“Oh fuck, baby, I missed you,” I manage to get out before I drop my head and feast on her.

I’m lost. In him. In his tongue and his teeth, his mouth and his breath, and the way he whispers my name between every kiss as we practically stumble out of the airport and over to where he’s parked his bike.

I know we’ve got to separate at some point to get out of here, get home, but my entire body’s on fire, screaming at me to find a dark corner and just unzip.

I feel cool metal against my hand as Rush rips his mouth from mine. We must be here. In the parking garage. And hey, there are lots of dark corners. But before I can suggest it, Rush lifts me up with a growl and places me on the black leather seat. Breathing heavy, my lips already deliciously swollen, I watch as he straps my bag onto the back of the bike. Every inch of my skin is vibrating and I’m squeezing the black leather with my inner thighs. I’ve never felt so manic. Like if I don’t get my hands on him soon, feel his hot, hard, inked skin against mine, I’ll lose my sanity.

So much for my plan to keep it cool.

“Stop looking at me like that, Addison,” Rush warns, grabbing his helmet.

I smile innocently. “Like what?”

His green eyes liquid fire, he leans in, close to my ear. “I can’t fuck you here. Too many people. Too many cameras.” He licks the shell of my ear and I shiver deliciously. “And no one sees you come but me. So, sit tight, baby. I’m taking you home.”

He slips the helmet over my head, then climbs on in front of me. For just a second, I take him in. My badass boy with the combat boots, ripped jeans, faded black t-shirt, oh-so sexy disheveled hair and plentiful ink. That beautiful ink I dream about every night. That ink wrapped around my body. I shiver again. All the way down to my toes.

“Arms around me, baby,” Rush calls, starting the engine.

He gives me less than a few seconds to do as he says before ripping away from the space and hauling ass out of the parking structure. He’s such a skilled maniac, the way he takes every curve and slides in and out of lanes. I love it. I get off on it.

We’re just merging onto the freeway when my insides calm down enough to enjoy the ride and the desert wind on my skin. Shit, could I move here? Live in Las Vegas, in the desert, with him? Yes, I could. I know that. I want that. But does he? Does he understand that if we did that, things would be crazy for awhile? That I’d be job searching for weeks, maybe months while I worked temp jobs to pay for an apartment? Because I’d be paying for my own shit. Or…would he fight me on that? Like he fights me on the plane tickets? And if I gave in, would that screw with our dynamic?

I roll my eyes inside my helmet. I’m getting way ahead of myself here. He hasn’t asked. He hasn’t even mentioned it. Maybe he’s content with this…seeing each other when we have time. Flying in and out, weekends when it’s cool. Maybe I need to just stop this head trip I’m on and enjoy my time with him.

Rush takes a hand off the handlebars and places it over mine, which are tightly wrapped around his waist. The move, the contact of his skin on mine, completely unravels me again. And as Rush exits the freeway and hits the two lane road that leads to his house, I inch closer, press my breasts against his back and squeeze my thighs around his hips. I feel him inhale sharply. Around us, the pink sun is going down, and without thinking, my right hand abandons his waist and starts to descend.

“Addison.” I hear the warning-laced call on the wind, but I’m barely registering it. I want him so badly I can’t see straight.

He groans as my fingers brush lightly over the top of his burgeoning erection. I want it. I want to slip my hand inside his jeans and make him as hard as the red rocks around us.

“Baby, I’m going to crash,” he hollers back, his voice strained.

I know. I hear him, and I know what he’s saying is true. Shit, I know what I’m doing is totally freaking dangerous. But I don’t care. I swear to god, I want him so bad I don’t care if we crash.

What the hell is wrong with me? And how can I make it stop?

With a hard jerk to the right and a squeal of tires, Rush pulls off the road. I curl into him, holding on tight as he speeds into the desert, hauling ass until he spots a large palo verde tree about quarter mile out. He guns for it, and once there, jerks the bike to the right, then brings it to an abrupt, dust-clouded stop before killing the engine. He’s off the thing in two seconds. Has me on my feet in one. And rips off my helmet with a curse and look so fierce, I shiver and erupt into flames.

“That wasn’t very smart, Ads,” he says, unbuttoning the top of his jeans.

My breath catches in my throat. “I know. I’m sorry.”

His mouth twitches, but the humor doesn’t reach his eyes. He sends his zipper down a few inches. “No you’re not.”

“You’re right, I’m not,” I say as he moves closer until his body is flush against mine. “I want you. I’m not going to apologize for that.”

He leans down, kisses my top lip super gently, then bites it.

I hiss and my belly clenches.

“We’re not making it home, Ads. Not like this.” He reaches for me. Quick and easy, he unbuttons and unzips my jeans, his fingers moving downward. “I’m hard and you’re…” He fiercely cups me through my jeans. “Wet.”

I groan and push against his hand. Hell yeah, I’m wet. I need him so badly, need him to touch me, put me out of my misery so I can think clearly again.

“I’m going to have to fuck you right here, Ads.” His eyes meet mine. “Is that what you want?”

I can barely breathe. “Yes.”

One eyebrow lifts. “Anyone could see us.”

I shake my head, lick my dry lips. “I don’t care.”

He grins. “Shit, baby. We could get arrested.”

I grin back, my heart slamming against my ribs so hard it’s painful. “Then you’d better hurry up and get inside me.”

“Oh, that’s a great answer.” In one effortless move, he flips me around to face the bike, then hooks his thumbs inside of the waistband of my jeans and sends them to my ankles. “Perfect answer.”

The cool desert breeze blows across the skin of my legs and ass as he bends me over the leather seat of his bike and kicks my feet apart as far as the denim will allow. I’m dying. Fucking dying to have him inside me. I hold my breath, every inch of me so sensitive that when he does touch me, when he slides my thong aside, when I feel his hand moving down the seam of my ass, then slowly—oh-so erotically slowly—entering me with one long, thick finger, I convulse.

Rush lets out a groan and holds me steady with his free hand. “Oh, baby, you’re so wet.” He inserts a second finger and drives it up all the way up to the knuckles. “How long have you been like this?”

Breathing heavy, nipples beading, fingers digging into the leather seat, I manage to utter one word. “Hours.”

He pumps me slowly. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt you this wet.”

“I tried to take care of it on the plane.”

“Where?” he demands.

I feel his cock against my ass. It’s hard and warm and ready. “The bathroom.”

Rush stills, then spreads his fingers wide inside of me, stretching me. It’s delicious, and I moan. “Did you touch yourself, Addison?”

“Yes.”

He slips his fingers out of me and finds my clit. When he brushes over it with his thumb, I gasp and clench. “Here?”

God, I’m going to die. “Yes.”

“Did you stroke yourself? Pinch yourself?”

My nails dig into the leather seat as he does both with his clever fingers. “Yes.”

“Did you come?”

I shake my head. I can’t breathe or focus.

“Good.” The head of his cock is right against my opening now. I arch my back, silently begging him to fill me. “You won’t do that again. Got it, Addison? I make you come. Only me.”