He chuckled low, his hand passing over her leg to pat the side of the motorcycle. “I see you two have gotten to know each other.”
“I like her a lot.” She pressed her bottom to his abdomen.
“Just wait.” He rubbed the length of himself against her, his thickness throbbing between the leather of the seat and…well…her.
He ran his fingertips over her, spreading her open and, with one amazing thrust, joining with her. Immediately, he withdrew.
She nearly sobbed his name.
His breathing stilted as he seated his erection in her once more, a ripple of pleasure pulsing through her. Clearly, he was done with the cat-and-mouse portion of the evening, because he took her with everything she’d ever known him to have.
She gripped the tank as he delivered all he’d promised. Brek moving in and out of her with delicious force, she spiraled as the knot inside tightened—begging for release.
One hand around her stomach, holding her so she didn’t fall, he reached the other to her fingertips and peeled them from the chrome. His hand entangled with hers as he moved it to the handgrip, turning something so the motor between her thighs revved in unison with his thrusts.
The knot inside her released, and while she’d never been a screamer, she was pretty sure an extremely unladylike sound came from her that was anything but a squeak. Her internal muscles clamped around him. His body stilled, the way it always did right before he finished.
Her body had effectively turned to mush.
With rough breaths, he cradled her against the heat of his body—pulling her up to him. He pressed his lips to the crown of her head. “Fuckin’ beautiful.”
Suddenly aware that he was in possession of her panties and his pants had been tossed on the gravel, Velma pulled herself together and started to move from the bike.
His arms tightened their grip. “Nope. Not yet. You need to hear what I’m about to say.”
She paused.
“Turn around.”
It took some maneuvering, but she managed to turn so they faced each other, her legs around his middle.
He stroked her cheek, his touch light. “You are a lot of things, Velma Johnson. You’re high-strung. You’re organized as all fuck.”
She opened her mouth to defend herself, but his fingertip over her lips stopped her.
“Don’t get on me about cussing right now, because what I’m sayin’ is important. You take your living room art too seriously, and you care too much when my socks don’t hit the hamper. But don’t let anyone ever tell you you’re less because of it. Or make you feel like you’re boring because you like things the way you like ’em. Even me. You care deeply about the people in your life. If they can’t see that, fuck ’em.”
She glanced to the exhaust pipe, unable to meet his gaze as a tear slid out of the corner of her right eye.
He ran a fingertip under her chin and lifted her gaze to meet his. “If people can’t appreciate all you bring to the table, they don’t deserve to be in your life.”
In that moment, for the first time in a long time, the stars aligned and the world righted itself. She believed him. Freedom-loving Brek, who would soon ride out of her life as easily as he’d ridden in. The thought caught in her throat, burning her back to reality. What on earth was she supposed to do with herself when he left?
Chapter Eighteen
Countdown to Claire & Dean’s Wedding: 16 Days
Velma doodled a sketch of a poorly drawn motorcycle on her yellow legal pad. Annuity sales meetings were tedious. Her mind drifted from the conference room to her adventures on Brek’s bike the night before.
“Velma.”
She glanced up. Crud. How long had her boss been standing over her? “Sorry, yes?”
“There’s a man in your office here to see you.”
Velma’s pulse dropped at the way Tim, her boss, said “a man.”
“Um…” She glanced from where her boss stood at the door to her colleagues situated around the polished mahogany conference table.
