My mind is still reeling, the electric aftershocks of his kiss humming under my skin as Ryder gently grips my waist, steering me away from the dying bonfire. He doesn't ask if I want a ride. He just takes my hand—his large, warm palm completely swallowing mine—and leads me around the side of the house toward the curb.
Parked beneath the heavy shadows of a sprawling oak tree sits a matte-black motorcycle, sleek, customized, and lethal.
"Climb on," he says, his voice a low, gravelly command that makes my pulse hitch. He hands me a dark helmet, his dark eyes tracking every breath I take as I strap it beneath my chin. "Hold on tight, little wolf. I don't drive slow."
I throw my leg over the leather seat behind him and wrap my arms tightly around his waist, pressing my chest flat against his
