Page 53 of The Girlfriend's Guide to Dating a Biker
“That’s fantastic! You enjoy it? Like, do you want that responsibility?”
He nodded. “More than I expected. I like taking something broken and making it work again. The business was a pile of shit before we took over, and now we’re booked months in advance.” His hand curved around my hip, settling on my ass. “If Scott follows through, it might mean less late-night callouts for me, which will leave more time for . . . other things.”
The way he said “other things” with that look? Yeah, that had my brain opening a thousand tabs of fluster, all autoplaying thirst at once. “Other things?”
“Mmhmm.” He dropped his mouth to my neck, trailing kisses up it to my jaw. “Been wanting to explore all sorts of other things with you, darlin’.”
Holy. God.
My whole body voted yes to the filthy promise in his voice.
“Just so you know,” I said as a needy hum let loose in my body somewhere south of sanity, “I’ve now added ‘get railed in a garage’ to my bucket list.”
“Jesus.” He brought his mouth back to mine and kissed me with bruising intent. “Saying shit like that is guaranteed to make me forget every good intention I ever had.”
I reached under his shirt, finally getting my hands on those muscles I hadn’t stopped thinking about since I last touched them. His skin was hot under my palms, and the way his breath hitched when I scraped my nails lightly down his abs made me feel bold.
“Maybe I want you to forget all your good intentions.”
I trailed one hand down towards his belt buckle, letting it linger on the skin right above his jeans.
His eyes stayed locked on mine, dark and hungry, like every inch my hand travelled was testing the leash on something wild in him. “Dangerous game, sweetheart,” he warned, his tone equal parts promise and threat.
I bit my bottom lip and just watched him.
Then I reached for his belt buckle.
His hand snapped over mine, halting me just short of it. “We’re not taking this further until I know for sure it’s what you really want.”
Wait. Did he just . . . stop me?
Error 404: Male logic not found.
My brain was a spinning wheel of death while my hormones screamed “retry request.”
“Oh my god, did I just get cockblocked by your morals? Is that what this is?”
His mouth curved, but his eyes remained serious. “Are you ready for this?”
The intensity blazing from him held me still. Demanded my full attention. This was important to him. And holy shit, it was all new territory for me.
“You know,” I said, smiling slowly, “usually I get less ‘verbal contract required’ and more ‘boobs, yay!’”
“I’m not other men, Eden.”
“Yeah,” I said softly. “I’m getting that.” I threaded my fingers through his. “So, are we talking official sign-off here? Do you want me to check a box that says ‘yes, please ruin me responsibly’?”
His lips twitched with amusement. “You’re a menace. A smartass with no self-preservation.”
“I prefer ‘informed consent enthusiast with excellent taste in bad decisions.’”
That earned me a dark chuckle. “I’m serious though. I want this. Fuck, I’ve wanted this. But not if you’re second-guessing it tomorrow.”
“I won’t.”
“You sure?”
“I mean, I’ll probably overanalyse your thrust cadence in a blog post titled ‘My Biker Ruined Me Responsibly: A Cautionary Tale in Eight Positions’, but emotionally? I’m good.”
