Page 74 of The Rogue and His Flower

“Thatwasmy warning, and for the love of all that’s holy, don’t let go. Drix will murder me if you fall off this motorbike.”

“Don’t you be worrying about Drix, I’ll murder you if I fall off this motorbike,” I reply, and Dalton chuckles as he accelerates across the asphalt.

“Holy shit!” I scream, but the wind takes my breath, drowning me out.

Digging my fingers into his leather jacket, I feel the powerful rumble of the engine beneath us vibrating through my bones. Despite my initial nerves, I can’t deny the rush of adrenaline and the feeling of freedom it brings. Not to mention the way the vibrations hit in all the right places. My face flushes furiously from the sensation because the blood in my veins isn’t the only thing pulsing wildly.

Relaxing into the ride, the world blurs into streaks of colour as Dalton leans into each turn, myself and the bike leaning with him as though we’re an extension of his body. I cling to him tighter, my heart racing in sync with the engine’s roar, the wind whipping around us both like a cyclone threatening to tear us apart. But, I just hold on tighter, soothed by Dalton’sconfidence as he handles the powerful motorbike with ease, a little distracted by how turned on I am.

As we zip around the track, the barriers between us seem to dissolve leaving only the raw intensity of the ride, and the physical reaction on my body. I close my eyes for a moment, letting myself fully embrace the feeling, appreciating the freedom of tearing down the track at breakneck speed. Although it feels like we’re going as fast as when he was racing solo, I know he isn’t given that our knees aren’t practically touching the asphalt as we turn into the bends. Nevertheless, I put all my trust in Dalton, and in that instant, I realise that this ride isn’t just about speed or adrenaline, it’s about trust, and about letting go of fear.

When Dalton finally eases the bike to a standstill, we’re on the other side of the racetrack, alone but for the distant echoes of cheers and revving engines. Taking a deep breath, my hands shaking slightly, I slowly release my grip on Dalton, feeling the loss of his warmth as he kicks out the footrest and eases himself off the bike, offering me his hand as I sling my leg over the seat and stand on trembling legs.

“Did you enjoy the ride, Daisy?” he asks, his voice a little hoarse as we both remove our helmets.

“That was… amazing!” I reply, shaking my hair out as a wide smile spreads across my face. “I never thought I’d do something like that.”

“Glad you enjoyed it,” he replies, tucking my hair gently behind my ear as he looks down at me. My pulse thrums in my ear, and I don’t know whether it’s from the adrenaline, the way he’s looking at me right now, or the fact that I feel so aroused. With my cheeks heating, the dull ache between my legs comes to life under his scrutiny. He cocks his head at me, eyes narrowing a little.

“What?” I mutter.

“You’re flushed,” he points out, swiping his index finger downwards from my temple to my jaw.

“Adrenaline, I guess,” I reply, flicking my gaze away as I try to regain my composure, hoping he doesn’t notice that I’m struggling with the ache between my legs.

“I guess,” he retorts, picking up my helmet and slotting it back onto my head.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Taking you for another ride,” he says, grabbing his own helmet and putting it back on.

“I think that’s enough for one day,” I begin, but he shakes his head, gripping me around the waist and plonking me back on the bike. I don’t have time to get back off before he’s straddling the bike and revving the engine once again.

Automatically I wrap my arms back around his waist, my thighs gripping him tightly, expecting him to pull off at breakneck speed once more. The vibrations from the revving hit me right in that sweet spot, and I can’t help but moan.

“That’s it, Daisy,” he grinds out, just loud enough for me to hear over the engine.

“What’s it?” I whimper, swallowing another moan, glad he can’t see my face turning beetroot as he revs the engine over and over, yet not allowing the bike to move an inch.

Is he doing this on purpose?

Does he know what this is doing to me? Ofcoursehe does. This is Dalton we’re talking about.

“Aren’t we going to move?” I shout, trying and failing not to rock my hips as I search for what? For an orgasm?

Yes.

Fuck.

“I think you’re doing that all by yourself,” he grunts back.

“Dalton… This is…” I stutter, unable now to hide the tremble in my voice, my pussy growing slicker, wetter, hotter with everyrev of the engine, at the wrongness of how easily I’m about to come, at the rightness of how it feels.

“Just let me give you this,” he bites out, reaching behind me as his leather clad hand rests on my hip. He grips me tightly, urging me to move, to dry hump his motorbike.

“But I’m going to–”

“Come? I sure as fuck hope so,” he replies.

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