Page 82 of Snake

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He hadn’t sufficiently considered what it would be like to have her sitting before him, snugged up close so her little ass was tight against his crotch, her whole body cocooned within his. From the moment he’d mounted behind her and got her settled so he could operate the bike without trouble, he knew he’d be having trouble anyway.

He was acting like a teenage virgin with this woman. What was it about her that pulled his attention her way, even when she was hundreds of miles to the east? He’d never given much thought to ‘having’ a woman, one to call ‘his.’ It had all seemed like a whole lot of hassle for shit he didn’t need. He had no need for a constant companion, no need for a second earner to bring more money in. He could cook and he didn’t mind housework. And when he needed more than his hand, he had a clubhouse full of willing women. He didn’t need a woman in his life, and he hadn’t wanted one, either.

So why the fuck was he so fixated on this particular woman?

When she shifted on the seat, she could tell exactly how hard he was—and didn’t seem to mind. Cox sent out a silent thanks to anyone who might be listening that he wasn’t used to riding tandem; his need to focus on the bike kept him from focusing too strongly on the way her little body fit perfectly within his, the way his helmet looked so cute on her small head, the way her hands dug in at his knees, the way he felt the warmth of her body all through his legs, his chest, his arms, the way her hair danced in the wind, casting the scents of wildflowers and honey around him.

She had his heart racing like ... a teenage virgin, yep. Christ.

The trip was short, but it was long enough for Autumn to shed her nerves about her first bike ride and grow comfortable. Her body softened against his, and her grip eased a bit, allowing her hands to stroke his thighs.

When he made the turn at the entrance of the inn, he took it more sharply than he had before, because his attention had dropped to her hands on his legs and he’d almost missed it. Autumn gasped and grabbed his arms, nearly pulling the front wheel to the left. He corrected without too much shimmy, but she’d gone stiff again.

“Easy,” he said at her ear. “I got you.”

She turned her face toward his, and Cox couldn’t resist finding her mouth. But she was tense, and he contented himself with a brief brush of his lips over hers.

The final thirty seconds of the ride lasted as long as the seven or eight minutes before them, but Cox finally parked the bike on the inn’s lot and cut the engine. Then, by tacit mutual decision, they simply sat there. He couldn’t seem to pry his body from hers, and she seemed in no rush to be set loose.

Now that they were stopped, he could indulge some urges without dropping his bike on the road, and them with it. He let his hands fall from the grips and slide over the tops of her thighs. Again she turned her head to his, and this time he didn’t have to worry about working the bike, and she wasn’t worried they’d fall. He found her mouth and claimed it thoroughly.

Still wearing his too-big helmet, Autumn sighed and twisted to him, snaking her arms around his neck. Cox slipped his hands under her thighs and lifted, trying to turn her completely to him, but it was awkward, and he didn’t want to stop kissing her, drawing her sweetness like nectar into him.

Autumn handled it herself, more or less, an elastic, twisting move that brought her legs to one side to drape over his right thigh, all without breaking free of his mouth or loosening her clench around his neck. Her hands slipped into his hair, nails scratching his scalp and making half his brain cells explode. He drew a hand over her thigh, slid his fingers into the seam between her legs, found the source of her hottest heat.

That made her pull back—just an inch, but Cox wasn’t ready for her to go even that far away. He chased her, trying to reclaim the kiss, but she set her hand on his chest.

“Wait, wait.” Her voice was soft as a breeze, brushing gently past his ear.

He opened his eyes and found her looking at him, copper irises glowing with heat.

“What?” he managed to ask.

“Come to my room.” Her hand moved up on his chest until her fingertips could hook into the neck of his t-shirt. “I don’t want to do more out here. I’m ... I don’t like to make a show.”

Remembering himself at last, Cox took a breath. “I don’t, either.”

She smiled. Her lips had puffed up a bit and taken on a wine-dark hue. “You’ll come up?”

“Yeah,” he said, because it was the only word anywhere in his head.

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The check-in process nearly had him raging with impatience, but actually it went smoothly. It wasn’t Shannon at the desk but Marilee, an assistant manager. There must have been a note in Autumn’s reservation, or Marilee had heard it through the grapevine, that Autumn still needed the room despite missing last night. Marilee didn’t mention the boss’s room, either.

Cox had a bad second when the thought hit his head that maybe there had only ever been one room, but he was quickly able to brush that away. At no time had Autumn given the slightest sign that she would ever have agreed to share a room with that shitheel.

While Autumn checked in, he remembered to find someone to bring her bags over. He reached Gia Lunden, Isaac’s kid, at the clubhouse, and she said she had shit to bring up to the inn anyway, so she’d add Autumn’s things to her load.

Cox was glad he hadn’t had to ask one of the club girls to help another woman out. Any one of them would do it, and with a smile, but he also knew that some, maybe most of the club girls had a hope or a dream of claiming a patch for their own. They could be shitty to women they considered outsiders, and they could do it in a way he didn’t understand. He’d seen it as a third-party observer, and he wasn’t in a hurry to get a closer view.

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