Page 27 of The Girlfriend's Guide to Dating a Biker
How?
What?
My brain wasn’t braining. My thoughts were just static and thirst. And now he wanted me to figure out how to make that sound again?
“I don’t even know where it came from,” I breathed as my hands desperately reached for his neck so I could pull his mouth back to mine. “If I try to do it on purpose, I’ll sound like a malfunctioning sex robot.”
“Fuck,” he growled. “Where did you come from?”
Without waiting for a reply (which, good, because brain not braining), his mouth was claiming mine again and his hand was making friends with my ass. He gripped me tightly, and if I never experienced a man’s hand on my ass again, it wouldn’t matter because I would just replay this for life.
The way Jake gripped was like he wanted to leave memories. Permanent ones. There was no possible way to misunderstand his intentions or his desire. And when he squeezed my ass and pulled me to him so that I was forced harder against his body, I realised I was probably going to die on this mountain tonight.
Of horniness.
Not from actual sex. But from the sheer devastation of fully-clothed biker dick grinding against me like it had no plans to get inside me.
I could see the headline. “Local woman perishes due to aggressive denim-based friction. Doctors say it was instant.”
And the worst part?
I wanted it.
I was actively contributing to my own death. Rocking into him like I could summon penetration with pure pelvic enthusiasm.
If this was a test of character, I was failing.
Gladly. Repeatedly. With extra credit.
Jake kissed me with his whole body, like his hips had joined the mission to DDoS my nervous system. That’s a full-body cyberattack, by the way. Unethical. Illegal. Deeply appreciated.
Every grind was a system crash. If I rebooted, it’d be in safe mode, with basic functions only. Like breathing. And begging.
He tugged my hair just enough to tilt my head how he wanted it, and the guttural, filthy sound he made when I moaned again rewrote my operating system in real time. Every setting was suddenly set to: yes.
He tore his mouth from mine. “Fuck. That’s the sound.”
“That wasn’t me. That was hacked me,” I said as the hunger in his eyes and the way he was looking at me like I was everything sparked a whole new round of intense pleasure I wasn’t sure I’d survive. “I’m not even in control of my body right now. You are. If I try to make that sound again, I’ll sound like Siri moaning through bad Wi-Fi.”
He didn’t laugh, but even in my lust-filled haze, I could tell he was amused. But only for a second. “You’re fucking killing me,” he said, and then his mouth was back on mine.
It was another hungry kiss, his tongue sliding over mine, as demanding as it was desperate. His hands were everywhere. Tangling in my hair, gripping my waist, sliding beneath the hem of my top to find bare skin. His body was all heat and hard muscle, searching for the friction we both needed.
Knowing that I affected him this intensely only made me want him more. Made me just as wild for him. Just as undone. Just as wrecked.
My hands shoved beneath his jacket like I couldn’t get to him fast enough. Like some desperate, greedy part of me had taken over and all it knew was more.
More heat.
More skin.
More him.
I spent all of a second with the solid wall of his chest before dragging my nails down his back. The shudder that went through him sent a pulse straight between my thighs, and when his grip in my hair tightened, it was all I could do not to beg.
Jake deepened the kiss again and pulled my hair, and it was those things along with the scrape of his stubble against my skin that caused me to make that sound again—the one I couldn’t control, the one that seemed to drive him absolutely wild.
He muttered a curse against my lips. “Christ. The sounds you make . . .”
