I check the road behind us. The tree line stays dark. Silent besides crickets and her breathing. Harrison didn't follow, and nobody else did either. Only I move. I strip my helmet off, set it on the tank, and swing my leg over.
My hands find her hips, hauling her forward along the seat until her knees bracket my legs. She gasps, grabbing my shoulders. I unclip her helmet. When I lift it off, her hair spills out, mussed and wild, the tie slipping free and landing on the seat. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes bright and fierce. Her scrubs are wrinkled from the shift; the fabric is soft and worn.
"You pulled over."
"You started touching me on the highway." I take her jaw, tilt her face up. "Tell me what you need, sweetheart."
Her throat moves. Fingers curl tighter in my jacket. "You." Voice sharp, certain. "It's still in my head. I want you to fuck me until all I can think about is you."
I crash my mouth onto hers, tongue sweeping in. She moans, hands dragging up my chest into my hair, and draws me closer. One hand braced on the seat, the other firm on her jaw, I press her back until the tank stops her. She's still on the bike, kneesapart, me standing between her thighs. The height lines us up and she knows it, rolling her hips against the ridge of my cock through denim.
"More," she whispers against my mouth.
I trace her jaw with my lips, dip to the tender skin beneath her ear. She arches, fingers knotting in my hair. "You want to come back to your body?" I growl against her throat. "Listen to me. I'm going to fill you so full of me there's no room for anything else. Just the sound of you saying my name when I make you come."
She laughs, breathless, teeth dragging her bottom lip. "You're sure of yourself."
"You married me. You knew what you were getting."
Her hand trails down my chest, nails scraping through cotton, and grazes over my cock. Her fingers trace the length of me, measuring.
"Knox." Demanding.
I grip her hip. "Use your words."
Her heel finds the peg, bracing hard, pulling herself tighter against me. "Remind me who I belong to," she says, voice thick as she grinds against me.
I lean in, foreheads together. "You're mine," I tell her, level even as my body aches. "You chose me. You stay with me. No one changes that."
She nods once, jaw set. "Yes."
"Say it back."
"Yours. I'm yours."
I kiss her this time with intent, hands beneath her scrub top, fingers on bare skin. She shivers into my touch. I push the fabric up, thumbs tracing her ribs and the curve beneath her breasts. She arches into my palms.
"No dinosaurs tonight," I murmur against her mouth.
She bites my lip. "Shut up about the dinosaurs."
"Just checking."
My hands travel down her stomach and hook into the waistband of her scrub pants. I draw back far enough to work them over her hips, down her thighs. She braces on the seat and lifts, letting me drag them past her knees, off one leg. Good enough.
I step back between her thighs. She's bare from the waist down except for one pant leg bunched at her ankle, and the sight of her on my bike in a wrinkled scrub top with nothing else hits me somewhere primal.
I find her already wet. I groan, two fingers circling her entrance. Her hips jerk.
"Every time you say my name, sweetheart, I'm fucking done. You wreck me."
She rocks against my hand, seeking friction. I give her one finger, curling it until her breath catches. A second. She clenches around me, thighs trembling.
"How do you want me?" I whisper low and hot against her ear as my thumb circles her clit.
Her voice drops, unwavering despite the flush climbing her throat. "You know what I want."
"I want to hear you say it." I curl deeper, work my thumb harder. Her spine bows.
