Page 7 of Edge (Redline Kings MC #4)

CALLIE

S unday evening found me staring at myself in the mirror, still not quite believing I was about to do this. Or that it had been my idea to tease Tatum about taking me for a different kind of ride on his motorcycle instead of in his bed, where we’d spent the past day and a half.

The jeans he had insisted I bring hugged my hips, and I finally knew why he’d told me to pack them.

They were tucked into a pair of heavy black boots laced up my calves.

A black leather jacket hid my pink T-shirt.

The only thing missing was the helmet a prospect had delivered earlier, along with the jacket and boots.

I headed out to the living room and shot Tatum a look. “I still can’t believe you really had someone drop all this off for me.”

He grabbed the helmet off the low table near the front door with a grin. “Needed you dressed right for your first ride.”

I tipped my head, still not sure how to process the way he thought so far ahead. “And the gym shoes you stuffed in my tote? Why not those?”

His eyes softened just a little, the edge in his smile turning warm. “Because my woman deserves more than sneakers when she’s on the back of my bike. You hold on to me. I’ll keep you safe.”

Heat curled in my belly at the quiet conviction in his voice, butterflies swirling over how easily he called me his. All I could do was nod.

“Ready?” he asked, jerking his head toward the door.

I swallowed hard. “As I’ll ever be.”

Down in the parking lot, the sight of his Harley sent goose bumps racing over my skin.

The machine was all gleaming chrome and matte black, and somehow, the small amount of damage from the incident with my bike had already disappeared.

He put on his helmet and made sure the chin strap on mine was tightened.

Swinging a long leg over the seat and settling like he belonged there, he crooked a finger at me. “C’mere, baby.”

My heart hammered as I climbed on behind him. The bike shifted under my weight, and I stiffened until his big hand wrapped around mine, guiding my arms around his torso.

“Don’t overthink it,” he murmured over his shoulder. “Just hold on tight.”

I did.

The world roared to life as he twisted the throttle, the vibrations shivering up through my body until I couldn’t tell where the machine ended and he began. We shot forward, the wind whipping against my jacket, tugging at my hair where it spilled out beneath the helmet.

I gasped, equal parts fear and exhilaration.

Tatum laughed, and the sound carried back to me over the rush of air. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

It really did.

The streets blurred, palm trees streaking past as I clung to him. His body was a solid wall beneath my hands, every shift of his muscles steadying me. The fear ebbed, replaced by something headier. Freedom.

When we finally coasted to a stop at the beach, my legs were shaky as I slid off. Tatum caught me before I could stumble, his grin smug.

“First ride.” He brushed his thumb over my cheek. “And you’re the first woman I’ve ever let on the back of my bike.”

I blinked at him, breathless from more than the wind. I didn’t understand the weight of that confession, not yet. But I felt myself falling faster—and deeper—than I ever thought possible.

The next few days blurred in a haze of work, stolen hours, and the constant pull of Tatum.

On Monday, I dragged myself through my shift at Bookshell Cove, only to find him waiting outside when I closed up.

Leaning against his bike like he had all the time in the world, he made my pulse race with nothing more than a look.

I didn’t even argue when he took my tote and guided me to his Harley.

Although I was surprised when Aunt Gloria waved goodbye with an approving smile.

Tuesday wasn’t much different. I went straight to his place after work, promising myself I’d only stay for dinner. Instead, I ended up falling asleep in his bed again, tangled in his arms, any thought of returning home long forgotten.

By Wednesday, I stopped pretending I wanted to be anywhere but with him.

I was in his kitchen, stirring a skillet of chicken and vegetables, when it hit me just how much had changed since I met Tatum.

Just days ago, I’d been settling into a new job in a new town, unsure of where I fit.

Now I was barefoot in Tatum’s apartment, wearing one of his T-shirts knotted at my hip, making dinner like I belonged there.

“You sure you know what you’re doing, baby?” he asked, lounging at the table with a bottle of beer in front of him.

I shot him a look over my shoulder. “I can manage stir-fry without burning down your apartment.”

“Good.” His grin widened. “’Cause I’d hate to have to break in a new place when you’ve finally gotten comfortable here.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks at the way he said it, as though I’d marked his territory without even realizing it. But I figured he had no room to complain when he kept pushing me to bring more stuff over every day.

I plated the food and carried two dishes over, sliding one in front of him. “I hope it’s up to your standards.”

Tatum reached over to tug my chair closer to his. “You cook for me, you’ll never hear a complaint outta my mouth.”

Thinking about how my dad always grumbled over my mom’s meals, I beamed a smile at him. “Thanks.”

He dug in with zero hesitation, chewing slowly before giving me a look that made my stomach flutter. “Damn good. You been holding out on me?”

I ducked my head, trying to hide how ridiculously pleased his compliment made me. “It’s just stir-fry.”

“Doesn’t matter.” His hand covered mine on the table, his thumb rubbing slow circles against my skin. “You made it for me. That’s what counts.”

My chest tightened, warmth spreading through me that had nothing to do with the food. I knew exactly what he meant because I felt the same each time he did something for me.

We ate in comfortable silence after that, the kind of quiet that didn’t feel awkward or forced. Just easy.

When the plates were empty, he leaned back in his chair, eyes gleaming. “You cook, I clean. Fair trade.”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “Yet you never let me clean when you cook.”

“That’s different, sweetheart.”

Getting to his feet, he brushed his lips against mine before gathering the plates. As I watched him carry our dishes to the sink, sleeves pushed up, tattoos shifting with every movement, one thought circled in my mind.

I was amazed by how natural it felt to share something so ordinary with a man who was anything but.

We finally left the bubble of Tatum’s apartment Friday night, for our first attempt at a real date.

I smoothed my sundress down over my thighs for the hundredth time, wishing my hands would stop fidgeting.

The pale-yellow fabric was soft and pretty, one of the dresses I’d originally packed without needing until now.

I’d worn it hoping to look effortless, but the moment we stepped into the restaurant, I was self-conscious.

Every head seemed to turn.

Some were curious, others admiring, a few openly appraising. I felt heat crawl up my neck, and I had to resist the urge to shrink back against Tatum’s side.

He carried himself like he owned the place, his hand heavy at the small of my back as if daring anyone to think otherwise.

“Relax, baby,” he murmured against my temple as we followed the hostess to a table near the window. “They’re just jealous because you’re so fucking gorgeous.”

He had it backward. I had no doubt the women were jealous, but only because I was with him.

He looked like sin wrapped in muscle and tattoos, and I was just…

ordinary. Or at least that was how I’d always seen myself until Tatum had stormed into my life with compliments—and orgasms—that helped me start to see myself differently.

By the time we were seated, my nerves had twisted into knots. I picked up the menu just to have something to hold, but the words swam as my mind kept tallying every glance tossed our way.

Tatum’s jaw flexed. His hand slid beneath the table and landed on my thigh, his palm hot through the thin fabric of my dress. The weight of it was possessive, a silent warning to anyone who might have thought about looking twice at me.

I leaned in, whispering, “You’re glaring at everyone.”

“Good.” His lips brushed the shell of my ear, making me shiver. “No one gets to stare at what’s mine.”

Butterflies fluttered wildly in my stomach, tangling with the heat low in my belly. My face was hot, but it wasn’t just from embarrassment anymore. This was the effect only Tatum had on me, flipping my insides upside down with a single word. Mine.

We tried to make small talk, but it was impossible with the tension simmering between us.

Every time our eyes met, sparks seemed to crackle in the air.

I barely remembered what I ordered. I was too focused on the way Tatum’s thumb stroked lazy circles on my leg, sliding higher every so often until I could barely sit still.

By the time the server set down our drinks, I was already hoping the kitchen was quicker than a fast-food restaurant.

A few minutes later, Tatum tossed his napkin onto the table and pushed back his chair. “We’re done here.”

I blinked, startled. “But—we haven’t even?—”

“Doesn’t matter.” He was already on his feet, his hand reaching for mine. “I need you, baby. Now.”

The heat in his voice sent a rush of anticipation through me that burned away any lingering nerves.

I didn’t argue when he pulled me up, practically dragging me toward the door.

I barely noticed the people watching us leave, my focus narrowed to the hard grip of his fingers twined with mine and the promise blazing in his eyes.

By the time we got to the parking lot, my heart was pounding so hard I could barely breathe. I knew exactly what was coming when we got back to his place. More orgasms.

And I couldn’t wait.