I slip the helmet onto her head, memorizing her hopeful smile as it disappears beneath the face shield. I climb onto the motorcycle and hold it steady while Jayme climbs on behind me. I’m glad that she’s wearing slim-fit slacks today, though the sand burns on her knees are long healed.

  “Ready?” I ask, looking over my shoulder.

  She nods, the helmet bobbing on her head slightly. I remind myself that I need to get a helmet for her, not only because of helmet laws but because her head is so much smaller than mine.

  I start the motorcycle, the roar breaking the quiet of the night, and once I feel her arms wrap around me tightly, I pull off. The parking lot gives way to the road, and I accelerate into the night, free for the time being. The wind whipping past us washes away any last bits of worry about the festival.

  It’s the two of us. Not Jayme, the fixer, and Carson, the fuck-up. I’m not Carson, the amusement park heir, either. She doesn’t care about any of that. She just cares about me, enough to risk this thing growing between us in an effort to improve my relationship with my dad and make my future better.

  She sees things in me that I don’t, but I see her too. Her generosity and kindness, even when they’re packaged in hard words and tough to acknowledge, spot-on observations.

  We ride for what seems to be hours, leaning into curves together and flying through straightaways, no destination in mind. But we end up back at Cutthroat Curve as if it’s our place. Maybe it is? The place where things changed and we began.

  I want to start over, though—or maybe it’s a continuation—from this new, deeper place of understanding between us. Jayme squeezes me tightly with both her arms and thighs, and it feels as though she can read my mind.

  I pull over on the shoulder and move a few feet deeper into the soft dirt before stopping. I can see for miles, over the cliff and all along the road in front of us and behind us. When I shut off the motorcycle, it goes dark, only the moon high above and the distant glow of the town below lighting the night.

  I hold the motorcycle steady as Jayme climbs off and begins to take off the helmet. I pop the kickstand down and throw my leg over the back, coming to help her undo the clasp. Once she’s freed, I hook the strap over the handlebar and look at her face in the moonlight, feeling something inside me move deeply.

  “How’re you doing?” It’s a loaded question, meaning more than just how she feels after the ride. I mean with the festival, with us, with the argument . . . with everything.

  “I think I understand why you like riding so much,” she answers, adding a huge ‘gotcha’ smile.

  I’m already chuckling, though I don’t know why. I lift my brows questioningly.

  “All that vibration.” She shimmies her whole body as if the motorcycle’s rumbling is still working its way through her.

  With that little statement, everything else is forgotten and my focus zeroes in on her. “You like that?” I ask, dropping my voice deeper and huskier.

  Taking a step toward her, I force her to look up slightly, though in her heels, she’s not much shorter than I am.

  “Carson . . .” she whispers with a needy sigh. The touch of my lips to hers seems to flip a switch inside her. Whatever was holding her back on the ride has evaporated into the scant air between us. She kisses me back passionately, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me in tight. Our bodies slam into each other, trying to occupy the same space, and she gasps when I grab her ass, gripping it hard in my hands.

  I knead her flesh through her tight slacks, and she arches her back into my touch, groaning in pleasure with each squeezing hold. I test her more, surprising her with a sharp smack to her left ass cheek.

  “Oh!” she cries out, but not in pain. “Was that for tonight?” she asks coyly, “or for fun?”

  “Do you want to talk more right now?” I challenge.

  She shakes her head with a sexy tilt of her lips as she tells me boldly, “No, I want you to make me come. The motorcycle ride has me on edge.” I smack her ass again, a dark brow lifted. She corrects herself. “You have me on edge.”

  I offer her a satisfied nod. “Turn around and bend over the motorcycle.” Even as I tell her what to do, I don’t wait for her to obey. I spin her myself, pressing gently on her upper back to guide her to the seat where she can safely lean forward for support.

  Running my hands down her back, I reach her waistband and tug at her tucked-in blouse until it’s hanging free. Standing behind her, I grind my cock against her ass, wanting her to feel how much I want her. And then I slip my hands under her shirt to cup her full breasts. Through the silk of her bra, I can feel the hard nubs of her nipples, and I pinch them between my fingers, drawing a hiss of pleasure from her.

  Using my nose, I brush her hair out of the way and lay a line of sweet kisses along her neck. She smells like night air, perfume, and a hint of salt from work today. Whispering hotly, I ask, “You want me to fuck you right here on the side of the road?”

  She moans but shakes her head. “Lick me . . . oh, God, please . . . lick me.”

  I love that she’s confident and openly tells me what she wants. Hearing her plead is sexy. Hearing her make a demand is erotic. I make quick work of the button of her slacks, and she helps wiggle them down until the waistband locks her feet from spreading any further. Her round ass is pale in the moonlight, split by the string of her thong. Any fingerprints or handprints from my earlier play have faded, and I long to replace them.

  I drop to my knees behind her, grabbing the taut flesh once again and kneading her. Slowly, I trace a fingertip along the line of her thong, pulling the string from between her cheeks and continuing down until I feel how wet she is. Her folds are soaked and slippery, and I can smell the scent of her desire. “Fuck, Jayme,” I groan.

  My balls are heavy with need, and I imagine that’s how she feels too. On edge. Unwilling to deal with the hassle of her panties, I pull the string further to the side, desperate for every drop of her desire. Without warning, I bury myself in her, my nose in her ass and my tongue dipping into her pussy.

  “Shit,” she gasps as she arches her back to give me more access to every inch of her.

  I let her sounds guide me as I taste her sweetness with my hungry mouth and eager tongue. Coating my finger in her juices, I circle it on the tightness of her ass, teasing the sensitive flesh there too. “Can I touch you here?”

  “Fuck, yes. You can touch me anywhere, Carson,” she whines, her hips bucking. “I’m so close.”

  Her encouraging, needy words crank the throttle on my efforts, my fingers, tongue, lips, and more squeezing, licking, pressing, sucking, and grabbing her everywhere I can reach.

  “I can’t wait to taste your cum,” I confess, the words mumbled against her flesh, but she must understand because she cries out. It’s all the warning I get before she convulses, her hips bucking as she loses herself. I hang on to her as best I can, shoving my tongue deeper into her, savoring the deep, tangy sweetness. The pulses of her orgasm let my finger slip into her ass the tiniest bit, and she arches hard. It gives me the room I need to suck her clit into my mouth and flick my tongue over it as fast as possible.

  She flies again, or maybe it’s the same orgasm? All I know is that she’s soaking me and I want to drink every drop, swallow her essence until she can’t come any more.

  Her fist bangs on the seat of my motorcycle, and I think she might even be biting the leather. Usually, I treat my ride with kid gloves, never risking anything that might damage it. But Jayme could gnaw a damn hole through the seat right now like a rabid raccoon and I’d look at that spot fondly, remembering this moment.

  When she sags, panting and shuddering, I stand up. Letting my hands trace up her thighs, I grab her ass again, using my thumbs to part her folds. I ask her again, “Do you want me to fuck you right here on the side of the road?”

  We’re barely out of sight, not by much, but there are still no headlights for miles. We’re utterly alone here, but there is something dangerous about fucking on the side of the road. She knows it and I know it. This is definitely something she would’ve warned me about, or even yelled about, a few weeks ago. But I know her answer before she speaks. Still, I wait, wanting her to say it.

  “Yes. Carson, fuck me hard and fast,” she gasps. “Fill me up.”

  I rip my pants and underwear down, letting my painfully hard cock free to the night air. Slowly, I give myself a stroke, squeezing tightly at the base so I don’t come as soon as I feel her velvety walls gripping me. Still bent over, she looks back over her shoulder at me, watching as I line up with her core.

  I grip her hips hard, secretly hoping the fingerprints stay this time, and slam into her. Her back arches so hard that I hear a faint crackle in her vertebra, and she throws her head back, her face lifting to the moon. Her moan is broken by the hitch in her breathing.

  I grunt at the feeling of her silky tightness surrounding me and press in again, going even deeper. I think I bottom out inside her, but the primal sounds coming from her throat guide me to do it again.

  Each stroke is deep and hard, and gradually, I pick up speed until I’m pounding into her. My thighs slap hers with every thrust, and I pull her hips back until her ass hits my hips each time. We’re wild and powerful, raw and animalistic.

  I’d be worried I’m being too rough with her, but she’s there with me every hammering stroke of the way. “Yes, yes, yes,” she grunts in time with our movements, encouraging me to give her more.

  I slide a hand up to her hair, weaving my fingers in near the root to tug sharply. She hisses, which I take as a good sign. Letting go of her hip momentarily, I lay two quick smacks to her ass, and I feel a quivering spasm grip my cock.

  “Can you come again?” I demand.

  She nods, moaning. “With you.”

  “Get there. Make your pussy suck me dry.” The order is gruff and crude, but I feel a fresh gush of Jayme’s juices coat us. And then I feel her fingers slipping around my cock, gathering the wetness before centering over her clit. She is so fucking sexy, taking her pleasure on my cock and getting herself off again. “That’s it. Fucking perfect.”

  I grip her hips again and find a punishing rhythm, slamming balls deep with each drive. I fuck her as hard as I can, lifting to my toes with each stroke to get as much of her as possible. I can feel my cock swelling, getting harder and harder inside her as I feel like my whole body is going to explode.

  She hovers on the edge, her breath caught in her throat. I smack her ass one time, and she clamps down on me, crying out into the night. “Fuck . . . Carson . . . yes!”

  My balls churn hot and then explode, cream pumping into her in pulses. I throw my head back, coming harder than I think I ever have in my life. I swear I feel my soul leave my body and then snap back into place.

  Her pussy is still shuddering, the spasms demanding more from me. I told her to suck me dry, and fuck if she’s not doing it. I thrust deep inside her and hold her still in my grip, grinding myself against her.

  My legs are shaking with exertion, but I want to stay buried in her a little while longer. Gentling my touch, I trace over the skin of her lower back and hips. “Fuck, that was . . .”

  My vocabulary fails me, and Jayme laughs lightly, both of us moaning softly as her laughter makes her squeeze around me.

  “Yes, it was,” she agrees, apparently unable to find words either.

  We’ve fucked ourselves stupid.

  Slowly, I pull out of her, wishing I didn’t have to. But I see headlights way down below. They’re still several minutes out, but I don’t want to risk someone seeing Jayme half-naked. I’m protective of her and her reputation too.

  As we adjust our clothing as best we can, I tell her, “At some point, we need to do this in a bed where we can take our time, fuck in every different position, and then just lie there afterward until we fall asleep.”

  Her smile is full of danger. “Where’s the risk in that?”

  I take her in my arms, grinning in joy. “Ooh, you’re naughtier than I thought. I love it.”

  She giggles happily, and I feel ten feet tall and bulletproof. I grab the helmet and help her slip it back on, and then we ride off into the night again. But it feels different now.

  Something shifted in that Ferris Wheel car, but it shifted even more on that deserted cliff. My jumbled mess and Jayme’s organized chaos are twining together into something greater than the sum of its parts. Or at least that’s how it feels to me.

  She didn’t say where to go, but we end up outside her apartment building. I pull over to the curb, giving the doorman a cocky smirk. Turning the motorcycle off, I tell her, “Myron isn’t happy to see me again.”

  So much of our time together has been spent at the office, I realize. It’s my second home, and I spend most of my days and nights there anyway, so I hadn’t noticed that though it’s been weeks, I’ve never been inside Jayme’s place, nor has she been to mine. It feels inordinately weird that someone so close to me hasn’t sat on my couch, slept in my bed, and padded barefoot into the kitchen for a morning cup of coffee.

  I want that with Jayme’s place too. To mark her space with my presence, see her living room, make some memories in her bedroom. Hell, I want to have a space in her toothbrush cup for one of mine and a towel on her rack. I want things that are . . . downright domestic.

  The thought’s not as scary as it would have been a short while ago.

  “Myron’s fine. He looks out for me is all,” Jayme says, throwing a wave Myron’s way. He lifts his chin, and I’m certain that greeting is all for her and none for me.

  “Can I come up?” I ask, suddenly nervous. This means something to me.

  She smiles in surprise. “Yeah, of course. But we have an early morning,” she reminds me.

  “I’ll set an early alarm to give me time to go home and change.” That’ll also give her time to get ready because tomorrow is a big day for both of us.

  She takes my hand and leads me toward the door. “Hey, Myron! How’re you tonight?” she greets the stony-faced man.

  He gives me a very protective warning look and then gives Jayme a friendly smile. “Doing well, ma’am. Can I help with anything this evening? Take out the trash, maybe?”

  His face is light and kind, but it’s obvious he means me.

  Jayme laughs. “Har-har, Mr. Comedian. No, I’m good for tonight. But . . . uh, can you set up a car to take me in the morning? Seven o’clock?” She cringes as she asks, as though she’s unaccustomed to asking for help. Or realizing that she just told her doorman that the guy who gave her a ride home will be gone before sunrise.

  “Of course,” he answers easily. But when Jayme walks through the door he’s holding open, he glares at me. “Don’t hurt her,” he says menacingly.

  I pause. “Is this the part where you threaten me?”

  He shakes his head, his eyes dark but full of something deeper than a warning. “Don’t need to. Just don’t do it.”

  I blink. I wasn’t expecting that. He sounds . . . concerned for Jayme. I get it, she’s amazing and has people falling into line to do her bidding. Me included. But I guess I expected the monster of a man to resort to fists and death threats, not polite orders.

  “Carson?” Jayme says from a few feet inside the lobby where she’s stopped after realizing I wasn’t behind her.

  “Coming,” I answer. I dip my chin at Myron, acknowledging his request and silently letting him know that I have no intention of hurting Jayme.

  We take the elevator up to the fifth floor, and I look down the hallway as she leads me to her door. There are only two doors on this side of the building. I’d expected there to be several apartments along each side.

  She unlocks her door with her thumb and then shrugs at my questioning look. “Fingerprint scanner. The landlord had them installed for security.”

  “They’d have to get past Myron first. Does he sleep or is he like one of those robots that goes for weeks on a single electric charge?” I joke.

  Jayme laughs. “He’s the night guard. Brad is the day guard, and Javier is the weekend man. Though they live on the first floor, so we can call any of them if we need to.”

  They’re not simply doormen but full-service, on-site caretakers.

  Damn. I’m feeling much better about Jayme’s safety and security. And I realize that her comfort is well taken care of too.

  Her apartment is warm and cozy, but also large by any city standard. The living room has a fluffy sectional couch turned toward an electric fireplace with a television on the wall above it. There are a bunch of pillows, but they’re sorted into groups of three, and the blanket thrown over the back looks casual, but I’m sure it was perfectly arranged. The coffee table is brass and glass with a vintage feel and holds a stack of books, a candle, and a single coaster.

  To the left is the dining area and kitchen, which I can see into. The cabinets are light wood, classic and traditional but modernized with sleek white countertops. The dining room has dark green geometric wallpaper and a gathering of brass candlesticks in the middle of the table.

  Everything I can see are beautiful, simple quality pieces that are timeless. In a way, if I’d been told this was a model home unit, I’d have easily believed that. But knowing Jayme as well as I do, I can see the little touches of her personality here. She is classic and well put together too, but with a twist, like the apothecary jar of seashells by the fireplace, which could be a generic staged piece, but I bet they’re from the beach by Taya’s house. And the fresh white tea towel hanging from the stove handle that reads Eat a Bag of Dicks. I’m not sure where that came from, or if I want to know.

  “Nice place,” I tell Jayme, who seems to be waiting for a comment from me.

  “Thanks. Come on, let’s take a quick shower before we crash.” She takes my hand and leads me down a hallway.

  We pass a set of glass doors closing off a small office with a library’s worth of books on the shelves along one wall. There are a couple of other regular doors that are closed, so I don’t know what’s behind them.