Page 96 of Shatter

His hands stay on my hips, holding me steady on the seat, and I never once have to wonder where they're going next.

The bike rocks under us with every thrust.

The chrome's cold under my palm where I grip the handlebar behind me.

"Look at you." His voice drops into something low and filthy. "Look at you, taking me like this. Out here where anybody could see you."

"Let them." I don't even recognize my own voice. "Let them see."

He groans, and his rhythm stutters.

"Gods, you're perfect." He presses his forehead to mine, breathing hard. "You feel so fucking good. You know that? You're gonna ruin me."

"Good." I bite his jaw. "Ruin me back."

He does.

He fucks me harder, faster, the bike rocking and creaking, the leather squeaking under my bare ass, and the pressure builds low in my belly until I can't breathe around it.

"Espen." It comes out a whine. "Espen, don't stop, don't you dare stop..."

He doesn't.

It breaks over me all at once.

I come screaming, my back arching over the gas tank, my head thrown back to the sky, and the sound goes out across the water and sends the heron flapping off over the trees.

I clench around him in hard, rolling pulses, and he swears in Norwegian, a long, broken string of it against my shoulder.

He thrusts once more, twice, and holds himself deep, shuddering, his breath hot and ragged on my skin.

For a long time, neither of us moves.

The bike ticks, and water trickles somewhere.

His breath saws hot against my shoulder, and a mockingbird starts up in the trees like nothing happened.

We rinse off in the spring, and it's still freezing.

I yelp when it hits my sweaty skin.

He laughs at me, and I splash him until he stops.

When we climb out, I'm shivering hard, goose bumps everywhere, my knees knocking.

He pulls his T-shirt off the handlebar and shakes it out.

"C'mere." He sits down on the blanket and holds out his hand.

I sit between his knees with my back to his chest.

He gathers my wet hair up in the T-shirt and starts to dry it.

Slow.

He squeezes the water out of the ends, then works his way up, gentle at the scalp where the blonde grows in.

He's careful there, like the roots might bruise.