Page 12 of Biker Boo

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And I want the truth of me to haunt her.

So I wait.

She charges.

I catch her like I’ve been catching her in my dreams since we were fifteen.She hits my chest like a wild thing, and I spin her into the tree with more force than I meant.

She gasps.And I feel it in my cock.

Jesus.

My mask presses against her cheek, and I breathe her in, sweet pumpkin spice and vanilla shampoo, heartbreak and cigarettes.I cage her with my body.Her breath catches.

“You scared me,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

Becki doesn’t even know how much Iwantthat.How I live for that knife-edge between fear and lust.The way it sharpenseverything.

But she doesn’t scream.Sheleans in.

So I grind into her.

Hard.

Mean.

Like punishment and confession wrapped up in one brutal movement.

She moans.Clutches my hoodie like it’s salvation.She kisses me or rather the mask.With hunger.With history.With rage.And for one heartbeat, I think sheknows.

I think she knows it’sme.

I leave no space for lies.My chest cracks open, but I slip down, let my mouth escape cover.Kiss her neck.

Her thighs wrap around me, and I grip her hips like a prayer.I growl low in my throat.She arches for more.

But then her fingers trail down my chest, and she gasps against my neck.

Becki whimpers, “Legend.”

If she wants to believe it’s him, so be it.

Let him take the blame.

Let him carry the ghost.

Icouldtake her right here against this tree.

She’d let me.No, she’d let Legend.I could bury myself in her and leave her messed up.But I want her to crave me.

And that takes patience.

I step back into the dark.

Her mouth chases me like she’s starving.Like she’ll die if I don’t touch her again.

Good.

I want herdesperate.

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