Page 19 of The Pursuit of Her Happiness

Soft. Plump. Warm. All rational thought fled my mind and most of my blood flooded my nipples and clit, a desperation for more of his touch threatening to suffocate me.

Dammit! I like him. A lot. And it’s those feelings buried in my subconscious that elevated the kiss from good to extraordinary. The banter, the back and forth, a promise of passion and maddening foreplay.

I don’t want to rush anything. I think part of me knew that I wouldn’t find anyone on those apps. I didn’t need to worry about feelings or the future or navigating a new relationship with kids…because there was no real threat of those dates amounting to anything more than a funny story to entertain the masses at the clubhouse.

Bently Walker is real. Honest. Fucking gorgeous inside and out. Hilarious. And damn sure about me. How can he be so confident about me? Us? What does he see when he looks at me that everyone else has overlooked? And whatever it is that he sees, is it enough to keep him? I thought I had my happily ever after with Joe. But I wasn’t enough for him. I wasn’t enough to keep his demons at bay. And I know anyone else would tell me that I can’t take that on my shoulders. But it’s hard not to.

“Ugh!” I groan, flopping backward onto my bed, grabbing the nearest pillow and screaming into it. I just fucking said I wasn’t examining any feelings. I’m going to enjoy today, just like I enjoyed last night, and I’m gonna go with the flow.

I have NEVER gone with the flow. I’m a mom. Three fearless, wild, too smart for their own good boys. Though, I can adapt quickly, temper my expectations, accept and move on.

So, for now, I can accept that Polk is unbelievably attractive, and he enjoys my company. And he kisses like a sex-god.

The alarm on my phone beeps, letting me know I have about 15 minutes before he arrives. I force myself off the bed and into the bathroom. I pee, wash my hands, brush my teeth again, fluff my hair, and make sure my tits look good in the V-neck tee I’m wearing.

What? Don’t judge. They are my most appreciated assets.

My doorbell rings at 10:55 and I smile at his punctuality. Perhaps he’s as excited as I am. Opening the door, I swallow hard, my eyes greedily taking in the sight of him in a tight tee, his leather cut, form fitting jeans that hug muscular thighs and a promising bulge, boots, and sunglasses.

“Fuckin’ hell, darlin’. You look good enough to eat.” My body flushes from head to toes, the rough texture of his voice skating across my skin.

“Thank you,” I whisper, forcing my tongue to unstick from the roof of my mouth. “You look…well, lickable.”

“Lickable?” he teases, closing the scant distance between us and brushing his lips across my own. He smells good. Really, really good. “You can lick me anytime, Quinn. Consider me your own personal Tootsie Pop.” The sexual tension between us slightly dissipates as I laugh.

“Let me grab my bag.” I lean back into the house, grab my mini-backpack and close the door behind me. “Alright, mister, where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise. Love the bag. Did you have pound puppies as a kid?”

I nod, a small grin stretching my lips. “I had two of them. Feel how soft he is.” I hold out the bag for him. He runs the back ofhis hand down the soft pound puppy that makes up the front of my bag.

“Very soft.” With his hand on the small of my back, he guides me down the steps and sidewalk to his bike parked at the curb. Leaning down to whisper in my ear, my steps stutter when he says, “When I pet you, I bet you’ll be even softer.”

“Just as hairy, though.” I bite my lip, unable to believe I just said that out loud. That’s not sexy. Apparently, it is amusing, since he tosses his head back and laughs.

“I’ve always wanted to visit the jungle.” I smack his shoulder, turning to face him when we get to his bike. It’s a beautiful piece of machinery. I run my hand over the glossy tank. “Hmm, like you touching my bike. Think I’d like fucking you on it more.” I glance up at him sharply. I’ve never had anyone talk so dirty to me, let alone in casual conversation. I like it.

“Do you have a helmet for me? I don’t own one.”

“Yet.” He murmurs, opening one of his saddlebags and pulling the helmet out. He helps me put it on, securing the strap, then holds my hand and helps me on his bike. I’ve ridden with Adams, and it is a hell of a lot of fun. I imagine riding behind Polk will be an exercise in self-control.

I hum appreciatively when he straddles the bike in front of me, his ass spectacular with his jeans stretched over it. My hands itch with the need to touch him, but I refrain. Barely.

He starts the bike, and I grin giddily as the engine rumbles beneath me. I wrap my arms around him automatically, sucking in a harsh breath when my fingers dance across his abs. His back is firm, shoulders broad, leather warm against my cheek. Zero hesitation. Complete and utter comfort. I mold my body to his, scooting forward until there isn’t enough space for a piece of paper, let alone the Holy Spirit. He rests his hands over mineand squeezes. Then he’s shifting the bike and pulling away from my curb. The wind whips past me, the sights and sounds a blur as he weaves expertly through traffic.

I’m not sure how long we’re on the road, but when he turns into a nice development, I know the ride wasn’t nearly long enough. He dismounts first, then helps me off the bike. Polk removes my helmet, stowing it in his saddlebags along with his own, then pulls me into his arms, his heart beating steadily. “Exactly how many times you been on the back of someone’s bike?”

Resting my chin on his sternum, I glance up at him curiously, “Why? Did I do something wrong?”

“No. You’re a natural.”

I warm at his praise. “Oh. Thank you.” He leans back to cup my cheeks. I meet him halfway for a sweet, tender kiss that turns possessive rather quickly.

“I am the only person you ride with from now on.”

“Uh…”

“My woman. My bike.”

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