Page 22 of Biker Boo
“Biker Boo,” I whisper, voice shaking with something that sounds too much like want.
He doesn’t speak.Just reaches for me.
I stumble backward.“What do you want?”
But I know.
God, I know.
He grabs me by the waist, lifting me like I weigh nothing, hauling me up off the dirt like some bride from a haunted fairytale.I gasp, clinging to him.The porcelain mask is inches from my face now, a cracked scream mocking me with silence.His breath is rough beneath it, hot and human, and I swear I feel it ghost against my mouth even through the chill.
I try to squirm, but his grip tightens.Not hurting.Just… commanding.Possessive.
“What do you want from me?”I whisper again, voice breaking.
He still doesn’t speak.Just lowers me down gently, setting me on my feet, but his hands stay.One cradles my jaw, fingers gloved but firm.The other slips to my waist, anchoring me like he thinks I might run, but I don’t.I’m too shaken.Too drunk.Toolitfrom the inside out.
I tip my head back, breathing him in.Sweat, smoke, leather, and pine.The woods cling to him like a second skin.
“You followed me,” I say, chest heaving.
He tilts his head slowly, like a curious animal.
“You want me,” I accuse, stepping closer now, mouth nearly brushing the mask.
It’s insane, but I’m not scared.My blood is a cocktail of tequila and twisted craving.
“I don’t even know your name,” I whisper, the words laced with a dare.
He lifts one finger and presses it to my lips.
Shhh.
I shiver.
That single touch unravels me.
I fist both hands in the front of his hoodie, yanking him forward.“Biker Boo,” I whisper.“Just… don’t stop.”
And then I kiss him.The mask.
It’s clumsy at first, hard plastic against my lips, but I don’t care.I’m tasting the danger, the anonymity.The hunger in his silence.
He responds instantly.
His hands grip my hips, pulling me flush against his bulge.I canfeelhim now, hard, hot, throbbing through his jeans, and a dark thrill rolls through me.
I moan against the mask, grinding my body to his, daring him to break whatever oath is keeping him from revealing himself.
He groans low and shoves me back,not away, just harder against a tree trunk.My back hits bark, breath knocked from me, and then his hands are everywhere.
My jacket falls open.
He palms my waist beneath my shirt.Then his hands move over me like a prayer.
No one’s ever touched me like this, not Legend, not any boy back in church, not even myself.Like heknowsevery hidden scar.Like hewantsthe ruined parts most.
I gasp when his mouth finds my throat.Knowing the mask has slipped, I fight the urge to try to look.With the trees overhead, it’s too dark anyhow.
