The Old Shop...

The old shop smelled of gas and oil. The light above their heads cast shifting shadows along the walls, making them move and float like tiny dancers. Sitting on an old milk crate, he worked, tuning up the motorcycle. The steady flow of music from the MP3 player on the bench filled the space. Focused on his task, he didn't notice the extra shadow among the others—until she cleared her throat to get his attention.

His eyes swept over her, taking in everything—from her liquid brown eyes to the white T-shirt hugging her large breasts, down the curves of her full body and round ass. A beer bottle rested on her thigh, fingers wrapped around its neck. She bit her bottom lip as she looked him over—the parts scattered on the ground, the shop’s disarray, and his rugged appearance.

"Are you gonna be done soon?" she asked, brows knitting together.

They had fought earlier in the day. What had seemed important then now felt stupid and petty. The argument had sent him out to the shop and her into the bedroom—doors slamming, words muttered under their breath. But a few hours later, she missed him.

As she walked toward him, the sway in her hips was deliberate. Holding the beer out like a peace offering, she extended it to him. He took the bottle, bringing it to his lips for a long, slow drink. Moving behind him, she wrapped her arms around his torso, pressing her ample breasts into his back before kissing the side of his face. She saw the subtle curl of his lip, and in that moment, she knew she was forgiven.

Her breath, hot against his cheek, sent shivers down his spine. Her lips and teeth found his earlobe, tugging at it gently.

She whispered into his ear, "I wanna go for a ride."

His hands rested on his thighs before he held them up in mock surrender, shaking his head as he looked back at her.

"She won’t be back together for a bit, babe."

"I know," she said, stepping between him and the bike, leaning back against the seat.

Gripping the hem of her T-shirt, she pulled it up over her head, pushing into him so he had to lean back, her body pressing closer. The lacy bra was right in his face. His hands—dark and dirty—rose to her skin, pressing against alabaster flesh and sheer lace. The contrast was striking. He cupped her breasts, their weight filling his palms, squeezing firmly as he heard her breath hitch.

Standing up, he pressed into her, his hands trailing over her pale skin as his mouth claimed hers in a searing kiss. His fingers found her face, holding her as their mouths met, dizzying in intensity. Her hands worked at his jeans—pushing, pulling, tugging—while her soft fingers explored his rigid heat beneath.

Kissing. Biting. Lips and tongues tangled.

She pressed back into the bike, the cold metal and leather sending a thrill through her. His hands found the waist of her pants, tugging them down over her hips, gripping her ass as he pulled her against him. Her arms curled around his neck, fingers threading through his hair, tugging, pulling. He ground against her softness, his grip tightening.

A moan escaped her lips. Nails raked across his skin. Their breaths came fast and harsh.

She shifted, straddling the bike backward, the chill of the seat sending a shiver through her spine. Biting her lip, she patted the leather, coaxing him closer. Tugging on his shirt, she pulled him in as he straddled the bike, planting both feet on the ground. She slid down the wet heat of her pressing against his hard cock.

He could feel the heat of her—his willing little kitten. He ran the head of his cock along the slick folds of her slick heat, feeling her body react, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. The gas cap dug into her chest as he rolled his hips, grinding her down into him.

Her hands reached up, tugging her bra down to expose her breasts, her nipples stiffening in the cool air. His hands followed, sliding up to meet hers. Glancing down through her lashes, she watched him, mesmerized by the sight of his strong hands on her skin.

She moved against him, grinding down, her body trembling as he took control.