Page 59 of The Belle and the Biker

“The thing is, I don’t think I am.” I raise my voice to a high falsetto. “Crash. Oh, Craaash.”

Her eyes widen.

“Sound familiar?” I ask.

Savannah splutters. I watch, fascinated and amused, as she gathers the tatters of her dignity around her naked shoulders and sticks her nose into the air. Which takes talent, considering our current positions.

“Not at all,” she lies.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a terrible liar?”

She opens her mouth in a wide fake yawn and pats her mouth. “You know, it’s no wonder I forgot about our first time together. You were probably talking too much then, too.”

I stiffen, narrowing my eyes at her. A wicked little smug smile curves her lips.

“You’re about to lose the power of speech altogether.”

“All talk,” she singsongs, “no action.”

Has a woman ever mocked me in bed? At the same time, her bright eyes invite me to share the joke? Never. Only Savannah, who looks up at me with amusement and warmth and unconcealed lust. And yeah, impatience.

What the hell am I doing? I do talk to fucking much. I think too fucking much. The time for talking and thinking is over.

Now it’s time for ravaging.

* * *

Savannah

There’s a feral gleam in Crash’s eyes as he looks at me.

My, was it something I said?

A knowing smile curves his lips, and I realize I’m in bed with the devil, and he has no intention of letting me go until he’s got everything he wants out of me. I shiver.

“Get ready, princess,” he says, and I can’t tell if that’s a threat or a promise.

His hands scorch my skin, leaving trails of fire everywhere they roam. Not a part of me is left untouched as if he’s trying to ink his scent and the feel of his fingers into my body.

I move restlessly, grabbing his wide shoulders and arching beneath him as I drink in his ravaging kisses. He moves down my body, taking that sinful mouth with him, and licks and kisses his way over my breasts, down to the slope of my stomach. I freeze a bit, remembering my dream, where he told me never to hide from him.

But that had been me, not him, and for a moment, I struggle with wondering how he sees my new, curvy body. Big breasts are great, after all, but what man appreciates all of a woman’s curves? My soft mushy belly, my wide thighs?

“You’re so fucking hot,” he growls. “All women. Curves for goddamn miles.”

Was he reading my mind?

“I’m going to eat you out. Do you know how hot it made me watching you punch that waitress?”

My anger sparks just thinking about her and how she put her hands on Crash. “No two-bit skank is going to put the moves on, my man!”

He looks up. “Your man, huh?”

Uh-oh. There is no way to walk that back, not with the intense look in his eyes. It feels as if he’s asking me something. I don’t want to screw this moment up, a moment hanging in the air between us. But I don’t want my heart broken either.

“I am supposed to be your old lady, correct?” I can’t help but wrinkle my nose at the term. “So I’m just getting in character.” My gaze roving over his bare torso, I add, “And I’m really dedicated to getting my part just right.”

“I guess this is an undressed rehearsal, then.”

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