Page 112 of Break Me

“And that’s a problem?”

“No.” My voice softens. “I just miss the way you reach back for my thigh when we hit a curve.”

His eyes darken slowly. “I do that so you don’t slide.”

“I know.”

“And you never slide.”

“I know that too.”

He exhales through his nose, almost a laugh, but there’s heat under it now. “You’ve been thinking about this.”

“Maybe.”

His gaze drifts over me, deliberate this time. “You worried I forgot how you feel back there?” he asks quietly.

“I was starting to wonder.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my bike,” he repeats, but his voice is different now. Lower. Sexier. “And I definitely haven’t forgotten how you feel.”

My pulse jumps. “You haven’t?”

“No.” He reaches for my hand. “I remember exactly how tight you hold on. Exactly where your hands settle.”

Heat spreads through me, steady and dangerous.

“Then maybe,” I say, keeping my voice light even though my body is anything but, “we should take her out before it gets too cold.”

“Before it gets too cold,” he echoes.

“Yeah.”

“If we go,” he says quietly, “you don’t get to complain about the temperature.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

“Then you can warm me up after.”

That does it. His grip tightens just slightly.

“Careful,” he murmurs.

“Why?”

“Because I might decide not to wait for the ride.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to.”

The air shifts. His eyes drop to my mouth.

For a second, I think he’s going to forget dinner entirely. I get up and move to stand in front of him, palms sliding up his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath my hands.

Sam doesn’t move. “Raven,” he says quietly, but there’s no warning in it—only heat.

I close the distance until the fronts of our bodies almost touch and ease him backward into the chair. His eyebrows lift, surprised but not resisting. Then, I climb onto his lap slowly, one knee on either side of him, settling there like I’ve done it a hundred times before.