Page 11 of Alpha's Touch
Outside, the night air had cooled considerably. Zeppelin’s motorcycle gleamed under the streetlight, black and chrome catching the glow like liquid metal.
Preston hugged himself, rubbing his arms.
“Here.” Zeppelin shrugged out of his leather jacket and held it out. “Put this on.”
Preston eyed the jacket like it might bite him. “I’m fine.”
“You’re shivering,” he countered, still holding the jacket out. “And the ride will be colder.”
With obvious reluctance, Preston took the jacket and slipped it on. It swallowed him, the sleeves hanging past his fingertips, but the sight of his mate in his clothing sent a primal surge of satisfaction through Zeppelin.
“So, this is your bike,” Preston said, trying to sound nonchalant as he ran a finger along the handlebar.
“Ever been on one before?” Zeppelin asked, already knowing the answer from the way Preston was looking at the bike.
“I’ve ridden plenty before.” His mate shrugged. “Pfft. No big deal.”
Liar. The excitement in Preston’s eyes gave him away, pupils dilating as he ran his fingers over the leather seat. Zeppelin bit back a smile as he swung his leg over the bike and started the engine. The machine rumbled to life beneath him, vibrating with power.
“Wear these.” Zeppelin handed Preston a spare set of sunglasses.
His mate took the glasses, fingers brushing against Zeppelin’s. The contact sent a jolt of heat through his body.
“Hop on,” he called over the engine’s growl. “And hold tight.”
His mate climbed on behind him, movements hesitant but eager. After sitting, he settled his hands lightly on Zeppelin’s waist.
“You’ll fall off like that,” Zeppelin said, reaching back to pull Preston’s arms fully around his middle. “Don’t be shy, sweetheart. This wolf doesn’t bite.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Preston murmured, yet Zeppelin caught it. He couldn’t tell if his mate was reacting to the intense pack mentality the human sensed or reflecting on his own past experiences.
“Where to?” Zeppelin asked, running his fingers softly over Preston’s hands clasped around his waist.
His mate gave an address on the east side of town, near the old mill. Not the best neighborhood but not the worst either.
They pulled away from the curb with a controlled surge of power, and Preston crushed his chest against Zeppelin’s back, warm and solid, as they accelerated down the empty street. The town was quiet at this hour, storefronts dark and sidewalks deserted. Streetlights cast pools of yellow light on the pavement, and the cool night air carried the scent of pine and distant woodsmoke. Above, stars pierced the darkness like tiny holes in black velvet.
With each turn, his mate held tighter, his thighs pressing against Zeppelin’s. The closeness, the feel of his mate molded against him, sent heat coursing through Zeppelin’s body despite the chill.
The ride was pure torture and pure pleasure.
The Pinecrest Apartments came into view. A two-story building with faded green trim and a small parking lot. Zeppelin pulled into the driveway and cut the engine. Preston was practically melded to him, face pressed between Zeppelin’s shoulder blades.
They sat there for a moment longer, the motorcycle cooling beneath them with soft ticks and pings. The night wrapped around them like a blanket, crickets chirping in the nearby bushes and a distant owl calling.
Finally, his mate slid off the bike, removing the glasses with shaky hands. His hair stood up in all directions, and his cheeks were flushed with excitement or cold or both. Zeppelin wanted to taste that flush, to feel the heat of it against his lips.
“Thanks for the ride,” Preston said, his voice slightly breathless. He made no move toward the building, just stood there in Zeppelin’s too-large jacket.
“Anytime.” Zeppelin dismounted, propping the bike on its stand. They stood there in the dim light of the building’s exterior lamp, just gazing at each other.
“I should go in,” Preston said finally.
“Long day,” Zeppelin agreed. “Bet you could use some coffee.” He let the suggestion hang in the air between them.
Preston’s brow furrowed, wariness returning to his expression. After a moment of internal debate, which played across his face like a movie, he nodded.
“I guess... I could make some,” he offered, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced it was a good idea.
