Page 39 of Sweet Wicked Vows

He cocked his eyebrow. “You want me to take you on my bike?”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“Have you ever been on a motorcycle before?”

“No.” I tugged the bathrobe around me tighter. “But there’s no time like the present. As long as you don’t drive like an absolute maniac, I am sure I’ll be perfectly capable of being able to sit on the back of a bike.”

A shadow of a smirk graced his lips. “And you’re sure you want me to go with you? I can always call you a cab.”

Did I want him to go with me? He was my husband, after all, whether either of us wanted it or not. Married couples did these sorts of things together. They were a team—two pillars for each other to lean on.

I married Jaxon so that I didn’t have to be alone.

A pit fell into the base of my stomach.

The one thing I knew for certain was that I didn’t want to go and face it alone like I always did when it came to Flynn, not when I didn’t have to anymore.

“Evelyn?” Jaxon crossed his arms. “Is there someone else I can call?”

“I want you there with me,” I said, my voice stronger than I thought possible. “Please.”

“Ton souhait est mon commandement, douceur.”

Watching him disappear up the stairs, I mentally added learning French to my growing list of things to do.

The motorcycle helmet was a dense weight in my hands.

Watching Jaxon pull his black helmet over his head and flip up this visor, every fiber of my previous bravery vanished.

Annoyingly, Jaxon’s eyes glinted with smugness. He straddled the machine, twisting the handle and kick-starting the monstrous engine into life. “You on or off,douceur?”

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that,” I called over the noise. “What does it even mean?”

He laughed, swiping his visor down and nodding to the back of the bike.

Now or never.

Please God or whoever is listening, please don’t let me die.

Throwing my leg over the bike with as much grace as a newborn giraffe, I willed myself to remain calm and not fall off the damn thing. As I pulled Jaxon’s spare helmet over my head, he turned suddenly. My body stilled. Leather-gloved hands reached forward, the material dragging along the column of my throat and causing my lungs to spasm. A single finger went under the helmet and tilted my head up, giving him access to secure my chin strap.

His touch, though covered by his gloves, left jolts of electricity in its wake.

Turning back, his hands grabbed my knees and pulled me toward him. I’ve never been more thankful for not wearing a dress or skirt. My crotch collided with his lower back, the engine purring through me, and despite myself, I enjoyed the feeling. Jaxon scooted back, grinding into my hips and sending a wave of heat between my legs. My teeth sank into my bottom lip to suppress a moan wishing to break free.

It was a sensational overload.

How was riding a motorbike so intimate?

“Hold on,douceur.” He dragged out the nickname with a teasing chuckle.

Slamming down my visor, I wrapped my arms around his waist, my breasts flat to his back as he kicked off from the curb. A ripple ran through him, his body tensing for a few seconds. I couldn’t ask if he was okay, I was too busy holding onto him for dear life as he picked up speed.

It was strange. I was terrified, yet ecstatic adrenaline coursed through me at the same time.

Lights of the sleeping city flashed by. The empty roads were a perfect canvas for Jaxon to weave in and out, picking up speed that normally scared the shit out of me. Only the sound of the engine disturbed the quietness of the suburban streets.

My heart soared and rattled like a bird trapped in a cage.

---