"What if the owner comes and yells at us for making out on their car?"
He smiles, arrogant as hell.
"I’ll buy it so we can make out on my car."
I snort and he kisses me again, laughing into my mouth.
"How was I?" he mumbles against my lips.
"My screaming didn’t give you a hint?" I shoot back. He looks fucking possessed. "Didn’t know you could cheer that loud," he mutters.
"Didn’t know you could make me," I fire back, trying to sound smug.
"Can you do it in bed, too? Please?" He’s so close our mouths are basically sharing the same air. "Bent over this time. I wanna see your back tattoo."
I smile against his lips and bite his lip ring. "I can," I murmur. His eyes flicker a little at that.
"Too bad we’re not in your room right now," I add, letting my fingers slide down and rub lightly over his dick through his pants.
His gaze drops, then lifts back up to mine. "Let’s go home."
"What, already?" I protest.
"They’ll survive without me," he says, already shoving his way back through the crowd toward the bikes.
I follow behind him, nodding at everyone who claps his shoulder or tells him "nice run" or "you killed it."
Yeah, yeah. You get to touch him for two seconds. He’s the one touching me later.
He stops by Lorenzo. "We’re heading out," he says. Lorenzo nods, still talking to Paulo, barely looking over. "At least TRY not to break the bed!" he shouts.
"Lorenzo!"
…
We are two seconds away from getting caught again.
Gio parks the bike just far enough down the road, killing the engine with surgical precision, and now we are running, laughing like fucking delinquents who stole a goddamn Ferrari.
"Shhh!" I hiss, gripping his shirt, yanking him back behind a bush.
"You’re the one laughing!" he whispers.
"You’re the one with the loud ass giggle!"
"It’s not a giggle. It’s stress—"
"It’s horny panic." I smack his arm and he grabs my wrist, pulls me into him, and kisses me fast.
"My dad is literally on the fucking balcony. Right now. If he looks left—"
Gio peeks around the bush and freezes. "…Shit. Thatisyour dad." He turns back to me slowly, grinning. "I’m gonna fuck you ten meters away from your father’s espresso," he whispers.
"Dude!" I shove him hard.
We’re choking on our own laughter, trying to stay quiet and failing miserably. "Okay," he whispers, breathless. "Plan B."
He leads me around the side of the house, through a row of hedges, to the back fence.
