Kara

 

Kara tossed and turned in her bed for hours. She wanted to sleep. She knew that she needed to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes all she could imagine was some leather-clad biker lurking in the alley next to her bedroom, watching her from the shadows and waiting for her to drift off to sleep so he could sneak in and make his move.

 

Ryder being in the other room helped, but that only made her wonder if he’d be able to get to her in time if something happened.

 

And that kiss lingered on her mind. Kara knew that she’d done the right thing in turning him down, but she also knew that she’d be lying to herself if she tried to deny that part of her had wanted to just sink down into the kiss, to let herself succumb to her desire.

 

“Gah!” she shouted, sitting up in bed.

 

The realization that she wasn’t going to be able to sleep took hold of her, and she began to pace back and forth in her bedroom. All she could think about was how much better, how much safer, she’d feel if Ryder was there with her.

 

But not in a sex sort of way, she thought to herself. Just in a “keeping me safe” way.

 

Taking a deep breath, she opened her bedroom door and approached Ryder where he lay on the couch. His eyes shot open as she stood over him. And on his chest was Furball, curled up tight and purring softly.

 

“What’s up?” he asked, coming quickly to alertness.

 

“I see you’ve made a friend,” said Kara.

 

“Huh? Oh, I think he just likes me because I’m warm.”

 

Wouldn’t mind a little of that warmth myself, thought Kara before banishing the idea from her head.

 

“Um, this might sound weird,” she said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, “but would you mind sleeping in my bed?”

 

Ryder’s eyebrows raised.

 

“And by that, I mean sleep in my bed, not sleep with me.”

 

“I got that,” he said. “Something wrong?”

 

“I just, I don’t know, I guess I’m just all worried about everything that’s going on. I can’t sleep.”

 

“Yeah, sure,” said Ryder.

 

He stood up, gently picking up Furball as he did. Kara couldn’t help but smile at the careful way he picked up the cat so as to not wake him before setting it back down on the couch.

 

“Maybe your place could be his forever home,” said Kara with a smile.

 

“No way,” he said, uncharacteristically startled. “Just don’t want to hear him meowing all night.”

 

“Sure,” said Kara.

 

Moments later the two of them were back in her bedroom.

 

“You don’t have to sleep in your clothes,” she said, noticing that he was still in his jeans and T-shirt.

 

“Your house, your rules,” he said.

 

With that, he pulled his shirt off over his head, revealing the shredded physique that Kara hadn’t been able to get out of her mind. His stomach was a toned flat plane, and his arms were beefy and thick. And just as before, her eyes danced over the tapestry of ink that covered his skin. Ryder stepped out of his jeans, and soon he was in nothing but a pair of tight gray boxer-briefs, the bulge of his cock more than noticeable.

 

He slipped under the covers, a little flash of disappointment coursing through Kara as he covered up.

 

“What about you?” asked Ryder, pointing to Kara’s oversized sleeping shirt that she wore, nothing but a pair of white cotton panties on underneath.

 

“It’s different for girls to sleep topless,” she said, climbing under the covers.

 

“Hey, gotta let the girls breathe, you know?”

 

Kara flashed him a wry grin.

 

“Nice try.”

 

Settling into the bed, she felt better right away with Ryder lying next to her. As they lay next to one another, the idea of sleeping with him again came to mind.

 

Bad girl, she told herself. You brought him in here to look out for you, not for … other things. Just be glad he’s here and get to sleep.

 

But she couldn’t; she felt just as restless as she did before. However, now it was because she wanted to talk to Ryder, to get to know him better.

 

“That’s, um, a lot of ink,” she said, turning on her side and pointing to his tattoos.

 

“This shit?” he asked. “Yeah, I just got a few here and there and before I fuckin’ knew it, I was covered with it.”

 

He smirked.

 

“Do they mean anything?” asked Kara. “Or did you just get them because you like the way they look?”

 

“Both,” he said. “Every one of these tats means something.”

 

He pointed to a tattoo of a knife on his chest, the edge of the blade lined with blood.

 

“You see this one?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Now, you see the scar right next to it?”

 

Kara looked closely. Sure enough, through the colorful designs around it was a jagged scar about two inches long.

 

“This was from my first year in the crew. Me and some of the boys got into a tussle with some club out of St. Louis and I ended up taking a knife right to the chest. Went in pretty deep, too—only a few inches from my heart.”

 

“Holy shit,” said Kara, a tinge of sympathy running through her.

 

“I healed up just fine, but the boys pitched in and got me a tat to, uh, celebrate the occasion, I guess. It was my first wound with the club, and that’s a big deal. Shows you’re not scared to bleed for your boys.”

 

“And what about this?” asked Kara, placing her fingertip on a tattoo on his arm of a heart covered in barb wire.

 

As she did, Kara couldn’t help but feel a little sensual pleasure at the sensation of his rock-hard arm.

 

“That one makes me remember how I ought to treat my heart. Something to guard, something not to be too careless with. Got it when one of the boys had his old lady walk out on him. Took him for just about everything that he had. Bad fuckin’ scene.”

 

“And … is that how you feel now?” she asked.

 

“Gotta be careful with that shit,” he said. “Catching feelings is an easy way to get yourself into some bad spots.”

 

No kidding, thought Kara, taking in the fact that she was currently in bed with a near-naked biker who was telling her about his war wounds.

 

“And … what about this one?” she said, dragging her finger across his body and settling on a design of a woman’s silhouette.

 

“Ah, fuck—that one I got in Mexico, down in Oaxaca … ”

 

The two of them went on like that for a time, with Kara pointing out one tattoo after another, asking him what the story or meaning behind them was. To her surprise, there was one for each design—she’d just assumed they were all done at the end of booze-soaked nights out with his friends. Kara soon realized that there was more to Ryder, more depth than she was anticipating. He wasn’t just some roughneck biker; he was a man with a story, a man with years and experience under his belt.

 

She was surprised just how much she enjoyed listening to him talk. Each tattoo had a story, and he went through them, one after the other. Kara couldn’t decide what she liked more—listening to his story, or waiting for him to finish so she could drag her finger to another part of his body. She found herself wishing that he had a little bit of ink down on his cock.

 

Bad girl, she thought to herself. This is a strictly platonic sleepover.

 

And as he spoke, Kara found her eyelids getting heavy. Her fatigue had crept up on her slowly, but it had arrived nonetheless.

 

“What about … this one,” she said, placing her finger on a tattoo of an eagle on his bicep.

 

But this time, her hand didn’t move. She sleepily let it fall onto Ryder, and out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a sly smile forming on his lips.

 

“That one, well, I don’t know if that’s a story for the faint of fuckin’ heart.”

 

“Let’s hear it anyway,” she said.

 

Then she rested her head on Ryder’s chest. To the sound of his beating heart, she finally allowed herself to drift into sleep.