“Ryder?” I sit up and wince at the delicious ache between my thighs.
Memories of his mouth on me, his body moving against mine, the way he grunted my name into my neck when he came. Heat floods my cheeks, and I bury my head in my hands with a groan.
After pulling on a T-shirt and shorts, I pad downstairs, following the scent of coffee and something sweet that makes my stomach growl.
Ryder is sitting at the kitchen island, scrolling through his phone. The muscles in his back flex as he reaches for his coffee mug, and I take a moment to appreciate the view—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, his dark hair still damp from the shower.
The counter is covered with plates of steaming food—a stack of chocolate chip pancakes, a bowl of scrambled eggs with melted cheese, and a plate of crispy bacon.
“Wow. You really are a cook, aren’t ya?” I say as I head toward the coffeepot. “What do you have planned for today?”
When he looks up at me, the heat in his eyes almost makes me drop my mug. He gives me a slow once-over, more than obvious he’s remembering every detail from last night.
“My motorcycle was sitting next to my truck when I went outside this morning,” he says, voice rough. “I have today off. So I figured we’d go for a ride.”
I suck in a breath at the news, nearly choking on my coffee. “Your motorcycle?”
“Yep.” He spears a piece of pancake with his fork.
“So first you, then your truck, then your clothes, and now your motorcycle. What’s next, a pet tiger?”
He laughs, the sound warming me from the inside out. “God, I hope not. But I wouldn’t put it past the universe at this point.”
Taking a bite of pancake, I moan. “These are amazing.”
“I know.” His eyes darken. “Those are the same noises you made last night.”
My cheeks flush. “Stop.”
“Make me,” he challenges, leaning close.
Setting down my fork, I reach over and grab a fistful of his shirt, pulling him in for a kiss. He tastes like maple syrup and coffee.
His hand cups the back of my neck, holding me in place as his tongue tangles with mine before he pulls back abruptly. “Guess you showed me, huh, kitten?”
Mortified, I pick my fork back up and take a bite ofcheesy eggs.
“Hey, you okay?”
I shrug. “Why did you pull away so fast?”
Ryder shoves his empty plate aside and grins. “Because I can’t have you distracting me. Or be out in public all day with a hard on.”
“Oh.” I smile and take another bite.
“We’re going to take a road trip to the coast.”
“It’s too cold to go swimming.”
“We are not going swimming,” he says with a quick shake of his head. “Just riding up the coast to a great little seafood place where we can have lunch.”
Thirty minutes later,after changing into jeans and a light sweater, I’m standing in the driveway staring at a vintage black 1976 Triumph Bonneville gleaming in the sunlight.
Ryder runs his hand along the seat with such reverence, I almost feel a twinge of jealousy. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
Okay, maybe not almost.
“I guess. If you’re into potential organ donation.”
