My turn to feel him tense.
Not slowing the bike, he tilts his head to the right just a little. “Testing your luck, Caldwell?”
“Just improving my grip.” I lean closer, “Safety first.”
A sound rumbles through his chest—deep, primal. But he doesn’t push my hands away. I let them stay there, pressed against the growing hardness beneath his pants. His back expands with each breath, solid and wide against my chest. When did he get so… massive? I didn’t notice it the last time we fought.
The thought snags—
Ice-blue eyes behind black feathers.
No.
Jake’s blood, hot and sticky between my fingers.
Stop.
“Run, Clara. Don’t look back—”
Fuck. Focus on now. The solid wall of Leonid’s back.Realthings.Herethings. Like how the bike suddenly growls like a goddamn beast, and the pulsing vibrations between my thighs are like a fucking invitation to go wild.
My stomach drops as we accelerate, wind whipping by.Bastard. But I’m not about to let him hold all the cards. I trace circles dangerously close to his zipper, feeling him grow harder under my touch.
The bike swerves slightly.
“Careful there.” I keep my voice light. “Someone might think you’re losing your edge.”
His only response is to take the next corner faster, forcing me to press tighter against him. The city blurs past—all chrome and glass catching the late afternoon sun.
When was the last time I felt this… free?
Before Elijah. Before everything went to hell.
The thought sobers me.
What am I doing? Playing motorcycle chicken with a mob boss while my son…
No. Not now. I refuse to let guilt poison this moment. For once, I’m not Caldwell. Not a mother with impossible choices. Just a woman on a bike, tormenting the most dangerous man in the city.
He cuts through traffic like it’s a game of Frogger, the streets his own version of Mario Kart. He dodges cars, weaves between lanes, and accelerates with a reckless abandon that would make even the most hardened stuntman cringe. I’m not sure if I should be terrified or impressed, but adrenaline is coursing through my veins, and all I can do is… enjoy the ride.
“Your mind’s wandering.”
“Noticed that, did you?”
“Hard not to when your hands get polite.”
I resume my torment, tracing the inseam of his pants. “Better?”
His growl gets lost in the engine noise, but I feel it rumble through his chest. The bike accelerates again, weaving through traffic like a missile seeking its target.
His right hand leaves the handlebar, catches both my wrists, and yanks them up to his chest. Pins them there against hard muscle.
I should fight it. Should hate how easily he controls me.
Through my gloves, his heartbeat pounds steady and strong against my palms. My helmet rests between his shoulder blades, the visor fogging slightly with each breath. Safe. The word should make me laugh. Nothing about this man is safe.
And yet…
