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The kiss deepens and becomes rougher as if we’re both trying to say everything we can’t with words.
My fingers curl into his hair, feeling the soft curls intertwine.
There’s an urgency to our movements, a raw desperation that makes every touch electric.
His hand slides up my back, sending shivers down my spine.
I press myself harder against him, needing him closer, needing more.
It’s like the world fades away, leaving just the two of us under the dim streetlight outside the bar.
After what feels like both an eternity and a heartbeat, I pull away, gasping for air.
My lips feel swollen, and my heart is pounding like I’ve just run a marathon.
Bama’s breathing is heavy, too, and his eyes are dark with desire.
“Jordyn,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “We should get the fuck outta here. What do ya think?”
“Yeah.” I nod, still clinging to his cut. “Let’s go.”
“Where?” he asks, eyebrows raised.
“Not the clubhouse,” I say quickly. “My fathers would have your head if they knew what I want to do with you tonight.”
“Hotel then?” His lips curve into a knowing smirk.
“Yeah,” I confirm, my own smile forming despite the chaos in my mind. “Just outside town.”
“All right,” he says, stepping back but not letting go of my hand. “Let’s ride.”
I squeeze his hand, feeling the shared understanding, the unspoken promise at that moment.
Tonight’s about escape, about giving in to what we’ve both been denying, and maybe even about using each other for pleasure.
As we walk toward his bike, the night air cools my flushed skin, but nothing can douse the fire burning between us.
The roar of Bama’s bike drowns out everything else as I wrap my arms around his waist, pressing myself against his back.
The world blurs into a rush of headlights and shadows as we speed down the highway, each mile taking us further from the chaos and closer to whatever tonight is going to become.
We pull up to a rundown motel just outside of Billings, neon sign flickering like it’s on its last legs.
Perfect. Discreet. No questions asked.
Bama cuts the engine, and the sudden silence rings in my ears.
He helps me off the bike, our hands lingering longer than necessary.
There’s an unspoken urgency between us, a need to escape more than just the bar.
We get a key from the night clerk, who doesn’t even look up from his magazine.
Room 12.
We make our way down the dimly lit corridor, the scent of mildew and cheap disinfectant filling the air.
My heart pounds harder with each step.
