Over the next few weeks, Layla simply couldn’t get Jesse off her mind.

She dreamt about him often. It seemed like almost every morning she’d wake up wet, her body aching and her pussy throbbing in time to the fading image of him buried to the hilt inside of her. She’d slip her fingers beneath the band of her panties and spread her lips, rubbing the delicate nub between them until her thighs spasmed. It was always his name that she’d moan into her pillow.

Her parents thought their shock and awe campaign had gone well, and Layla wasn’t interested in correcting them. In fact, it was one hell of an alibi. As long as she kept pretending to have been scared straight, she could maintain the freedom she so desperately coveted. And Layla was a damn good actress.

She recalled sitting at the dinner table the night of her eighteenth birthday, smiling contritely as she told them, “So, um… about the tour today…”

Layla’s father looked up at her. He was spooning a mountain of mashed potatoes onto his plate and ignoring her mother’s scrutinizing gaze. “I was just about to ask.”

She pretended to shift uncomfortably, tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear and averting her eyes—the body language trifecta that would convince her parents of her sincerity. They’d think they broke her, which was exactly what Layla wanted them to think. Things worked out better for her that way.

“It was gross,” she said at length. “The air conditioning was broken, and the guys were all so…” She made a face to mask the haziness that crept into her eyes whenever she thought about Jesse King. “…terrible. It made me think about what kind of guy I want in my future, and I guess I decided that I don’t want one in a prison cell.”

Layla’s mother smiled and gave her father a knowing I-told-you-so look. It had been her idea to ship Layla off to the detention center for the day, and if Layla knew anything about her mother, it was that she thrived on being right. It was a weakness she was only too happy to play to.

“Well, I’m happy you had that revelation,” her mother said, taking the bowl of potatoes away from her father before he could make his own starchy Kilimanjaro. “Did you learn anything else?”

Layla nodded empathically. “Officer Maddock said that now that I’m adult, it’d only get worse. I can’t even imagine anything worse than that. It’s nothing like what they show on Orange is the New Black, that’s for sure.”

Her father cleared out the center of his mashed potato heap with his spoon, pouring gravy into it like the hot, molten center of a volcano. “I take it that means you’re giving up your short-lived life of crime?”

It was all Layla could do not to roll her eyes. Christ, they made it sound like she’d robbed a bank, or something.

“I think I just have different priorities now,” she answered, and they seemed satisfied with that, although the whole exchange had put Layla off her food.

Ultimately, though, she could count it as a win. Her parents got off her back almost immediately, though they still spouted hollow threats every now and then, warning her that a relapse into bad behavior would see her punished even more severely.

She’d even managed to earn her car privileges back already, and now, standing out in the driveway with a sponge in hand, she smirked at her reflection in its shiny red body. She could once again go anywhere and do anything she wanted. God bless her gullible parents.

She lifted the garden hose and let the cool water flow onto her chest, sighing in relief as it cascaded into the fleshy valley between her bikini-cradled breasts. It was scorching hot outside and so arid that it almost hurt to breathe. She couldn’t wait for the summer to be over.

But that meant big decisions that Layla wasn’t ready to face yet—like college. She wrinkled her nose at the thought.

As she cleansed the salty trails from her sun-kissed skin, she heard a sound rumbling over the rushing water. She frowned and shielded her eyes with her hand, squinting past the glare of the sun reflecting off the bike headed down the street toward her.

It was a powerful-looking beast, all chrome with hints of well-worn red and black leather on the seat. That was strange. People on this side of town didn’t usually ride motorcycles around.

What was even stranger was that she realized that she recognized the person who was straddling it.

It was Jesse King.

Her heart raced. It was like watching a fantasy take physical form right before her eyes, like a mirage made flesh simply by the power of her desire.

But how the hell had he found her?

She crossed her arms as she watched him approach, hoping to hide her tits from his view as he pulled his bike up into her parents’ driveway. She had to play it cool. Bikers didn’t like desperate chicks—or maybe they did, but even so, looking like she was waiting for him would likely get her used and tossed aside, and that was not something Layla Long put up with. She had standards.

“What’re you doing here?” she asked him, working an edge of annoyance into her tone.

Jesse took off his helmet, ruffled his dark, chestnut hair, and then grinned at her from beneath the shadows cast by his shades. It was lopsided and just a little too wide. It made her toes curl all the same.

“Just got outta juvie a few days ago,” he said. His voice was gentler than she’d imagined it would be, but still rougher than the guys she was used to. There was a little lilt to his tone, a boyish carelessness that made her feel as though nothing ever really fazed him at all. “I remember you came to visit me.”

“I wasn’t visiting you,” Layla answered, suddenly wishing that she’d worn a shirt. Even though she couldn’t see Jesse’s emerald eyes through the tint of his lenses, she could still feel his gaze settled right on her cleavage.

“No?” Jesse replied. He leaned forward onto his handlebars as he watched her stoop down to wet her sponge in the soapy bucket near her feet. “Then I gotta ask: what was a girl like you doin’ in a place like that?”

She rolled her eyes, squeezed out a bit of excess water and suds, and said: “It was my parents’ idea. They wanted to scare me straight.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Figuratively, or…?”

“Yes,” she answered testily. She wasn’t a big fan of boys just showing up unannounced. She liked to have the control in the relationship, and Jesse barging into her driveway hadn’t earned him any points with her, gorgeous biker or not. “I like boys, dumbass.”

Jesse spread his hands wide in a gesture of defenselessness. “Well, sorry, beauty queen. How was I s’posed to know?”

“Oh, come on,” she said, glaring at him over her shoulder. “I mean, look at me.”

Jesse grinned ear-to-ear. “Well, if you insist…”

Layla threw her sponge at him. It slapped into the side of his bike, and he roared with laughter.

“You must think you’re hot shit,” she grumbled, planting her hands on her hips.

Jesse leaned down and picked up her sponge. “Well honey, don’t that make two of us?”

He tossed it back into the bucket and nudged his kickstand into the cement. As he dismounted the bike, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans and began stalking around Layla’s car.

“What’s that, a Shelby?”

“Yes,” she said proudly, retrieving the sponge. “It’s a classic.”

“Uh-huh,” he mumbled, taking a peek through her windows at the mess in the backseat. “Wouldn’t stand a chance against my bike, though.”

Layla rolled her eyes skyward. “Right. Because a roll cage hardly beats getting scalped by the pavement when you lay it down. I’ll stick with four wheels, thanks.”

“Hey, I understand,” Jesse said, feigning sympathy. “Lots’a people are scared of bikes.”

“I’m not scared,” she hissed. “I’m smart. And I imagine it’ll be pretty hard for you to be such an elitist when your brains are scattered all over the interstate.”

“That’s what the helmet’s for, princess,” Jesse said with a grin, finally rounding the hood of Layla’s car. He’d snuck up on her during their argument. She wasn’t ready for him to be so close.

The scent of cowhide leather clung to him like cologne, emanating in waves from his studded jacket. It looked so heavy, even on his strong, burly shoulders. She wondered how on earth he could stand to wear it on a hot day like this.

Something about the smell of it intrigued her, though, and as he crossed his arms over his chest, she caught another whiff of its sun-baked fragrance. It curled in her nostrils like the smoke from some kind of exotic incense, and she bit her lip as her toes curled against her cheap, spongy flip-flops once more. It was a scent she could get used to.

But Officer Maddock’s words lingered in the back of her head: He almost broke the guy in half. And if he can do that, think of what he could do to you.

Layla’s stomach twisted, and she took a step back from Jesse’s imposing form leaning against the hood of her Shelby.

“Look,” she said slowly. “I appreciate your interest, but…” She trailed off, trying to think of some excuse.

Jesse leaned forward as if interested in what she could come up with, the sunlight glinting off his golden skin as he waited for her to finish.

“…well, you’re in a motorcycle club, right?” she said finally. “What would they think if they saw you hangin’ out in a neighborhood like this with a girl like me?”

“I dunno,” he admitted. Then he smirked. “What kinda girl are you?”

“Not the kind that hangs out with ex- and future cons,” she answered.

Jesse snickered. “You make it sound so dramatic. It was juvie, beauty queen—not the state pen.”

“And you’re telling me that you’ll never end up there?” she asked, picking up the length of hose at her feet. “That you’ll just suddenly stop doing all the things that put you in juvie once you turn eighteen?”

“What I’m sayin’,” Jesse clarified, “is that I won’t get caught.”

Layla shook her head and strode over to the faucet jutting out of the wall near the garage door. She turned off the flow of water and began winding the garden hose around the rack.

“C’mon,” he called out to her. “You’re not gonna leave me hangin’ on my birthday, are you?”

She looked at him over her shoulder. So he was eighteen already. She shook her head. “I don’t even know you!”

“So get to know me!” he answered. “Think of it as my birthday wish.” He pressed his hands together as if in prayer. “I’ll even say please, if you like.”

Layla stood up and faced him. He was looking at her like a pitiful puppy dog, only according to the correctional officer, he had one hell of a bite. She pursed her lips as she looked him over, trying to decide if Officer Maddock had really been warning her, or if it’d been just another scare tactic on her tour of the facility.

“All right, then,” she said, lifting her chin. “Say it.”

Jesse pushed himself up off the hood of her cherry-red Shelby. He took a few steps toward her, his heavy boots thudding against the driveway, and then fell to his knees, arms spread wide as he stared up into her face.

“Please.”

Layla looked away, hoping to hide her smile. Other guys would have balked at her command in order to spare the blow to their manhood. But Jesse didn’t seem to care about any of that. He regarded her demands so flippantly, like he was above the macho, alpha-male shit so many others tried to pull. Every time she saw him smirk, she could hear his voice in her head: Who the fuck cares what you think about me?

And to Layla, that was hot as hell.

“Whatever,” she sighed, stepping away before he could look up her Daisy Duke shorts. “Let me get a shirt on.”

“No need,” Jesse said, but Layla ignored him as she bounded up the walkway through her front door.

She mounted the stairs to her room, her heart racing as she ascended each step. Agreeing to a date with the president of a biker gang was impulsive, even for her.

But they were just kids. They couldn’t be into anything hardcore. Most likely, they were a bunch of rich boys rebelling against the wealth and status of their parents.

But what if they weren’t? She was eighteen now. If she got caught doing something illegal, it wouldn’t be just a slap on the wrist and a call to her parents. The stakes were much higher. She could get into real trouble.

Oh, for fuck’s sake, she thought to herself as she reached the landing. It’s one date, and in the middle of the day, no less. What do you think he’s gonna do—snatch an old lady’s purse?

She looked down over the railing. Jesse was standing in the foyer, looking around at all the nice things Layla’s parents owned. Heat rose in her cheeks. He probably thought she was some kind of rich bitch.

Well, aren’t I?

“I’ll be right down,” she told him and ducked into her room.

She stripped her wet bikini top from her damp flesh, tossing it into the hamper near her bed and flinging open the doors to her walk-in closet. She narrowed her eyes as she scanned the racks for her comfy gray tank top. No way was she dressing up for some biker guy.

She found it and slipped it on over her head, pulling it down over her flat belly as she looked at her own rack through the low neckline. Should she wear a bra?

Fuck that, she decided as she kicked off her flip-flops in favor of a pair of sneakers. If he doesn’t give a shit what I think, then I don’t care what he thinks, either.

She laced her shoes up tight, shoved a few twenties into her pocket, and then grabbed her fake ID—the one her parents didn’t know about—from the false bottom in the music box she’d bought for that exact purpose. She knew her parents would never suspect her of stashing contraband in something so innocent and precious.

Layla bit her lip. Maybe she should grab a joint or two while she was at it.

Are you crazy?! the voice inside her head raged. Do you want to get busted for possession?

Sighing, she closed the music box and pushed it back into place on her dresser. Then she hopped down the stairs and met Jesse at the bottom.

“Let’s go,” she said.

“Cool,” he replied with a wolfish grin. “I know just the place.”