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“Okay.” I swallow thickly.
“Okay?Okay,okay?” he implores.
I nod, and his grin spreads wide. His joy reaches clear through his eyes. He immediately goes in for a hug, but I stop him with a loud, “Wait, wait, wait!” My hands are at his chest, holding him at a safe distance. He looks confused for a moment before his gaze travels down to my breasts and heats further.
“Fuck, Little D,” his head falls back as he hums, “You really are killing me today.”
And I feel his sentence like a caress, sweeping right at my core. Finally, with the promise ofmore.
Chapter Twenty-One
Declan
The heavy rumble of a motorcycle draws close as it pulls up to the sidewalk where I’m waiting for Jude.
At first, I’m not sure it’s him. But then I see all of his tattoos—covering his fingers curled over the bars and racing up his arms until they disappear beneath his white tee.
He pulls his helmet off with a wide grin.
I’ve never been on a motorcycle in my life, and now, I’m supposed to get on this thing. I’m slightly terrified.
“We could rethink this, you know,” I offer. “I’ve heard these things are like literally death on wheels.”
He chuckles.
“And New York is probably the worst possible place to drive one,” I keep going.
“I’ve lived here for almost twelve years. I’m more than comfortable—”
“Eleven,” I correct him. “And only eight, really, if you consider the fact that you’ve been in college for three.”
He throws his head back and laughs, the long, thick column of his tattooed throat exposed. His laughter comes a lot easier, I’ve noticed, than it did last summer.
But still, driving a motorcycle in this kind of traffic might be borderline reckless. Anxiety aside, I’d still be nervous.
So then why am I so curious?
Jude unclips a spare helmet from the back of his bike as I mull over that thought and holds it out for me. “Get your gorgeous ass over here, Little D. I promise to keep you safe.” Hecrosses his heart with his finger, and the gesture warms mine, weeding feelings deeper, and deeper, through it.
I am so screwed.
I take the helmet from his hand and put it on over my head, but I have no idea how to secure it, so Jude loops his finger through my belt and tugs me closer, securing it beneath my chin for me. His hand lingers at my neck, the slow swipe of his thumb against my pulse point making me shiver.
I feel the touch all the way down to my toes.
But then he pats the top of my helmet, tipping his head toward the back of his bike, and urges me to get on. I ignore the steady patter of my heart happening beneath my ribcage and tell myself it’s adrenaline and not anxiety that’s fueling its beats, but they feel like the same thing, and I can’t tell the difference between the two.
Ignoring it all, I throw my leg over the bike behind Jude and shift around until I’m comfortable, resting my feet on the pegs and wrapping my arms around him, pressing my cheek against his back. The cheek of my helmet, anyway. He holds my clasped hands in one of his and presses them harder against his stomach, and then we’re taking off, wind whipping against our bodies.
The ride to Central Park isn’t nearly as terrifying as I anticipated it to be. In a way, it’s almost exhilarating. In a calming sort of way. Which doesn’t make any sense whatsoever, but it makes me feel lighter, weightless, even with a steady buzz of adrenaline humming through my veins.
Warm summer air washes over my skin and tangles up my hair, and at some moments during the ride I can’t even catch my breath, but it… grounds me. Makes me feel alive, present,here,free.
The warm solidness of Jude at my front continuously sends flashes of heat licking through me—and maybe that’s becausewith every movement, with every swerve and dip and bump in the road, my chest brushes against his back, rubbing at my sensitive, newly-pierced nipples through my thin bra and t-shirt. Add in the vibration happening between my legs—the hard feel ofJudebetween my legs—and I’m almost embarrassed to admit how turned on I am.
It hurts, but it all feels so good, too. Too good. I have to bite back a moan when pain sparks through my nipples as we hit another dip in the road, the apex of my thighs pushing harder against his body.
It’s all Jude’s fault, really.