After three weeks, she didn’t stop him from coming at night. After six weeks, she didn’t turn him away, either. As promised, he disappeared during the day, doing whatever badass bikers did. Sometimes he’d sneak in around dinner just in time for her to make him a plate. Other times, he’d crawl into bed after midnight, smelling faintly of beer.

Never drunk, though. No.

And he never pushed her. Not once.

Now it was warm enough, he wanted to take her out on his bike. But he refused to bring it to her place, to park it behind the bakery. He wouldn’t risk it.

So the car he bought, the one no one knew was his, remained parked in the back lot, as they climbed into her car and he drove it to a storage unit about five miles out of town.

This, what he told her, was where he stored the car during the day, came and picked it up, swapping it out with that “piece of shit” he still borrowed from some brother named Crash, to drive over to her place every night. She was touched at the effort to keep her safe. To keep her from getting entangled in the club’s “beefs.”

But it was soon time to shit or get off the pot.

Either she wanted to be with him without hiding or she didn’t.

Again, it wasn’t something he pushed. However, it was something that gnawed at her.

He deserved better. Especially since his family treated him like a pariah. That ate at her, too. She didn’t want to do the same thing.

So now, instead of driving the POS, he lived on his bike. When they parked her car in front of a unit, he unlocked the padlock and shoved the door up and open.

And there it sat. His pride and joy.

It was beautiful. Almost as beautiful as the man who rounded it, threw a leg over and then hit the starter.

The bike growled to a start and Sophie covered her ears because the echo of what he called straight pipes roared around her, amplified in the small concrete space. Though, he also told her, that space was bigger than the one he’d lived in for the last ten years.

He duck walked the bike out of the storage unit and once it was out in the dark of the night, she could understand the appeal of what sat between his legs. She had to admit it was one hot, badass bike to match her hot, badass lover. The deep rumble vibrated through her all the way to her bones. Her blood began to rush at the rich sound and the look of satisfaction on Zak’s face. He tilted his head back toward the unit and yelled over the exhaust.

“Lid, babe. Gotta wear it.”

The helmet. He had explained, while he could go without, she couldn’t. Not yet. And since she’d never been on the back of a bike before, she agreed it might be for the best.

“But once you feel that wind in your hair, babe, it’ll be in your blood. So bear with the lid for now,” he had said on the drive over.

After grabbing the full-faced helmet from inside the unit, she pulled it on, while he slipped on goggles. Then he helped her adjust the chin strap, making sure it was snug before holding an arm out for her to grab for balance as she climbed on behind him.

After tying one bandana around his head and one around his neck, he reached behind him, snagged her wrists and wrapped her arms around him tightly, saying, “Hold on as tight as you can, don’t wanna lose you.”

She didn’t want to lose him, either. And she didn’t mind hugging him close, pressing her now hard-tipped nipples into his back, skootching her crotch tight to his ass.

He reached back, squeezed her thigh and turned his head to say, “If you let it, the bike might get you off,” before pulling the skull bandana from around his neck over his lower face.

What? What did he mean? How was that even possible?

There was no point in answering through the closed helmet, so she just nodded as if he made sense and then he took off.

After a few miles, the butterflies in her belly disappeared, and she relaxed enough to enjoy the ride.

It seemed they rode forever. Out into the dead of night, into the country, through a few small towns where the traffic was quiet, the residents asleep. But they weren’t. They were wide awake, feeling alive, enjoying the warm weather, enjoying their close contact.

Now she understood his tattoo that read “Ride to live, live to ride.” She could understand how it could get into your blood. The feeling of freedom, the power between your legs. She couldn’t imagine him living without this for a decade.

The longer they rode, the more she became one with the bike and Zak, and then it hit her what he meant earlier, because she was hit with it. The rumble of the engine vibrated up between her thighs, making her throb, making her want him badly. But they were too far out, and she doubted he would pull over or that they could find a private spot to take care of her needs. So she squeezed her eyes shut, pressed her helmet to his back harder, and slipped her hands lower until she cupped him tight. He dropped one hand to hers as she began to rub him through his jeans, feeling him grow beneath her fingers, until she panted in her helmet, steaming up the face shield.

Then it hit her.

The orgasm ripped through her and she cried out, her fingers clenching around him, making him tense.

The bike swerved as he pulled off into the parking lot of a closed park, brought the bike to an abrupt halt, kicked down the kickstand and jumped off, ripping down the bandana from his face. He tugged her helmet’s straps loose and pulled it from her, setting it on the ground.

Then he grabbed her face in both hands and kissed her hard, crushing his mouth to hers, making her groan down his throat.

“Fuck, babe.”

“It happened,” she said, still a little surprised it did.

“I know. Harley’s the best and biggest vibrator out there, babe.”

“That’s for damn sure.”

“Now you got me worked up,” he said, rubbing his fingers over his bulging zipper.

“What are we going to do about it?”

He glanced around the lot. Since it was the middle of the night and the park was officially closed, the place was empty. “Always wanted to fuck on my bike.”

Sophie’s eyes widened. She’d never had sex in a public place. Never even had sex outside. And definitely not on the back of a bike.

“How far are we away from home?”

“Way too far.”

“I was afraid of that. Is it doable?”

Funny that he understood exactly what she meant. “Yeah,” his voice rumbled deep from within his chest, sort of like the bike’s straight pipes. “Get off the bike.”

When she hesitated, because she was trying to figure out in her head how they were going to pull it off, he said, “Off. Now. Hurry.”

She bit her bottom lip trying not to giggle at his impatience.

“Next time, you’re wearin’ a short skirt so you can ride me while I’m still on the bike.”

She didn’t think a short skirt was very smart to wear on a bike. In fact, she would probably end up flashing all her goodies to everyone as they rode. But she’d argue that point later. They had some other urgent business to attend to first.

“Pants and panties to your knees. Now.”

At the same time she was scrambling to do as she was told, he was pushing his jeans down far enough to frame his hard-on, then ripping a condom out of his big-assed leather and chain wallet to roll it on.

“Hands on the seat. Stretch your arms and ass out. Careful of the pipes, the engine. They’ll burn you. Serious, babe. Gimme your ass, keep your legs away.”

Just the heat rolling off the bike made it clear how serious a burn she would get if she touched any hot metal with her bare flesh. She bent over, planted her hands on the seat and pushed out, offering herself to him.

And within seconds… he took her. Hard, fast, rough, fingers digging into her hips, hips slapping against her ass, grunting with every stroke as he fucked her from behind. She couldn’t come like this but she’d already had her climax. Now it was his turn. But he reached around her and touched her where she needed it the most, where the vibrations from the engine had made her most sensitive.

Almost as fast as their first night together months ago, they both came, tensing and crying out at the same moment, their bodies releasing and pulsing together. They stayed connected until the aftershocks stopped and their breathing slowed. Then he bent over, placed a kiss above her ass and slipped out of her. He disposed of the condom in a nearby receptacle, pulled up his jeans, and when he returned to the bike, he said, “Let’s ride.”

Yes, she thought, let’s. She never would have guessed that riding on the back of a motorcycle could be so satisfying.

Now she was cluing in on why so many women hung around the club, hung around these men. She didn’t blame them one bit.

“Babe, you just made ridin’ my Harley so much sweeter,” he said over his shoulder. “Thank you for that.”

She smiled, pulled on her helmet, and wrapped her arms around her man. “You’re welcome.”

He chuckled, shook his head, yanked his bandana back up, pulled down his goggles, and off they went.

Shit or get off the pot. It was a decision she had avoided for over six weeks. And she couldn’t jerk him around any longer.

Tonight made her realize that she either had to give him his freedom or step into the role of being his ol’ lady. See and be seen. Have his back. Or let him live his life and find someone else who could do just that.

As they rode back into the night, she knew her decision had already been made.