Page 41 of Heart of Stone
No words. No teasing.
He justholdsme there. Firm. Possessive. Unrelenting.
And when he finally speaks, it’s a growl that rumbles right through my chest, setting every nerve on fire.
"Hold on tight.”
The bike roars to life between my thighs, but it’s nothing compared to the storm he’s unleashed inside me.
The late spring air whips past as we wind through town, the familiar streets looking different from the back of Hawk's bike. My thighs press against his, my chest molds to his back, and each curve in the road has me holding tighter.
We head up toward the mountain, taking the twisting road that overlooks the valley. The sun sets behind us, casting long shadows across the pavement.
I’ve ridden this road a hundred times on my own bike, but this is different. Every vibration, every lean into a turn, sends heat pooling low in my belly. And from the way Hawk’s hand occasionally squeezes my knee when we stop, he knows exactly what this ride is doing to me.
He pulls over at the overlook, killing the engine. The sudden silence feels heavy, charged.
"You can let go now," he says, amusement coloring his voice.
I realize I’m still pressed against him, my fingers curled into his shirt under his cut.
"Right." I unclench my hands, sliding off the bike on shaky legs.
The view takes my breath away—the whole town spread out below us, lights starting to twinkle on as dusk settles. Up here, everything looks peaceful, perfect.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
I turn to find Hawk watching me instead of the view, his eyes dark with intent.
"Yeah," I manage. "It is."
He moves closer, reaching up to help with my helmet. His fingers brush my neck as he unsnaps the strap, and I can’t quite suppress my shiver.
"Cold?" he asks, though his smirk says he knows better.
"No."
"Good." His hand lingers at my neck. "Hungry?" he asks, though his eyes say he isn’t talking about food.
"Shouldn’t you have asked that before bringing me up a mountain?"
His laugh is low, rich. "I know a place. Good view. Better food."
"As long as it’s not a biker bar," I say, thinking of the chaos at his house. "I’ve seen enough half-naked women for one week."
"Jealous?"
"No. I’m impressed. I could never.”
He steps closer, his fingers trailing from my neck to my collarbone. "Really? Cause I think you’d look great half-naked."
My breath catches as his thumb traces circles on my skin. "Hawk?—"
"I like how you say my name." His other hand settles on my hip. "Like you’re not sure if you’re warning me off or asking for more."
Heat blooms everywhere he touches.
"Which is it?" He dips his head, his lips brushing my ear. "Tell me what you want, little lamb."
