Page 24 of Klutch's Kryptonite

She returns a moment later, and I place my hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the elevator. I can feel her tense under my touch, but she doesn’t pull away. Good girl.

“Are you always this pushy?” she asks as I yank the gate up on the elevator car and motion her to get in.

I step in behind her, pull down the gate and tag the button to take us up. Once we’re in motion, I lean in close, my lips nearly brushing her ear. “You have no idea, Blue.”

A slight shiver runs through her, and I fight back a smirk. Yeah, she’s affected by me too. The electricity between us is undeniable, like a live wire just waiting to spark.

When we reach the ground floor, I lead her outside where my Harley is parked.

“This one yours?” she asks, eyeing my bike.

“Yep.” I grab my helmet and hold it out to her. “Put this on.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine,” I assure her, pleased by her concern even if it’s unnecessary. “You ever ridden before?”

She shakes her head, eyes widening slightly.

“It’s easy,” I tell her, helping her put the helmet on. “Just hold onto me and lean when I lean. Nothing to it.”

I swing my leg over the bike and pat the seat behind me. She hesitates for a moment, then carefully climbs on, that dressriding up dangerously high on her thighs. Christ, I’m getting hard just thinking about those legs wrapped around me in a very different way.

“Ready?” I call over my shoulder.

“I guess,” she answers, her voice muffled by the helmet.

“You’re gonna need to hold on tighter than that, Blue.”

She cautiously wraps her arms around my waist, and I have to bite back a groan at the feeling of her pressed against my back, her tits flattened against me. I’m playing with fire here, but I crave the burn. Fuck me.

I kick the bike to life, and the beast rumbles between my legs. Blue startles and tightens her grip.

“Where do you live?” I shout over the engine.

She leans forward, her helmet knocking against my shoulder as calls out an address in one of the shittiest neighborhoods in St. Louis.

For reasons I can’t explain, knowing that’s where she stays pisses me off.

I pull away from the curb, deliberately taking the turns a little sharper than necessary just to feel her cling to me. All I can focus on is the heat of her body pressed against mine. I’m planning exactly how I’m going to get her out of that dress when her stomach growls loud enough for me to feel it.

I let off the throttle and call back to her, “You hungry?”

There’s a pause before she answers. “No.”

Liar. I roll my eyes. Women and their shit about not wanting to admit when they need to eat. I make a quick decision and change course, heading toward the 24-hour diner at the edge of our territory.

When I pull into the parking lot of Rachel’s Diner, she lifts the visor of the helmet. “What are we doing here?”

“Feeding you,” I say simply, cutting the engine and waiting for her to dismount.

She climbs off the bike and sways. Shit. I reach out to steady her and her cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink.

“My legs felt like Jello for a second there.”

“It’ll get easier the more you ride.”

She tugs at the hem of her dress and I shake my head. It’s pretty obvious she’s not someone who’s used to showing off her body. I mean, those damn purple sneakers she’s wearing is a dead giveaway.

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