Page 11

STACY

N o way. I’m not staying in Dawson for lunch.

I force a polite smile as I shake my head. Even the suggestion leaves a bitter taste on my tongue.

There was a time when those lunches were the highlight of my trip—a warm little ritual with Monica and Erica. Laughter that bubbled over glasses of wine, easy teasing, stories that pulled us back into our shared past like slipping into a favorite pair of jeans.

Not today. Not after Ray.

Ray’s rejection sours everything. What should feel comforting now stings—like salt rubbed into an open wound.

The ride I’d fantasized about? Never happened. No sweeping curves of mountain roads, no wind tangling my hair while I held him close. No quiet jokes whispered over the engine’s roar. Not even a touch. Not even a damn glance.

It hurts more than it should. Of course, Monica and Erica don’t get it. Or maybe they do, and they’re trying to distract me with food and familiarity.

“It’ll be another two weeks before you come back,” Monica says, her smile a little too hopeful.

“You realize I’m making lobster ravioli? Your favorite,” Erica adds, nudging my arm.

“I’m going to miss you,” Monica says again, softer now.

I love them. God, I do. But they don’t get it.

Sitting at that table pretending everything’s fine while scanning the street for his bike?

Torture. And I know myself—I wouldn’t be able to stop looking.

I’d spot a flash of blue gleaming in the sunlight—and every cell in my body would ache with the reminder.

You didn’t get what you wanted. Wait another two weeks. Try again.

No, thanks. I hand Monica her keys with a quiet apology and the vague promise of “next time,” then get the hell out.

The drive back is dull. Lifeless. Like all the color’s drained from the world.

On the drive up Friday, my chest was light and fluttery.

Every mile that brought me closer to Ray felt like hope.

Now? It’s like I’m hauling disappointment in the back seat.

The engine hums, the tires whisper, but my pulse doesn’t.

I lose count of how many cars pass me. Vans, trucks, motorcycles—every one of them going somewhere fast, full of an urgency I can’t summon.

By the time I pull Nora’s backup car into my extra parking spot, it’s after three. The car groans into place between a green Mazda and a battered black Camaro. It rattles like it’s giving up, too.

I grab my keys and climb out, not bothering to look up. And of course, my pants leg snags on a jagged edge of the Camaro’s bumper. I curse under my breath and tug at the fabric.

“Stupid thing.”

And that’s when I see it—the front wheel of a motorcycle. Not just any motorcycle. His .

“Subtle parking job,” a familiar voice drawls—amused, unmistakable. My heart jolts.

Ray.

He’s leaning against his Harley, arms crossed, all cool confidence and effortless swagger. His blond hair is wind-tossed to perfection. His dark sunglasses hide his eyes, but the smirk curling his lips is familiar. Inviting and dangerous.

“You should get that clutch checked,” he adds casually. “It’s on its last leg.”

“You’re here?”

“In the flesh.” His grin widens, and just like that, I forget how to breathe.

I laugh—short and stunned—and the tension I’ve been carrying all day melts into something warm.

“I didn’t see this coming.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing.

“I figured I’d tell you to your face. It was stupid of you to leave like that.”

“Excuse me?” I ask, blinking rapidly. This is not the apology I expected.

“We could’ve gone out after lunch,” he says, stepping closer. “I know it’s not the date we planned, but better than running off.”

I look down, heat creeping up my neck.

“What can I say? I was disappointed. I guess I acted like it.”

Ray tilts his head, pulling his sunglasses down just enough to meet my eyes. His gaze is steady.

“Now who’s being immature?”

Anger flashes but the smell of him, solid and intoxicating fills my nose. I can’t hold onto the upset because he’s not wrong. He told me there was pack business and I know from both Monica and Erica how that goes.

“Guilty.” I lift my hands in mock surrender, though it’s more real than I want to admit. “You love that bike, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Then you better park it properly before it gets towed,” I say, brushing past him with a smile I don’t try to hide. “I’ll wait.”

The weight in my chest lifts, replaced by something electric. He came. He’s here. This may not be the perfect moment I imagined—but it’s real. And it’s definitely better than lonely silence and Netflix reruns.

“I hope I don’t find my baby smashed,” he mutters as he follows.

“Follow me, Mr. Biker,” I call over my shoulder. “Your baby’s safe. Now come inside before someone else tries to seduce me.”

“Hard not to worry,” he says, lips twitching. “I built her from scratch.”

“Oh, you’re one of those bikers,” I tease as we reach the elevator.

“The kind who actually loves their ride? Guilty as charged.”

As the elevator doors close, a charged silence crackles between us. I lean against the wall, turning to face him.

“So, where would you have taken me last night? Please don’t say Tiffany’s.”

He snorts. “Tiffany’s? Seriously?”

You know, I had a bad experience kind of like that once.”

“Let me guess… a jealous woman?”

“Bingo.” I wince, looking away. “Except it was reversed. It was my mom. She caught my dad cheating in a bar that was similar enough and that was the end of their story.”

The elevator dings. He holds the door for me, silent.

“What did she do?” he asks softly, as I unlock my apartment.

I hesitate, keys trembling in the lock.

“She gave him a black eye. And the other woman? Scars. On her face. I was screaming, trying to stop her. It was like she didn’t even hear me.

” Inside, the air feels heavier. I glance over my shoulder.

“You saved me from playing out my own version of it where I would have been on the wrong side of the equation.”

He shrugs, dismissing it as if it’s nothing. He looks around my apartment until his gaze catches on the photo above my couch.

“She’s beautiful.”

“ Was. ” I close the door behind us. “Cancer took her in 2012.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice soft and gentle.

“It’s fine,” I nod. “Anyway, I need to change. Think about what you want to eat. I’m starving.”

I slip into my bedroom and shut the door behind me, resting my back against it. My pulse’s still skittering. I hadn’t meant to dredge all that up—but I guess some memories never stay buried.

I undress then open my dresser and stare. Lace in black, white, electric blue… I bite my lip, considering.

G-string? Thong? Something bolder? My fingers hover, indecisive—until I bend down and—a low whistle slices through the silence.

“Fucking spectacular.”

I freeze. My pulse spikes.

I feel him, then his arms snake around my waist, hot skin on mine. His bare chest presses against my back, his breath warm at my ear.

“What’s that?” I murmur, playing coy.

“That body,” he breathes. His lips graze my shoulder. “Jesus, your figure…”

My eyes flutter closed. Oh, I definitely made the right decision leaving that lunch behind.

I gasp as his hands glide over my stomach, searing trails into my skin. Like fire on my skin—and craving the burn. The drawer snaps shut with a bang, forgotten.

“I thought…” my voice trembles, breaking on a whisper. A shiver of need coils down my spine, electric and sharp. “I thought you’d be hungry.”

His lips brush my ear, his breath hot, his voice low and rough.

“I am. But not for food.”

His hands climb higher, stroking up my torso like he’s memorizing every contour. My resistance crumbles.

I lift my arms over my head and grip the top of the dresser for balance, heart pounding, thighs parting of their own volition. I’ve waited so long. An ache, thick and constant, pulses under my skin. Now that he’s here, that hunger I was denying blazes to life.

His palms cup my breasts. His fingers tease and circle. I arch into him, my breath hitching as his thumbs flick over my nipples. A soft moan slips out as his mouth finds my shoulder. Heat blooms in the wake of his lips dragging over my skin.

He presses closer. My knees weaken.

“Ray…” His name falls from my mouth, laced with a need I can’t disguise.

He’s not just seducing—he’s unraveling me. Slowly. Completely.

“Yeah?” he asks, husky and breathless.

I don’t answer. I move.

I pause—just for a second—then spin in his arms and shove, hard. He stumbles back onto the bed. I follow, hunger blooming bold and unstoppable. Desire drives me, bold and hungry, crawling over him like a woman who knows exactly what she wants. Because I do.

My eyes flick down. He’s already hard—thick and pulsing, lying proudly against his abs. God, he’s beautiful. Not just his cock, but everything—his carved muscles, the delicious tension in his body, the way his breath catches as I crawl over him.

“I’m hungry for you, too,” I murmur, voice husky as I trail my tongue up the line of his neck, tasting the salt of his skin, his need.

He groans and seizes my waist, dragging me upward until our mouths collide—desperate, deep, the kiss messy and wild like a thunderstorm. I clutch at his shoulders, grounding myself and losing myself at the same time.

His hands roam up my spine, nails dragging enough to make me gasp. He’s consuming me. Worshiping me.

When he nips my lower lip, I feel it down to my toes. Every nerve lights up.

I kiss down his jaw, over the scratch of stubble, tasting his skin. The hard plane of his chest rises to meet my mouth as I trace a path down to his center, eyes locking on his face. His lashes flutter. His lips part. His breath comes faster.

I press my palms to his abs, reverent.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says, voice tight, eyes glittering. “I’m thinking it, too. But I want to give you something first.”

A slow, sultry grin forms on my lips.

“Perfect.”

I shift, sliding my leg over him and turning so I’m facing the length of his body. I straddle him again, bent low, ready to kiss and explore every inch. But before I can resume my path down his chest, his hands clamp on my hips.

And he pulls me down.

His mouth finds me in one hot, wet stroke—and I forget everything else. The first sweep of his tongue across my folds is devastating—deliberate, possessive.

“Ray…fuck…” My fingers dig into his thighs. “That’s not fair.”

He chuckles against me, breath a low rumble. “Don’t care.”

His hands spread me wider, fingers gripping my ass.

Then his tongue finds my clit, swirling, sucking, teasing.

I grind against him, desperate for more, but he sets the pace—slow, thorough, dominant.

Pleasure crashes through me like a rogue wave.

My head drops and there he is—his cock, thick and proud, glistening at the tip. I reach for it, trembling.

“Oh my God…” The words slip from my mouth as I wrap my hand around his shaft. He’s so hard. So ready. Drops of pre-cum bead at the head, and I can’t resist—not now.

I guide him to my lips and suck him in, inch by inch, tasting salt and heat.

He groans, his tongue never stopping its merciless rhythm.

It’s a sensual loop of pleasure—we’re feeding each other, fueling each other.

My lips glide down his shaft as his mouth works me over, each stroke drawing me closer to the edge.

I cup his balls, rolling them gently, feeling the tension coil tighter in his body.

His finger slides through my wetness, circling, teasing.

Then—yes. He pushes inside me, and I cry out, muffled around his cock.

My back arches. I jerk him slowly, then suck harder, tongue swirling. He moans, low and raw.

I’m gone.

My orgasm crashes like fire behind my eyes.

I tremble, waves rippling through. His hips thrust upward—he’s close too.

His cock pulses, thick in my throat. A grunt rips from his chest as he lets go, heat flooding my mouth, spilling over my lips and chin.

I kiss the base of him, breathless and sated, and collapse forward.

We’re a tangled heap of limbs and satisfaction.

“God, Ray…” I whisper, fingers drifting over his groin. “What did you just do ?”

He chuckles, rolling me onto my stomach with a strength that still makes me shiver. “Wait ‘til you see what’s next, beautiful.”

His fingers glide up my spine, coaxing my hips upward. My cheek sinks into the sheets as I find myself on all fours, my ass in the air. He doesn’t wait. His cock—already, impossibly hard again—slides through my folds, filling me deep.

“Oh my…” My breath leaves me in a broken gasp as he pulls back, then thrusts in again.

He grips my hips like I’m something precious and breakable—but he doesn’t treat me that way. Not now.

His palm slides up my back as he murmurs, “You feel… incredible.”

I lift my head, locking eyes with him over my shoulder.

“Give me everything,” I whisper. “I want it all.”

He groans, dragging his cock out and slamming back in.

I feel every thick inch. My body welcomes him home.

His hands move restlessly over me—hips, ass, back—claiming every part.

I brace myself on the mattress as he pounds in, each thrust stronger, deeper.

I lose myself in it, drowning in pleasure, drinking in his grunts, his muscles, the sound of skin slapping skin.

“I’m close,” I cry, my body trembling.

“Fuck,” he growls, fingers digging in. “Me too.”

The second orgasm tears through me without mercy. My limbs shake, my core clenches, pleasure pouring down my legs. My vision blurs. I barely hear his shout as he follows, thick pulses of heat splashing across my lower back.

When it’s over, I roll onto my back, boneless, smiling like a woman who just got exactly what she needed.

“This is what you missed when you canceled,” he says, flopping down beside me.

“Oh, I know,” I giggle, resting my head on his chest. “You don’t even understand. I was mad last night. Like… don’t-talk-to-me mad.”

“And now?”

“Now?” I nuzzle into him. “Now you’ve turned my whole day around.”

“I had help,” he murmurs, kissing my forehead. “You’re a damn good partner.”

My heart flutters. It’s ridiculous, how easy he makes me feel seen. He reaches for his phone.

“Food? I’d offer to cook with you, but I’d end up pinning you against the counter.”

“Tempting,” I tease, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. My body still hums from everything we shared, the lingering echo of pleasure like a second skin.

And as I glance back at him, I know I’m not done. Not even close.