She draws a shaky breath, her lips parting as if she’s about to say the word. Instead, she looks at me, eyes dark and bottomless, and shakes her head just enough for me to notice.
“You wouldn’t listen.”
“No,” I say, losing the last of my composure. “I wouldn’t.”
For a beat, we’re locked, suspended in that charged, timeless space where everything is possible and nothing is safe. Her chest rises and falls, her breath warm against my hand. I can smell her — citrus shampoo, sweat, a hint of sugar from the pie, and something uniquely, fiercely her.
She says my name, soft but urgent. “Breaker…”
I don’t know if it’s a warning or a plea. Maybe both. Either way, it’s an invitation I’m powerless to refuse.
I close the distance.
The first touch of our mouths is nothing like I expect; it’s hesitant, almost chaste, just the barest brush of lips… until she moans, a low, quiet, involuntary thing that’s like a floodgate opening. I drink her in, every inch of restraint gone, my hand sliding from her face to the nape of her neck, tangling in soft hair. She fists both hands in the front of my shirt, pulling me closer, not letting me go.
Her lips are sweet — sugar and salt and something desperate. She tastes like need, like she's been starving for this. All of it pours into me, setting every nerve alight. Whatever control I had left? Gone
She breaks away first, panting, her cheeks flushed and her eyes wide. She looks at me as if she doesn’t recognize herself, as if she’s surprised by her own boldness.
“That…” she starts, her voice unsteady. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
I rest my forehead against hers. It’s the only thing keeping me from kissing her again.
“No,” I say, voice rough and unfamiliar. “But I’m not sorry.”
She laughs, shaky and wild.
“I’m not either.”
Chapter Eleven
Riley
“I’m not either.”
I can’t believe I just said that.
I can’t believe I justdid that.
My heart’s still hammering against my ribs, like it’s trying to break through its bony cage. I can still feel the press of Breaker’s mouth, the warmth of his hands, the taste of whiskey and cinnamon and something darker. Every part of me is lit up, trembling, on fire.
He stands there across from me, breathing hard, eyes on me like he’s fighting a war I can’t see. For a long, charged moment, neither of us moves, caught in the grip of surprise, of passion, of the pure shock that comes in the aftermath of a biker sucking on your fingers and then kissing you in a way that leaves you panting.
Then I move.
I come forward, drawn like there’s a string between us. Every warning in my body goes off — don't do this, you know how this ends, you've seen what happens when you trust men like this.
But the air between us feels alive, magnetic, irresistible.
“Riley,” he says, voice low. Rough. “We can’t do this.”
“I know.”
Breaker puts a hand on my shoulder — to stop me, maybe. But it sets me on fire. He’s close enough now that I can see the small scar above his eyebrow, the one that looks like a story he hasn’ttold. He has so many stories. So many, and I want to hear them all. His scent is sweat and leather and something sharp, metallic — the smell of a man who’s seen too much and somehow still stands tall.
I want to believe he’s different. Ineedto believe it.
I should stop.
