Page 67 of Under an Endless Moon

Letting myself drift.

I had to tamp whatever had been loosed inside me.

Whatever?

I knew exactly what it was.

I mean, how was I ever supposed to forget him saying that he’d be the luckiest man alive if he got to touch me?

And on all things holy, I wanted to make him lucky.

He tucked his phone into his back pocket and headed for the interior door. “Let’s get out of here.”

I followed him downstairs, and he jabbed at the button to lift the garage door. Light poured in from outside, and he went directly to the motorcycle that he usually rode.

The one that was painted a misty, haunting gray, the metal black matte.

Low and wide.

Both menacing and screaming of freedom uncontained.

The perfect accessory to the man.

“Come here,” he said as he grabbed the black helmet he’d specially ordered for me. I crept forward, losing my breath all over again when he carefully placed it on my head, his watch intent as he buckled the strap under my chin.

Those fingers adept.

A chill rolled through me as he let them drag down the side of my neck once he had the helmet secure, then he reached out and took my hand to guide me to the bike. He slung himself over first, never releasing me, before he helped me onto the back.

He kicked it over. The loud engine grumbled, and my stomach rolled. Anticipation lighting me through.

I wondered if he had any clue how much I loved being on the back of his bike. I tucked my front right up to his back, my thighs wrapped around the outside of his legs.

Flames sparked, and I could hardly breathe.

His muscles flexed along his back as I fully pressed myself against him, my arms wrapped tight around his waist.

I guessed I was feeling reckless. Bold. Because I splayed my hands out over his abdomen, making sure one of them was directly on the spot where I’d discovered the tattoo this morning.

The one that made me question everything.

He flinched against my touch before I felt him release a heavy exhalation, some of the tension bleeding away, then he used his boots to back us out. He tapped the button on his phone to close the garage door and set the alarm, before he turned the bike around and took to the road.

There was nothing like being with Otto this way. When he was at his freest. When I could feel the strain melt away and the joy of the endless expanse of road set out ahead of us.

The wind in our hair and the sun on our faces.

Okay, fine. I didn’t mind the part where I was completely plastered against him, either.

His heat blistered into me. His big body so strong and sure as he took the winding road. Trees whipped by on either side before we got to the bottom of the hill where it opened to our small town.

He took the couple turns required to get us onto 9thStreet where my shop was located, and he made a U-turn so he could pull up to the curb in front of Moonflower. His booted feet stretched out to support us as we came to a stop.

In an instant, all the easiness we’d been riding on shattered.

My fluttering heart dropped like a rock to the pit of my stomach.

Written in white spray paint across the big windows fronting Moonflower wasLittle bitches bleed red.

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