Epilogue
Sadie
One month later, two miles down a dirt road – Mojave Desert, California
“You gonna tell me why we drove out to the middle of nowhere this late at night?” I ask, accepting Cam’s hand as he helps me hop down from his truck.
“We’re crossing something off your list,” he says, dropping a kiss on top of my head before stepping back and pulling his shirt off.
Is have sex in the desert on my list? I don’t think so.
“You gonna start taking your clothes off, or do you want my help?” he asks with a please-say-yes smirk and a raised brow.
When I continue to stare at him, confused, he chuckles and unbuttons his pants.
What am I missing?
Tossing his jeans onto the seat of his truck, he points up at the sky. My eyes follow his finger straight to the bright, shining moon, and then it clicks. Dance naked under the full moon.
“You’re going to dance with me?” I ask, finally catching on, and lifting my sundress over my head.
He leans against the truck, and a moment later, Dreams by Fleetwood Mac starts playing through the speakers. When he turns back to face me, I toss the dress at him.
His eyes widen as he takes me in—standing in the desert in only my bra and panties. “Unless you’d rather I sit back and watch,” he says, setting my dress down and then reaching for his underwear.
“No, I think it’s more fun this way,” I say, rushing to get the rest of my clothes off and kicking off my sandals. The sand—still toasty from the day’s 112-degree heat—is soothing under my feet, and the still desert air is warm enough to keep me comfortable as I spin in a flowing circle, lifting my hands to the sky.
A moment later, one of Cam’s warm hands grasps mine, and he spins me around and around. I sway my hips as he moves me loosely in and out of his hold, matching the easy, sultry beat. Before long, my cheeks ache from smiling, and he pulls me in for a giggling kiss.
Lifting onto my toes, I whisper into his ear, “Even though we’re crossing this one off, I think we should do it again next month.”
Cam
Five months later, Sadie and Cam’s garage – Palm Springs, California
“Isn’t she gorgeous?” I ask, stepping back to admire my new royal blue race bike, wrapped in its custom Checkers Media branding, sitting on stands in our garage.
“I’m unsure what qualifies a motorcycle as attractive, but sure.” Sadie smiles sleepily, tucking a wild strand of hair behind her ear. The call about the bike being delivered woke us up earlier than usual. She insisted on coming outside to see it, though the news didn’t give her the same adrenaline rush it gave me. She lifts her chin toward the bike. “Let me see how you look on it.”
Swinging my leg over the back of the bike, I settle onto the seat. I’m going to win championships on this machine. I lean forward, feeling the handlebars in my grip for the first time, then run my hands over the gas tank and look back at my girl.
Her eyes sparkle, and her lips curl into a sexy smirk.
“See something you like?” I ask.
“No matter how hard I tried, I never could bring myself to hate the way you look on a motorcycle,” she giggles, stepping closer to me.
I shift back, making more room on the seat in front of me. “Want to help me break it in?”
“I’m not riding on the back of that thing,” she scoffs, as though I’ve lost it.
I spread my legs wider to make space for her and pat the seat in front of me. “That’s not what I was inviting you to ride.”
The look on her face shifts with each thought that crosses her mind. I wish I could hear them, but I think I’m getting better at guessing. Based on the way she tugs her lip between her teeth and narrows her eyes, I bet she’s caught between I’ve never had sex on a motorcycle before and what if it falls over?
“It’s steady. Promise I won’t let us fall,” I say, shifting my weight side to side to show how the stands hold the bike.
She takes another step closer, her sleepy expression gone—replaced with flushed cheeks and a sexy smirk. “Okay,” she says, patting her hands on the gas tank and seat before looking up at me. “How do I get up there?”
I guide her to brace herself with a hand on my thigh and a foot on the peg, helping her lift herself onto the bike, facing me, with her ass resting on the gas tank and her legs draped over my thighs—on either side of my hips.
She slides down, aligning herself over my thickening cock and rocks against me. “I’ve never had sex on a motorcycle,” she breathes out, teasing me.
“Neither have I,” I groan, using my hands on her waist to press her down, increasing the pressure between our bodies.
“Really?” Sadie lifts her face, pressing her lips against mine in a hot kiss.
I’ve had opportunities to fuck on a motorcycle before, but it never felt worth it until now. “Was saving it for you,” I say. It takes some effort, but between kisses, I manage to pull off her shorts and panties while keeping her balanced on the bike.
Her fingertips push at the waistband of my pajama pants until the Ride it Like You Stole It lettering is visible. She traces an agonizingly slow, teasing line across the words. “I think I’d like to,” she whispers.
When my fingers dip between her legs to get her ready for me, I find her already soaked.
She pushes my hand away, instead reaching to free me from my pants. “I want your cock now ,” she says, pressing a hand to my chest as she lines herself up and slowly lowers down, surrounding me with her tight heat until she’s filled herself completely.
Propping her hands on the gas tank behind her, she lifts and lowers herself—giving me an obscenely perfect view of her sex as it’s filled by my hard length.
The strap of her tank top falls off her shoulder as she picks up speed, riding me for her pleasure and mine. Somehow, the fact that she’s still wearing that tiny shirt makes this even hotter.
With my feet planted firmly on the ground, I keep the bike steady as she finds a more fervent rhythm—rocking my cock into her g-spot, sending us both into wild, panting climaxes.
She collapses against my chest, breathing heavily.
“If that’s not riding it like you stole it, I don’t know what is,” I chuckle, amazed by her. “If I say something about you stealing my heart, would it be too cheesy and ruin the moment?”
“Oh, my word, Cameron,” she laughs, tilting her head back to meet my gaze. “No, that would be adorable.”
“Well, then,” I say, running my fingers through her hair before cupping her soft cheek in my hand. “Of course, you ride me like you stole me. You have stolen my heart, Sadie Winslow. I am yours.”
Sadie
Six months later, Sadie and Cam’s kitchen – Palm Springs, California
“Hey, gorgeous,” Cam greets me as he walks into the kitchen.
“Hey, you , gorgeous,” I reply, licking frosting off my fingertip as my eyes trail over all six and a half feet of his bare skin.
When we first moved in together, I thought Cam just loved walking around shirtless. Turns out I was wrong. The man loves to be naked. Shirtless, with sweatpants on, was a courtesy for me when I was his roommate and fake girlfriend. Now that I’m his real girlfriend, he rarely bothers with pants—usually just boxer briefs, and sometimes—like right now—not even those.
I admire the muscular cut of his ass as he walks past me. Wait. Is that ...? There’s black ink on it that I’ve never seen before.
“Did you get a new ass tattoo?” I ask, stepping closer for a better look.
“What do you mean?” he asks, spinning around like a dog chasing its tail.
“Stop being ridiculous,” I laugh, pressing a hand to his hip to still him. “You totally did. Right here,” I tap his ass cheek where there’s definitely a new tattoo—high up, just a few inches away from his pinup tattoo.
“Oh, that?” he says, his blue-green eyes lighting up, and a grin spreading wide across his face as he looks over his shoulder at me. “I’d almost forgotten. What do you think of it?”
The tattoo is still fresh, the black lettering large and swooping in script. It looks like it says—but that can’t be—would he? Does he? What else could it say , though? He’s really—he wants to—oh my word, I’m tearing up over a damn ass tattoo. After a few stunned moments, I finally admit it to myself. It really says what I’d hoped it would.
Marry me, sunshine?
My voice barely escapes, a stunned giggle accompanying my question. “Are you proposing to me with an ass tattoo?”
He turns around and drops to one knee. “I am. Didn’t want anyone else to see it and think it was for them.” His smile turns shy as he says, “Marry me, sunshine?”
I nod, tears welling up as I repeatedly nod, and finally, I find my voice. “Yes.” I fall into his arms, and we tumble to the kitchen floor, laughing and kissing. He’s stark naked, and I’m wearing an apron splattered with frosting. It’s perfect.
“There’s a ring, too,” he says, squeezing my hand and pulling it to his chest. “But I don’t have it on me.”
“I’d hope not,” I laugh.
Cam
Ten years later, a bowling alley – Palm Springs, California
The "Things I've Never Done" lists have become a family tradition. Sadie has one. I have one. We have a shared one, one for the whole family, and the kids even have their own. There are only two holdouts left from Sadie’s original list, and she’s so damn close to crossing one of them off.
She’s one of the best bowlers in our league—a hell of a lot better than I am. Six months ago, she even bowled a 298.
We’ve been here a few times before in the last couple of years—only one strike to go—and every time, the pressure has been immense. I’ve tried offering encouraging words, standing by her side, even trying to quiet the alley, but nothing has helped.
Everyone knows what’s happening, and she’s gathered a crowd. The thing is—part of succeeding at this is pulling it off under pressure.
My heart races as she lines it up, swings the ball, and sends it down the lane. The two seconds it takes to reach the pins feel like an eternity, but it looks good . It looks like she’s got it.
The ball hits, and all ten pins go flying.
My girl spins around, throwing her hands triumphantly in the air and screaming, “I did it!”
I rush to her and lift her up in a tight hug. “So fucking proud of you,” I whisper before setting her down so she can soak up the congratulations flooding in from everyone around us.
Hours later, when the celebrating has settled and we’re walking to our car, I squeeze her hand and say, “Now, if you’ll just let me cross ‘ bake a perfect cookie ’ off, your original list will be finished.”
“Maybe someday,” she giggles.