Chapter Nineteen
Camille
We’ve been on several dates now. Spent late nights laughing on my porch, and today, Hunter decided it was time to test my limits and take me out on his motorcycle.
If anyone else had suggested it, I would have flat-out refused.
My anxiety never allowed for things that felt reckless.
I liked seat belts, four doors, and safety ratings.
But with him? Somehow, the word “no” never made it past my lips.
He’d already earned a kind of trust I didn’t give easily.
So here I was listening to the rumble of his Harley, its sound deep and commanding as it rolled down my street. My stomach churned with a mix of anticipation and fear.
He pulled up with easy confidence, the kind that comes from being one with the machine.
My heart raced as I eyed the bike sitting at the curb like a beast, all black steel and sharp chrome.
This thing looked like it ate miles for breakfast and spat them back out in smoke.
Small pops of purple flashed against the black, showing a glimmer of his personality.
I swallowed hard. Every instinct screamed I should be afraid, but it wasn’t the kind of fear that held you back.
It was the kind that pulled you forward, reckless and intoxicating.
With him at the controls and me wrapped around him, this danger also held a bit of freedom.
The kind that makes your pulse race, your breath catch, and your body crave the ride anyway.
Hunter turned off the engine, swung his leg over, and tugged off his helmet. My breath caught. Broad shoulders, scruffy ginger beard, that lopsided grin. He was every bit the danger I kept promising myself I would avoid. And yet, here I was.
“Hey, Beautiful,” he said, voice warm with humor.
“Hey,” I answered, though my voice sounded thinner than I wanted.
He gave me the rundown, each rule spoken with patience and a quiet seriousness as he leaned against the motorcycle, tossing me a playful grin. “Okay, you ready? Rule number one: lean when I lean,” he said, tapping the side of the bike. “You up for that?”
I bit my lip, eyes darting to the bike. “I think I can manage that.”
“Good,” Hunter nodded, the humor evident in his voice. “Rule two: hold on tight. I don’t want to lose you back there. Deal?”
I laughed softly, the sound easing the tension. “Deal.”
Hunter took a small step closer, eyes serious but still light. “Rule three: always, and I mean always, get off on the left side.”
“Why’s that?” I asked, brow raised.
“Exhaust’s on the right, burn your leg, and then I’ll have to explain to your kids why there’s a burnt spot on mommy’s jeans.”
That made me chuckle as I gave him a mock-shiver. “Noted.”
He watched me for a moment longer, a quiet assurance in his gaze. “And don’t panic.” My grip tightening slightly. “Got it. No panicking.”
Our eyes met, and there was a moment’s pause, where seriousness mingled with excitement, his light smile putting me more at ease. I swallowed, nodding.
“Good girl.” His voice softened as he held out a helmet.
He didn’t just hand it to me; he gently placed it over my head, adjusted the strap, and clipped it under my chin.
His fingers brushed my skin, careful, deliberate.
The simple intimacy of the gesture rattled me more than the thought of getting on the bike.
Climbing on was clumsy and awkward. My sneakers scraped against the peg, and I wobbled before managing to swing my leg over. I could feel his shoulders shake as he suppressed a laugh.
“Not a word,” I muttered.
He chuckled anyway, and the sound was so rich I almost forgot how terrified I was. He twisted back slightly, meeting my eyes through the visor. “You ready?” No. Absolutely not. But my hand found his, squeezed once, and I said, “Yeah.”
And then we were off.
The first rush stole my breath. Wind whipped against my sweater, the world blurring past in streaks of neon and shadow. My instinct was to stiffen, to fight every lean, every tilt of the bike. My arms locked around him, my helmet knocking against the back of his when he braked or accelerated.
At a red light, he turned his head to allow me to hear him. “You’ve got to lean with me, Cami. Don’t fight it. If you don’t trust me, we both go down.”
I wanted to argue. But his voice was patient, steady, and unshakable, like he had all the time in the world for me to get it right.
So I tried. I let myself go with the motion, pressed tighter against him, and slowly the fear loosened its grip.
He must have felt it too, because every so often, his hand left the handlebars long enough to squeeze mine where it rested against his stomach.
Those little squeezes grounded me, reminded me I wasn’t doing this alone, safe with him.
By the time we stopped by the water, my body felt different.
Lighter, alive in ways I hadn’t been in years.
I pulled the helmet off and shook out my curls, trying to catch my breath.
My cheeks hurt from smiling, my heart still racing from the mix of fear and freedom.
Hunter swung his leg off the bike, moving with an ease that made me jealous.
He pulled off his helmet and ran a hand through his hair.
His eyes found mine, and that small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Still mad I took that turn fast?”
I smirked, trying to sound braver than I felt. “You did it on purpose.”
He shrugged, stepping closer. “Maybe. You were holding on pretty tight.”
“Because I like being alive.”
He laughed softly, the sound rough and low in his chest. “Yeah? ‘Cause it felt like more than that.” He set the helmets down and pulled two bottles of water from his saddlebags. We walked just a few feet away from the curb and sat side by side on a bench overlooking the water. I admired his bike as it sat there gleaming under the pier lights, as he told me more about growing up in upstate New York. How he’d spend days out in the woods hunting and riding dirt bikes before he was old enough to drive.
And eventually choosing the Marine Corps because he thought it might give him the same sense of direction his father had found.
The more he spoke, the more his walls slipped.
His humor was still there, but now with a raw edge.
And I soaked it in like sunlight, watching the way the shadows caught in his jawline, the way the streetlights danced in his eyes.
I was seeing pieces of him that no one else had been allowed to touch.
At some point, I realized I wasn’t just listening.
I was staring. His hand rested loosely on my thigh, the veins in his forearm visible under the ink of his tattoo, the koi fish seeming almost alive in the dim glow.
My fingers itched to trace it, to learn every line of him the way he was trusting me with every word.
When his gaze flicked to mine, I froze. But he didn’t look away. He just held me there, steady and searching, and it was suddenly impossible to pretend that this was just another date. The air between us had shifted: charged, expectant.
Hours went by of us talking and sharing stories until the warm colors of the sky started to shift with the later hours. We began to make our way back to his bike to return home. As I reached his bike, I turned to where he stood beside me.
The crashing of the waves, the salt in the air, the faint warmth radiating off his body; it all pressed in a way that felt both too much and not enough.
I moved closer without meaning to, his height forcing me to tilt my chin up.
The warmth of his skin against mine spread through me like fire, and suddenly the world shrank to the inches between us.
My back brushed the bike, the metal still warm from the ride.
The vibration seemed to hum through me, grounding and electric all at once.
He took a half step forward, close enough that his shadow spilled over mine, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him.
His eyes flicked from my mouth to my eyes and back again, waiting for permission he didn’t need to ask for.
He let out a shaky, uneven breath, then cupped my jaw in one calloused hand.
His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth, and my breath hitched.
The first touch of his lips was soft, almost hesitant, as he tested the weight of the moment.
I felt it everywhere: in the back of my knees, in the quick flutter under my ribs.
When I leaned in, everything changed. He kissed me like he’d been holding back for too long.
His other hand slid to my waist, fingers splaying against my hip, drawing me in until my body pressed against the solid heat of his.
The bike behind me steadied us, but everything else tilted. The air, the ground, and my heart.
He tasted of salt and wind. His beard grazed my chin, a soft scrape that made my skin shiver. I felt the faint tremor in his hand when it traced up my side, resting at the small of my back as if he was memorizing me.
When we finally broke apart, neither of us moved. His forehead rested against mine, his breath mingling with mine, both of us unsteady. The fabric of his shirt was warm beneath my fingers.
Hunter’s voice came out low, rough. “You make it real hard to keep my head straight.”
I smiled, still breathless. “Maybe that’s the point.”
He chuckled, the sound deep and lazy in his chest. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”
“Pretty sure you were the one going ninety down the coast.” I teased, tracing the line of his collarbone with my fingertip.
His lips quirked. “Yeah, but you didn’t exactly tell me to slow down.”
“Maybe I liked it,” I said softly, meeting his eyes.
“Careful saying things like that, Cami.”
His voice dropped lower, rough enough to scrape against my pulse. The warning should’ve made me nervous, but it didn’t. It only pulled me closer. His hand slid to the back of my neck, thumb tracing lazy circles against my skin.
“Why?” I whispered, breath catching.
His gaze darkened, heat and restraint tangled together. “Because I’m already fighting every instinct not to take you right here.”
The air between us went still, thick with something that felt both dangerous and inevitable. My heart raced, the edges of everything else blurring until it was just him—his breath, his voice, his touch.
“Who says I want you to fight it?” I murmured, my fingers curling into his shirt.
His jaw flexed, the muscle twitching as if he was barely holding himself back. “You’re playing with fire.”
“Maybe I like that too,” I said softly.
He exhaled through his nose, that small, crooked grin returning—half hunger, half surrender. “Yeah,” he muttered, pulling me closer until our foreheads touched. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
And then he kissed me again—slower this time, deeper, like he’d given up pretending he didn’t want to. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for permission, but still felt like an answer to every question we hadn’t dared to speak.
When it was time to get back on, I climbed clumsily again. He looked over his shoulder, a grin tugging at his mouth. “So, quick question before we head back, were you trying to knock me out back there, or is headbutting just your way of flirting?”
My jaw dropped, heat rushing to my cheeks. “I did not headbutt you!”
“You did. At least three times. I was starting to worry you were going to give yourself a concussion.”
I smacked his shoulder lightly, laughing despite myself. “I can’t even with you.”
He only grinned wider as he settled his helmet back on. “And yet, you keep getting back on.”
As we rode back, I leaned without hesitation. Letting go, letting him guide. It had been so long since I’d trusted anyone enough to just… follow. No plan, no control. Just me, pressed against him, the night roaring around us.
It wasn’t just the freedom that shook me.
It was him. The solid feel of his body between my thighs, the steady strength of his hands, the warmth radiating through his shirt, the ache curling low in my stomach was undeniable.
I craved him. Craved the weight of his touch, the heat of his mouth.
Craved him in a way I wasn’t sure I’d ever allowed myself to crave anyone before.