He releases the handlebar with one hand and moves mine up to his abs. My heart sinks. Just because he helped me through a heat doesn’tmean he wants this.
Then he lifts himself slightly and settles again. His hand finds mine and guides it down, under the open fly, past the waistband, until I’m wrapped around his hot length.
A groan crackles through the speakers. “This is more than okay,” he growls. “Every inch. All yours. I’ve been thinking about this. About you.”
Heat floods my center. I’m not in heat, but I’m soaked and throbbing. Every bump rubs me right where I need it. My fingers tighten, stroking slowly. He swells in my hand, thick and pulsing, the knot already firming. My scent blooms faint but potent.
He lets me touch him while he rides. One hand on the bars, the other braced on his thigh. His body stays tense, fighting the urge to thrust.
Behind him, I feel bold.
“What do you think about?” I whisper into the mic. “When you’re alone. When you think about me.” His hand goes to the helmet and I can tell, whatever he’s done, we’re the only ones who can hear each other now.
I stroke him again, and this time he moves with it. My thumb grazes the leaking tip, collecting precum.
“I think about your mouth,” he rasps. “Wrapped around me. Wet and warm. Taking me deep while you moan for more.”
The words hit straight through me. I rock against the seat, desperate, the vibration only making it worse.
“I think about your hands on my chest,” he continues. “That soft body under mine. I think about you face down. Soaked and begging. Or pinned against a tree, dripping until I give you my cock.”
My grip tightens. He groans, knuckles white on the bars.
“I almost lost it over your boundaries list,” he admits.
“Which part?” I ask, shaking.
“You want to be chased.”
I whimper. The fantasy is raw inside me. Him running with me. Catching me.
“I want you to,” I whisper. “I want you to push me up against a tree and take me until I can’t speak.”
He chokes on a breath, pulsing in my hand.
“I want your knot,” I breathe. “Stretching me. Locking us together.”
That does it.
He comes hard, hot spurts flooding my hand and his jeans as his body jerks. I don’t stop stroking until he shudders, a final moan crackling through the helmet.
I don’t come. I’m left shaking, desperate, aching.
The wind shifts. Bond heat pulses nearby. I glance right and see Zeke’s bike. He’s close. Watching.
I pull my hand back, slick and trembling. Corbin catches it, presses a kiss to my wrist, then cleans me gently with his shirt.
I’m still throbbing.
Corbin doesn’t say anything else. He just keeps riding.
But his hand stays on mine the whole way.
And somehow, that undoes me most of all.
Zeke
Feeling my mate’s arousal through the bond is an experience I wasn’t prepared for on the ride back to her place. It starts slow, like a warm press against my ribs, then sweeps through me in a rush of electricity that hits like a freight train. Within seconds, I’m hard and aching, every bump in the road a pulse of torment.
