Page 34 of Biker Boo
He steps forward.
Closer.
The dark seems to cling to him, swallowing every inch until all I can see is the cracked white mask and the breadth of his shoulders beneath the black hoodie.
I don’t run.
I take one step toward him, closing the gap like it’s inevitable, like fate has pulled here me.
“You’re not Legend,” I breathe.The words are both accusation and confession.
He tilts his head.Still no answer.
The silence itself is suffocating.
But then, his gloved hand rises.Slowly.Purposefully.
And when those fingers touch my jaw, I melt.Just melt, like I’m not made of sharp things anymore, like all my edges were built for this one moment of being undone.
“You touched me,” I whisper.The tremor in my voice is hunger, not fear.
He cocks his head again, birdlike, curious.
“Do it again.”
And he does.
His hand trails downward, rough fabric scraping my skin, until it finds the hem of my skirt.He doesn’t tease.Doesn’t hesitate.Just shoves up the fabric and rips into the fishnets like they’re nothing but tissue.The sound, sharp, obscene, sends a shiver tearing through me.
Then his gloved fingers are inside me.
One, then two.
Rough, unrelenting, stroking deep until my back arches against the night itself.
The mask looms inches above me, faceless and hungry.
My breath tangles with his heavy, controlled panting, the sound echoing in my ears until I can’t tell if it’s his ragged need or mine.
Every thrust of his fingers is a demand, and every clench of my body is my answer.The glove drags against my clit, grippy plastic scraping in just the right way, lighting me up, wringing me tight until I’m seconds away from coming apart.
And then, he stops.
Yanks his hand away.
I cry out, guttural, desperate, a sound I’ve never heard from myself before.“No…”
But he catches my wrist before I can claw at him, before I can rip that mask off and steal what he refuses to give.
Like always.
I yank against his grip, breathless.“Why won’t you let me see?”
His only answer is to grab my waist, hauling me flush against him.My chest collides with his, and I feel him, hard, straining, twitching against his jeans.The size of him makes my mouth dry, makes my thighs clench around nothing.
I reach down.
My hand finds his bulge.
