of getting his leather pants wet with my lust, I try to scoot back, but his large, warm hand lands on my bare thigh, pulling me closer to his body, and stays there as he pulls onto the road. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he was claiming me.
If only.
two
Orion
The pain in myhead hits faster and harder than usual—a constant reminder of the incident that led to my honorable discharge from the Army. They said it was ‘an accident,’ ‘friendly fire’ that caused the avalanche of rocks I couldn’t outrun, leaving me with a traumatic brain injury.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had a migraine this bad. Usually, I can push through until after our ride, then go back to my room at the clubhouse and sleep it off without anyone noticing how severe the headaches are.
I need to get Stevie home before things get any worse—I can’t risk anything happening to her if the pain takes over and we crash. Her warm thigh under my hand helps keep the worst of the pain at bay for now.
I turn down the last block on Main Street, her house just a few feet away. She doesn’t need to give me her address—she doesn’t have to. I already know everything about Scooter girl, including her real name, before she even told me.
She’s become my secret obsession since the first day I saw her cruising around town on her light pink scooter and matching pink helmet—her long brown hair flowing out from underneath the helmet. The urge to wrap my hand around that long hair as I bring her lips to mine in a desperate kiss grips me tightly.
Nighttime is the worst. My dreams are filled with her sweet smile and lush curves. In my dreams, she lets me touch her all over, bringing her to orgasm night after night. If she knew my wicked thoughts, she would never have gotten on the back of my bike.
The left side of my face begins to itch, the scars from the fire all those years ago acting up, reminding me she's only mine in my dreams. Like a lovesick fool, I’ve watched her from a distance, never risking fate by shopping at Bloom & Bounty. Instead, I have Tank and Jet, a couple of our current Prospects, pick upwhatever I need from the grocery store to keep her from seeing my disfigured face.
I know I should keep both hands on my bike, but I can’t pull my hand away from her warm thigh, even if my life depended on it. Combine the feel of her bare skin on my palm and the heat from her core radiating through those ridiculously way too short shorts, branding my back, I could die a happy man.
Another wave of pain shoots through my head just as we pull up to her rental house. It’s small, but she’s added a family of ceramic lawn gnomes in her front yard, giving it a quirky feel just like her.
Reluctantly, I pull my hand away from her thigh and turn off my bike. Gathering the last of my strength, I reach back and take her hand, helping her off the back of my bike. A sharper wave of pain hits, making my body jerk and my shoulders slump forward just as she has both feet on the asphalt road.
“Orion!” She pushes her shoulder beneath mine to help lift me up. “Are you okay?” The concern in her voice is sweet, but the pain in my head is almost too much to bear.
I want to tell her I’ll be okay—that I just need to go back to the clubhouse and lie down for a bit. I’m just not sure how I’m going to get there. But that’s my problem, not hers. I open my mouth to tell her that, but all that comes out is one word, “bed.”
“Of course.” She guides my leg over my bike, struggling to keep her balance under my weight as she helps me stand. “I’ll help you into my house and into my bed.”
