Chapter 20 #2
Part of me is likely always going to freak out a little bit when it comes to thinking about getting on a bike, or Liam getting on one, but this is one of those things that I need to make my peace with.
Will I always worry about the people I love no matter what they’re doing?
Yes. Will I choose to remind myself that Liam won’t get on a bike until he knows what he’s doing, and he’ll be careful?
Also yes. I know that he won’t risk his life being reckless, and that the guys at the club will take care of him and train him well.
At least, I hope so. I’m more than willing to believe that based on how Liam and I have been treated so far, regarded as part of their big biker extended family, worried over and protected at every turn.
“Do you think that Liam will give me some say in what he gets when he eventually gets a bike?” Eventually, hopefully being some years away.
Cruz inclines his head. “Absolutely.”
“I hope that you’ll be able to educate me. I don’t know a good bike from a hole in the ground.”
“I think you’d do just fine picking that out. A hole in the ground is fairly obvious.”
I grin around a bite of the second taco. This one is chicken and the seasoning on it is divine. “The best bike is one that’s safe. Is there such a thing?”
“Most guys will tell you that the loud ones are safest because they let everyone on the road know that you’re around.”
“Is that wrong?”
“It’s not entirely incorrect, but safety features should count for something. Riding with a buddy or in a pack until you’re comfortable on the road isn’t the worst thing.”
“Will the guys help Liam pick a bike?”
Cruz is certain about that, I can tell. “They will.” He starts on another taco too. He’s downed three already. We might not have leftovers after all.
“If you could be anything, what would you be?” I want to put a silly question out there, to lighten the mood a little, and alleviate some of my potential worries. It’s easy to put them away and dig them out when the time comes.
“A cat.” Cruz turns and looks at Prissy in her little nest she’s made from the blanket. His whole face softens. Yeah. This man is a great one.
“What about you?”
“I like what I am, but if we’re talking anything, I could be swayed into becoming a blue whale for a day. I think that would be incredible.”
“Damn. I never thought about the underwater world. You’re right. That would be a wild day.”
Cruz gets solemn, thinking about that. We finish the tacos and sip our drinks. They’ve cooled to barely hot, but matcha is delicious hot or cold. After, Cruz helps me clean up. We wash the few dishes we used, just plates and mugs, and as I’m draining the sink, he boxes me in with his strong arms.
“Can I kiss you, Sloane?”
“That depends. Is this the kind of kiss that gets wild and elevates into us getting hot and heavy and having to get to the bedroom?”
“No.”
“No?” I raise a brow playfully, a little disappointed and still a whole lot turned on.
“No, because I plan on taking you there from the start, if that’s okay with you?
I know Liam’s at the clubhouse tonight, but if he should happen to forget something here and come back for it, I don’t want to give him another surprise.
Finding us on the counter, the table, or the floor would scar him for life and we just talked it out. ”
My heart swells. “He told me that you did.”
“How ‘bout it then? Can I sweep you up and carry you to your bedroom?”
“Yes. Please.”
I’m prepared for him to do just that, but when he gets an arm under my legs and makes it happen like he can defy gravity, I let out a little squeal. I slip my arm around his neck mostly because I want it there. I don’t need any extra support.
Cruz carries me down the hall. He stops in front of the bed and sets me on my feet. He steps back, looking almost nervous. It’s adorable. “So?” I challenge. “What now?”
He steps close, challenging me playfully.
I’m not the least bit threatened by him getting up in my space.
It’s hot, having him so close, especially when his touch is so gentle, so at odds with the size of him.
He brushes my wrist then trails his hand higher, caressing my arm.
He doesn’t stop until he cups my face. He tilts it up, but doesn’t kiss me.
I know that he can see the light burning in there, just for him.
I want this. I want him to discover me. To teach me, lead me, learn from me, and follow.
I want to trade him half my heart for half his in return.
When our mouths finally meet, it fires me to life, sending lightning through my veins.
He’s adrenaline and calm. He storms my body, but at the same time, his touch and his lips are familiar, like waking into the sunlight and taking that first breath of fresh morning air.
I want more. I want to fill my lungs with him. To drink him down greedily.
I grasp his t-shirt, balling my fists into the fabric. He backs me up as his tongue traces the seam of my lips. I open for him, gasping, and sink into his kiss. His tongue laps at mine, then dances and tangles. I get my hands under his shirt. I push and pull until it’s up near his shoulders.
He tears it off, heaving for breath, and while he’s broken the kiss, he attacks his jeans as well, undoing the button and zipper, then wrenching them down his legs.
He kicks his boots off, sending them flying, and shucks his jeans in a hurry.
He stands in his boxers, so glorious, the shadows mingling with the light from the hallway, playing over every single sculpted plain and angle.
The carved channel of his abs constricts with every breath.
Beneath his tight black boxers, I can clearly see the outline of his massive, hard cock.
I go for my own clothes, unbuttoning my sweater with all the vines and bunches of grapes. I toss it onto the chair in the corner of the room. My jeans go next, and then I stand like a mirror image across from Cruz, in black panties and my black camisole. Not nearly as carved. I’m more soft edges.
Cruz looks at me like I’m everything. Beautiful. Sexy. Smart. Kind.
He walks to me, radiating purpose. Not menacing, but that stride that a man has when he knows what he wants. Me. I’m what he wants. That still blows my mind. Me, with my fairly average life, my boring hobbies, my funky knit sweaters. Me, who has a grown kid and I’m nearing forty.
He grasps my waist and kisses me. He devours my mouth as though I’m not only the one he wants, but the best thing he’s ever tasted in his life. He guides me back to the bed, never breaking the kiss. I never want him to stop. Don’t stop touching me. Kissing me. Wanting me. Craving me.