Page 14 of Karma

He rises with me in his arms and sets me down on the cooling planks.

“But we can’t go anywhere with too many people,” I say. “Me being a fugitive and all.”

He nods. “Right. I know just the place. But you’re riding with me.”

I shake my head. “I don’t ride bitch.”

His eyes flash with something very close to disappointment. But in the next second, he’s grinning again as he fixes his cock in his boxers. “You are tonight.”

And then he strides into the cabin without letting me reply. I find him merrily putting on his clothes like it’s all decided.

“I just… I worked hard…” I don’t know how to explain to him how much it means to me to be my own woman, to ride my own bike, to be free of any man’s demands, however small. It’s a whole long, sad and terrible tale and I doubt he wants to hear it.

“You’re a strong, independent woman with her own bike, I get it,” he says, grinning at me as he fixes the buckle on his belt. “But I’m just gonna insist. I want you on the back of my bike.”

I know I’m not gonna get far arguing. Just like I never got far when I kept telling him to stop coming on to me all the time. And just like I’m no longer sure why I was so stubborn about that, I don’t know why I should argue with him on this. He knows who I am. I don’t have to prove anything to him.

“Fine,” I say. “But just this once.”

I pull his shirt up over my head, ignoring how his fire hot gaze makes everything, and especially my hard nipples tingle. Not an easy thing to do. And I still sort of feel his lust-filled gaze once I’m fully dressed and following him out of the cabin to his bike. Mine is still parked by the bar where I left it last night.

“Let’s just check on my bike before we go,” I say as I climb on behind him with an ease like I’d done it a thousand times before and with no hint that riding on the back of a guy’s bike is something I only do when I absolutely have no choice. I have all the choice in the world here. And I’m choosing this.

“It’s fine, those assholes didn’t mess with it,” he says. “I went to check on it this morning.”

“You did?” The words just fly out of my mouth, as does the kiss I plant on the side of his neck. “That’s so sweet of you.”

“Sweet, huh?” he says, grinning over his shoulder. “Not exactly what I was going for, but OK.”

“And a very manly thing to do, of course,” I correct myself. “As was the way you stepped between me and those six assholes last night. That was very tough too and I’m very grateful for it.”

I run my hands over his hard abs before wrapping them tight around his waist. None of that was forced. Saying it felt as natural as breathing. Despite how well I can take care of myself and don’t need a man to do it for me.

“That’s better,” he says and revs the bike.

And then we’re riding, going pleasantly fast down an empty blacktop, the trees and rocks a blur of green, gold and grey around us. And despite myself, I have to admit it’s nice to let someone else take the handlebars, while I just lean back, letting my hair trail in the wind, my arms anchored around his waist like they’ve always belonged there.

The last time I rode bitch like this was way back in the days after Grim and Reaper found me covered in blood on the side of the road. I didn’t know much back then. But one of the few things I did was that I would never let anyone tell me what to do. Least of all a man. Maybe I should be worried how easily that conviction cakes away with the steady vibrations of his bike and his strong body in my arms.

But last night and today were a little pool of absolute bliss after months of hell. So why not swim in it a little longer? It can’t possibly last much longer anyway. So why not get all I can out of it? He seems to be enjoying it all just as much as I am.

After taking us for a ride across this whole forest, it seemed like, he finally parks in front of a small mom and pop type restaurant on a hill above a small lakeside town that’s all lit up and looks cozy as hell. Moonlight is reflecting off the lake and a part of me wishes we’d just stayed in our cabin beside it, finished off my store of travel food for dinner and gone to bed early.It’s simpler there. More pleasant. Here, no matter how cozy it is, I’m still constantly looking over my shoulder and checking everyone’s faces for signs that they recognize me from some wanted poster.

“Relax,” he says, not even lifting his eyes off the menu. “They don’t even have a police station in this town.”

The table we’re sitting at is small and his long legs are enveloping mine, the touch comforting and familiar.

“I’m trying,” I say and smile at him. “I enjoyed the ride and I want to enjoy dinner too.”

He shrugs and closes the menu. “So enjoy it.”

The waitress—a smiling teenager—comes to take our order. He gets a steak, I opt for a cheeseburger and fries because I have a feeling it’ll be good here. Not like in the dumps I usually eat at.

“So who’d you kill to get on the most wanted list?” he asks once the waitress leaves.

I gasp while taking a sip of my water, barely managing not to inhale an ice cube.

“Or is that question still off limits?” he adds, smiling shyly.

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