Almost brushing his fucking rock-hard cock.
He gripped the handles of his bike even tighter and was surprised he didn’t shatter his teeth the way he was clenching his jaw, restraining himself from grabbing those tiny delicate hands and placing them on his dick. Not even caring about the fact that it was just past eight in the morning and there were people walking by.
But he was trying to remind himself that even if there was a little wild in her eyes, that didn’t mean shit compared to his darkness. His demons.
He was playing with fucking fire already.
And he wasn’t the one who was going to get burned.
So on the curb, with Lauren’s soft body behind him, her hands near his cock, her scent pressing into his motherfucking bones, he was glad his body was crying out for junk. Never in his life did he think he would find solace in that filthy desire.
But it gave him something to grab onto. Something to distract him.
Lauren’s body lurched, as if she was just now realizing that they were stopped and outside her building.
They had been stationary for eighty-eight seconds.
Gage had counted.
Because when shit got bad, like driving to the shady parts of Hope in search of a dealer bad, he counted.
Every second.
There were 86,400 seconds in a day. Sometimes, on those really bad fucking days, he counted every single one of them. It was his way of figuring out that time passed, and with every second, he was winning against the monkey at his back. Closer to the peace the grave might offer.
So he counted.
And he wanted more seconds with Lauren pressed against his back. He wanted 86,400 of them.
To start.
Then he wanted a fuckload more of her writhing underneath him, his cock deep inside her.
But he was glad that he didn’t have another handful of moments with her pressed against him right then, because he couldn’t take that shit.
So he exhaled when her heat left his back and she stood shakily on the curb. She had already taken the helmet off at some point and her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright, saturated with more of that wild.
He felt it in his cock, that brightness, that chaos he saw lurking in those eyes. His little librarian had liked being on the back of his bike.
No, she’d loved it.
His gaze didn’t stay on hers for long, they darted to the fucker in a suit damn near walking into a door leering at her ass. Because her demure and hot-as-shit skirt had ridden up on the bike.
Way up.
She was now showing more of her shapely and long-as-fuck legs that no one but Gage should be seeing. He didn’t even think on that strange and possessive thought before he was off the bike and on the curb, his hands on either side of her hem, pulling the fabric down to its rightful place.
She jerked again, in surprise, maybe. Gage was sure she hadn’t expected him to move. He hadn’t expected his movements to be pulling down her fucking skirt. But although he’d been into audiences before, hadn’t given a fuck about people seeing—and taking—whatever bitch he had his dick inside, that was before.
That was with faceless women whose names he couldn’t remember, who he hadn’t given a shit about. Even the most recent bitch he’d tricked himself into thinking was something was really just him trying to pretend there was something he gave a shit about.
It had been a lie.
Until now.
He gave a shit about Lauren.
She blinked at him rapidly, her glasses magnifying the softness at the edges of her gaze when she realized what he’d done.
His hands moved from the bottom of her skirt, trailing up to rest lightly on her hips. Gage didn’t even know he’d been capable of gripping anything lightly, let alone a woman he wanted so badly.
“I, um,” she breathed. Yes, breathed. The air was hot and minty on his face, with a hint of cinnamon. He itched to taste it, to take her mouth. His body shook with the need to. But he wouldn’t have stopped if he started. And no way in fuck was he having an audience for the first time he claimed his woman’s mouth.
Not just because he’d be claiming her cunt shortly after.
“Thanks,” she said finally, seeming to find her words. Her voice was light and husky, and Gage heard it right in his cock.
He didn’t reply.
He couldn’t.
“For the ride,” she clarified.
He still didn’t reply.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t fucking breathe.
Because this was one of the moments. One he was sure he’d never get again. One of those simple, pure, perfect fucking moments that life gave you once in a while.
Her scent pressing onto his leather, over the stale smell of cigarettes and motor oil. Her bright eyes magnified in her glasses. Her hair, mussed and shiny, tendrils escaping from her braid. The softness of her hips underneath his palms.