My Stepbrother's Dirty Little Secret novel Chapter 80

I looked at the bike, then at her. She was swaying in my arms, her head lolling back, eyes half-closed as she hummed some tuneless song.

"Dammit," I muttered.

If I put her on the back, she’d slide right off the seat the second I hit sixty. She didn't have the strength to hold on, and her brain was too fried to care about the pavement.

"Raphael," she whispered, her fingers trailing over the collar of my leather jacket. "The bike is pretty."

"Shut up, Gianna," I said.

I swung my leg over the seat, kicked the kickstand up and looked at the narrow space between me and the handlebars.

It was the only way.

I grabbed her by the waist, lifting her high. I sat her right on the cold metal of the fuel tank, facing me. Her legs fell naturally over my thighs, her knees hooking around my hips. I pulled her forward until her chest was squished flat against my bare skin.

Fuck.

Her skin was hot, burning with the drug and mine was cold, but where we touched, it felt like a fuse had been lit. Because she was sitting on the tank, her core was pressed right against my fly. I felt my body react instantly, a hard ache blooming in my pants that made me want to punch a wall.

I was just a man.

And having her right there, wrapped around me like a vine wasn't a good idea.

"Wrap your arms around my neck," I snapped, "Now."

She leaned in, burying her face in the crook of my neck. She looped her arms behind my head, pulling herself even tighter against me until there wasn't a hair’s breadth of space left.

I kept my eyes locked on the black asphalt, my knuckles white as I gripped the throttle. I was trying to focus on the turn, on the speed, on anything that wasn't the way her inner thighs were squeezing my waist. But every time I hit a bump in the road, she slid against the denim of my jeans, a slow friction that made a low, cursed growl catch in my throat.

Fuck.

I looked down for a split second, just to make sure she wasn't slipping.

Gianna was looking up.

The wind had blown her wild hair back, exposing the pale, smooth line of her throat. Her green eyes were wide, glowing in the moonlight, and they were fixed entirely on me. She looked at the hard line of my jaw, the scars on my neck.

Then she leaned up, her nose brushing the underside of my chin, her lips just a hair’s breadth from the pulse jumping in my throat.

I cursed under my breath, a string of foul words that the wind whipped away. I twisted the throttle harder, the bike screaming as we hit eighty, then ninety. I needed the speed to kill the heat.