Page 8 of Biker Boo
He catches me mid-step.
Arms like steel wrap around my waist, spinning me fast and slamming my back against a tree.Bark digs into my spine.My flashlight clatters to the dirt.
I don’t scream.
Ishould, but I don’t.I won’t give him the satisfaction.
His body pins mine.He’s hot through the hoodie, bigger than I thought, more muscle than menace, but it’s both.He smells like cedar, weed and engine grease.That tells me absolutely nothing.Could be any man in this fucking town.
His mask hovers inches from my face.
“You scared me,” I breathe, half faking, half admitting to something.
He tilts his head, still silent.
Then he leans in.
He can’t kiss me, not in that mask.But he’s close enough to.And his lower half grinds against me.His cock, the solid rod in his pants, striking just the right spot.
Rough.Raw.Like he’s starved for it.
I gasp against the mask.
And then I kiss him, the mask.
Ishouldn’t.
I know that.
But something in me snaps.I grab his hoodie, pull him closer, wrap my thighs around his hips like I’ve done this a hundred times in my dreams.His hand fists in my long hair.My neck arches.His mask presses into my cheek as his face escapes just a bit.Has to, I realize, as his wet mouth hits my neck, my throat.
Damn, it’s too dark.Maybe if I hadn’t dropped the flashlight, I could see his face.
I squeeze his biceps.God, he feels familiar.His grip.The way he touches me like he owns every inch.
But that’s impossible.
Legend doesn’t kiss me like this.Not anymore.Not in forever.
I whisper his name, “Legend.”
He lets out a growl that vibrates through my chest.And just as fast as it started, it’s over.
He steps back.
I grab for him but only end up with a handful of fabric.
Gone.
The ghost vanishes into the woods like smoke.
Holding his hoodie, I stumble forward, breathless and shaking.My lips are dry.But my neck and my panties are soaked.My body tingling, I slide on the hoodie.
My knees wobble, and I fall to the forest floor and pick up the flashlight.
Was that real?
I don’t rightly know.
