Orion uses both hands to reach back and tap my thighs. “Push back.”
The coarse grate of his tone scrapes over my senses. Before I even get to the edge of the seat, he twists around. One arm wraps my lower back, his other hand captures my thigh, urgently hauling me onto his lap. Forced to straddle him, I grab hold of his shoulders, adjusting until I feel the undeniable hard press of him beneath me.
His forearm bands tighter around the small of my back. “Christ, Collins. Do you want me to fuck you on this bike.” There’s no question implied in his gruff tone. It’s a certainty, a warning.
I reach up to unbuckle the strap, but Orion grabs the bottom of the helmet and presses his forehead against the visor. “Don’t,” he breathes. “It hurts how badly I want to kiss you.”
A small sound escapes my throat. “I wouldn’t stop you,” I whisper, reinforcing my words with a purposeful roll of my hips.
He curses under his breath and pulls back enough to flip my visor up. His teal eyes spear mine with so much want I’m breathless. The desperation behind that look says what he’s unwilling—that he’s stopping himself.
I release a breath before reinforcing what I’ve told him repeatedly since that night in the observatory. “You didn’t hurt me, Orion.”
“And I won’t.” His throat works with a hard swallow, pain etched around the lines of his squinted eyes.
A tense silence locks us in this moment.
Then slowly, he unbuckles the chin strap, gently removing the helmet before tossing it to the sand like an afterthought. His hands slip beneath the leather jacket in search of my hips, gripping possessively.
“I just want to keep you right here,” he says, and an ache forms in my throat at the earnestness I hear in his voice.
I briefly close my eyes.
Focus on the object.
The light tug of my scarf draws my gaze back on him as he slides the sheer fabric down to expose my neck. His gloved fingers trace the faint bruises that linger from his tie. He’s done this often, assessing the fading marks he placed there.
I hold my breath, watching the subtle shift in his expression before he closes himself off. A shadow flickers across his eyes, and I read the fear there—fear of what might happen if he goes too far. If he loses control.
I press him, daring to ask, “How often do you allow yourself release?”
“Jesus.” He exhales a harsh breath. “Not today, Dr. Holbrook,” he says, his tone adamant.
“You don’t get to avoid this, Dr. Night,” I counter, feeling less steady than my voice alleges. “You choose the locations of our sessions, but we’re still here for that purpose, aren’t we?”
He releases the scarf, scraping a gloved hand over his windblown hair. “Never,” he confesses. My mouth parts, and he raises an eyebrow. “You think I’m lying.”
“No.” I shake my head quickly. “Just…with the frequency of your intrusive thoughts, I was expecting a different answer.”
His tongue drags over his lips, eyes heating with so much intensity they rival the breathtaking depth of colors washing up on shore.
A dangerous current churns beneath that beauty.
This is how it feels to be swept into the ocean of his eyes, caught in that blue-green undertow, pulled deeper into an endless eddy.
A groan resonates from deep in his chest, the rough vibration of it a lick of friction between my thighs. “That wouldn’t be satisfying, Collins.” He brushes my wild strands behind my ears, hands settling on either side of my face. “I’ve woken up fucking my bed after dreaming of you, goddamn out of my mind, and still forced myself to stop. Knowing any cheap pleasure would never compare to the real thing with you.”
A feverish blush burns through my skin at his admission. It should be crass, but Orion’s inability to filter his thoughts makes his honesty vulnerable—and far too arousing.
“Maybe you’re ready to try exposure therapy again,” I say, easing back a fraction. His hands fall away, finding placement on my knees, where his fingers curl and tuck intimately into the hollows beneath. “But more gradually this time. Just a small?—”
“One taste would never be enough,” he says, voice pitched beneath the crash of waves. “I’d only crave you more, and it might just drive me mad, angel.”
The caged muscle in my chest batters frantically. Out of habit, I flatten my hand over my breastbone. Orion studies me too closely, a curious draw to his features.
He lifts a hand, fingers skimming my jawline, tenderly trailing down the contour of my throat, the tantalizing feel in conflict with the cruel caress of leather. The hunger in his gaze burns into mine as he coasts farther to the collar of my blouse, his hand halted right above mine.
As he begins to unfasten the top button, a spike of dread accelerates my pulse.
