Chapter Two #3
Though, one day she’s gonna punch me for real, and it’s gonna be the hottest moment of my fucking life.
I try not to look too pleased about that, but knowing me, I fail, probably.
My fingers linger near the strap for one second longer than they should before I finally drop my hands. “Sure thing, Mama.”
The ride starts with Cece acting like touching me might give her a disease.
She sits behind me stiff as hell, hands barely at my sides, thighs hovering like that inch of space is saving her from something.
I give her maybe thirty seconds of that pride before I pull out of the lot and hit the street. The bike rumbles under us, smooth and low, and the second I give it a little more gas, her arms snap around my waist.
There she is.
I smile into the night.
Tampa stretches out around us, all humid air, palm shadows, glowing signs, and warm pavement.
I don’t ride crazy with her on the back.
Fast enough to make her hold on, yeah, but not fast enough to scare her.
People love calling me reckless because they don’t know the difference between taking a risk and being a dumbass.
I know my bike.
I know the road.
And right now, I know exactly how close she’s pressed against my back.
At first, she’s tense. Fighting it. Fighting me and the fact that every turn makes her grip tighten.
But little by little, she settles. Her chest warms my back.
Her helmet bumps my shoulder when she looks around.
Her hands stop clutching like she’s trying not to die and start holding like maybe, just maybe, she trusts me not to kill her.
That shit hits harder than it should.
At a red light, her fingers flex against my stomach.
I look down.
My hoodie sleeves swallow her hands, and something possessive kicks hard in my chest.
Mine looks good on her.
I ride through it before it can get worse.
When we hit her street, she taps my side and points. I pull up in front of a small house with warm porch lights and flowers near the steps. Soft and sweet. Way too cute for a woman who threatened my teeth and called me community service.
I kill the engine.
For a second, neither of us moves.
I don’t point it out.
See? Growth.
Instead, I climb off first, pull my gloves off with my teeth, then tug my helmet free and hang it on the handlebar. The night air hits my face, warm and damp, but Cece stays right where she is, sitting on my bike like she belongs there and hates that I might notice.
I notice.
Obviously.
I step in front of her and reach for her helmet. “Let me get that.”
She huffs, but she doesn’t stop me when I undo the strap beneath her chin. My knuckles brush her throat, and her whole body goes still for half a second.
There it is.
I take the helmet off slowly, and her hair falls loose around her face, messy from the ride. Her cheeks are flushed. Her lips are parted. Her eyes are too bright.
Fuck.
She looks good like this.
A little wild and pissed off, but a lot like trouble.
I take half a step back and hold out a hand. “Come on. I’ll help you down.”
She looks at my hand like I offered her a curse. “I can get off a fucking bike, Revel.”
“You’re wearing heels.”
“And you’re wearing my patience thin.”
I laugh. “Fine. Go ahead, Mama.”
Her eyes narrow at the challenge. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?”
“There she is,” I say, grinning.
“Do not ‘there she is me.’” Cece shifts, swinging one leg over the bike with way too much confidence and not nearly enough balance. “And don’t grin at me like you’re proud of yourself, because I swear to God, Revel, if you call me mama one more—”
Her wedge catches on the passenger foot peg.
Her whole body tips mid-threat.
I catch her before she can hit the ground, one arm locking around her waist, the other catching her hip.
For half a second, all that fire goes quiet.
Then her hands slam against my chest, fingers curling into my shirt.
I look down at her. “You were saying?”
Her eyes drop to my lips.
Then back up.
My grip tightens without meaning to.
“Careful,” I say, my voice dropping before I can stop it. “You almost fell for me.”
Her breath catches.
Fuck.
That tiny little crack in all that attitude, and God help me, I want to shove my fingers into it and pull until she stops pretending.
Her chin lifts, stubborn as hell, but her hands stay fisted in my shirt. She’s close enough that her mouth is right there. Close enough that I can feel the heat of her breath and see the way her eyes keep trying not to drop to my lips.
They drop anyway.
My grip tightens at her waist.
I should let her go.
I don’t.
Because she’s looking at me like she wants to tell me off and climb me at the same time, and fuck, she is hot when she’s fighting herself.
“Cece,” I murmur.
That does it.
She kisses me.
Hard.
No warning. No sweet little lead-in. Just her mouth on mine, pissed off and hungry, like she’s mad she wants it and decided I’m the one who should suffer for it.
A groan tears out of me, rough and low, because holy shit.
She tastes even better than I imagined.
And I imagined a lot.
Fuck, yes.
I kiss her back, one hand sliding into her hair, the other dropping lower, gripping her ass as I lift her onto the seat of my bike.
She gasps against my mouth when I set her there, her knees opening enough for me to step between them, and then her hands are on me again, dragging me closer like she hates I was even an inch away.
The kiss gets messy fast.
Teeth catching lips. Tongue sliding against tongue.
Her nails scraping up my chest while mine grip her hips, her waist, the bare strip of skin where my hoodie has ridden up.
She bites my bottom lip, and I groan into her mouth, pressing closer until there’s nowhere for either of us to pretend this is accidental.
“Fuck,” I breathe against her lips.
She pulls back just enough to glare at me. “We can’t do this.”
“You kissed me first.”
“That has nothing to do with anything.”
“It has everything to do with everything.”
“Shut up.”
She grabs my shirt and kisses me again.
And yeah.
I shut the fuck up.
For about three seconds.
Then my hands slide over her thighs, thumbs pressing into warm skin as I pull her closer on the bike. She melts into it before she remembers she’s supposed to be fighting me, her body softening, mouth opening, breath turning shaky when I drag my lips from her mouth to the corner of her jaw.
“Revel,” she whispers, and fuck me, hearing my name like that nearly ends me.
I kiss her throat once.
Just once.
Enough to feel her pulse jump under my mouth and make her fingers tighten in my hair.
Then she freezes.
The wall comes back so fast I almost feel it slam between us.
Cece shoves at my chest, slipping off the bike before I can decide whether to help or get slapped for trying. Her cheeks are flushed, mouth swollen, hair a mess, and she looks furious.
Mostly at herself.
But fuck me if it still doesn’t get my cock twitching.
“That never happened.”
I blink at her.
Then my grin spreads all on its own. “Which part?”
“All of it.”
“You’re gonna have to be more specific, Mama. A lot just happened.”
Her eyes flash. “No. Nothing happened. There was no kiss. There was no”—she gestures wildly between us, like the air itself betrayed her—“whatever that was.”
“That was you climbing me in your driveway.”
“I did not climb you.”
“Well, shit.” I lean back against the bike, grin pulling wide before I can stop it. “What do you wanna call it then? Overtime community service?”
Her eyes flash. “Mentira.”
“You kissed me like you were trying to resuscitate the needy.”
“You’re fucking delusional.”
“Maybe.” I drag my thumb over my bottom lip, still feeling her there. “But your mouth was real committed to saving me.”
“Dios mío, I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” My gaze drops to her swollen lips, then lifts back to her eyes. “That’s kinda the problem.”
“You are impossible.”
“And you’re so fucking cute when you panic.”
She points at me as she backs toward her house. “This never happened.”
“Sure.”
“I mean it, Revel.”
“Oh, I know.”
“Stop smiling.”
“Can’t.”
“Try harder.”
“No.”
She mutters something in Spanish that sounds like a threat and storms up the walkway, tugging my hoodie tighter around herself like she has no intention of giving it back.
Good.
At the door, she turns, still flushed and glaring, looking like the best bad decision I’ve made in a long fucking time.
“And don’t text me about this.”
I tilt my head. “So you want me to text you about something else?”
Her mouth opens and closes as her glare gets hotter. “Goodnight.”
“Night, Mama.”
She flips me off before disappearing inside.
The door shuts, and I stand there beside my bike with my mouth still tingling and my hands still remembering exactly how she felt.
Never happened.
Sure.
She can lie to herself all she wants.
I’ll remember enough for both of us.