Make Me Yours (A Steamy Collection)
Rage burns through me, hot and bright, and I gun it, the engine screaming as I chase him down.
The bridge is ahead old, rusted, the wooden planks half-rotten. The finish line. Roman’s almost there, his bike eating up the last stretch of road. I lean forward, my body flush against the tank, my pussy dripping, my skin on fire. I’m so close I can taste it.
Then his back tire skids.
He corrects, but not fast enough. I see my opening and I take it, swinging wide, cutting him off. The Ducati flies past him, and I cross the bridge, my laughter tearing out of me, wild and triumphant.
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