Page 58 of Those Who Are Bound

Jonah, who had moved to the desk and was opening the box, glanced at the doors. “It’s a… I suppose it’s a crash area: kitchenette, bathroom, futon.”

Elliott gave him a questioning look.

“I don’t live here, but I sometimes crash out here. My place really is in the River Market.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll take you there.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t say anything.”

“I’m still taking you there,” he said meaningfully. He lifted a black helmet out of the box. “C’mere.”

Elliott looked at the helmet, then approached. “I’m guessing that’s for me.”

“We’ll see,” he said. He reached out and brushed a piece of hair from her forehead. “Do you have a hair band?”

Elliott reached up to grasp her hair, noting with satisfaction how his gaze dropped to her chest appreciatively as she did so. He had a way of looking at her as though seeing right through her clothes without leering, and she absolutely loved it. It made her feel wanted, desired, and like at any second, he was going to shed the façade of a civilized man and ravish her.

Dragging her mind from her X-rated micro-daydream, she said, “I can knot it if you think that will work. Or we can ask Kale for one; he has an impressive man bun.”

Jonah chuckled, but he produced a length of jute from his front pocket. Elliott inhaled sharply as he gathered her hair, warmth radiating from him as he tied it back. She experienced myriad emotions—lust racing to the forefront—and she was doing well just to remain upright by the time he moved away slightly.

Hair secured, he placed the helmet on her head, his brow furrowing in concentration as he strapped it on her and tested it for the fit.

“You’re really putting me on a motorcycle?” she asked. The inane question was mostly to distract her from the jute in her hair and the sensation of his tying it there; the heat she saw burning in his eyes as he did so.

Maybe she’d imagined that last part.

Jonah looked at her through the shield he’d lowered. “On the back ofmymotorcycle. It’s a short ride. How scared are you?”

Her heart thumped. On a scale of not scared to petrified, she was off the charts, but the question sounded challenging. So she lifted her chin a notch, which was saying something in the unwieldy headgear and replied, “I’m not.”

Jonah took a step back and rested his hands on his hips. “Now isn’t the time to get competitive, kitten. Answer me.”

Did her nipples just harden when he called her that? It sounded delicious in person. She was curious as to the origin of the moniker, but he looked intent on getting his answer. Her fingers went to the clasp under her chin; it was too intricate for her to figure out, so she left it alone. “I want to go; I want to try.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“I’m a little nervous,” she admitted.

I’ll probably pee myself.

“Nervous is expected. So scared you can’t pay attention isn’t any good. I don’t want to terrify you.” He reached for the clasp under her chin, but she jerked her head back and knocked his hand away.

“I’m not terrified. Just… don’t pop any wheelies or do anything crazy. Don’t try to scare me.”

He frowned. “Do you think I’d do that?”

“Some guys would think that’s funny.”

“I’m not that guy,” he said seriously. “Only assholes do that; it’s stupid and dangerous.” He reached for the helmet again. “Stop moving. You’re taking this off until we get downstairs.”

“Oh.” She stopped dodging him, giving him a humorous look, and let him remove the helmet.

Setting it aside, he reached back into the box. “Armor.” He pulled out a black and white jacket and matching pants.

“Armor?” she echoed, taking the items from him. They were heavier than the average jacket and pants.

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