Silver Bastard (Silver Valley #1)(31)
Author: Joanna Wylde

“You don’t need—”

“Let’s go,” Puck replied, reaching out and catching my hand. Then I was tagging along after him across the parking lot. Danielle squawked and Blake grabbed her. I heard them arguing in loud whispers and figured she was about ten seconds away from launching a one-woman jihad against Puck.

Fortunately we’d almost reached his bike. He paused, looking at me, his face thoughtful.

“If you want out, now’s the time,” he said in a low voice, and I wondered if he meant more than just a ride. What did I want? I was tired, my feet hurt, and Puck smelled good.

I glanced back at my best friend—still arguing with Blake. I needed to shut this down.

“Danielle, it’s fine,” I said, projecting my voice across the parking lot. “Puck can give me a ride and you can go to Blake’s place. Don’t worry.”

She stilled and Blake wrapped his arm around her neck, pulling her body into his. He didn’t say anything, just waited for her to make the decision to back down. She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms.

“If you do anything to her I’ll get you, Redhouse,” she threatened. Damn. Danielle was fierce.

“Take your woman home,” Puck told Blake. Danielle sputtered but Puck ignored her, pulling me toward the Harley parked around the side of the building. Then he was on it, kicking it to life as I stood there, frozen, because I’d made a serious miscalculation. For some reason, I’d assumed he had his truck.

I hadn’t been on a bike for five years.

They’d been a huge part of my life, growing up. Hell, Mom had a picture of me on one when I was a baby. For all I knew, the man holding me had been my father—she’d never said either way, and the one time I’d asked, she’d told me to shut my fucking mouth. Maybe he was just another in my string of “daddies.” Impossible to know.

Now Puck wanted me on the back of his bike. I remembered my arms wrapped tight around his stomach that day we’d left California, face buried in his back, trembling in pain and fear. I’d cried for hours, not that it mattered. We started riding and kept riding, stopping only for gas and the occasional smoke. They’d wanted to get the hell out of Longnecks territory before someone decided to come after me.

Not that the Silver Bastards were running scared.

Never.

But they’d had better things to do than get into a war over a random girl they’d picked up at a party.

“Get on,” Puck said, turning to look at me. His face was shadowed, but I swore his eyes burned like coals. What had I been thinking, agreeing to go anywhere with him? Had I lost my mind?

Maybe.

But maybe I was just being a giant wuss. Danielle and Blake deserved some time together.

“Okay,” I said, throwing my leg over the bike. I took a deep breath and wrapped my arms around his stomach, trying not to think about how tight and hard it still was. No beer gut here. Puck pulled out of the parking lot and onto the blacktop.

Then we were flying through the night.

—

It’s funny how you build the things that scare you up in your mind.

I’d been flinching every time I heard a bike for years. They represented everything bad about my childhood—the pain, the fear . . . Sometimes they represented the good. The Silver Bastards. Puck watching over me.

But good or bad, I’d completely blocked out one critical reality—flying down the highway on a bike is fucking amazing.

The night air was still warm, although in a week or two that would change. Puck smelled good and he handled the big machine like a master. I closed my eyes, focusing on the feeling of his back against my chest, his bulky strength in front of me.

Damn, he was sexy.

Of course, the fact that a powerful Harley engine roared between my legs like the world’s biggest vibrator didn’t exactly hurt. Whatever the reason, by the time we’d gone that first mile I’d forgotten all about being afraid. There’s something completely liberating about riding behind a man, because they control everything. You can only hold on and follow their lead. Trust they know what they’re doing. That they’ll bring you home safe.

That’s what fucked me up.

I forgot I shouldn’t trust Puck.

When we started out, I’d held him as impersonally as possible. Granted, any time you’re on a bike it’s pretty personal, but that’s no excuse for what I did next. Gradually I let my fingers spread out, widening across his stomach. I found the ridges of muscles, savoring the gentle play of them under his skin when he leaned into a curve.

My body leaned with his, following his lead perfectly.

That gave me the excuse to tighten my arms around him, one hand slipping up just a little higher, the other dropping until I felt the metal of his belt buckle under my fingers.

Doesn’t mean a thing, I told myself. Anyone would hold him like that. Just part of riding the bike together.

But it wasn’t.

All I could think about was dropping my hand lower, exploring the length of his cock through his pants. Would he be hard? A thrill ran through me at the thought, and my nipples perked up. I knew I had to be growing wet down below, but somehow it didn’t feel real. Not here in the darkness, with the wind roaring around us and his face safely turned away from mine. I could just hide my face against his back and pretend none of it was happening, right? By the time we reached Callup and he slowed, I was squirming. Why the hell couldn’t I feel this way around Joe?

Puck drove down the empty main street, slowing as we reached my corner building. He turned around the side and pulled into the alley, stopping gradually. Then he turned off the engine, the sudden silence hitting me like a slap in the face. What was I doing? I’d plastered myself against his back, I had one hand halfway up his chest and the other across his belt buckle.

“Thanks,” I said abruptly. His hands clamped down over mine before I could escape, silently calling bullshit.

“You still like riding bikes,” he said slowly, his voice a low growl. I tried to shrug, which was impossible given our position.

“I guess it can be fun,” I admitted.

He didn’t respond, at least not with words. Instead he slowly pushed my hand lower.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

“You wanted to touch me,” he replied. “But you’re too scared.”

My hand found the hard ridge of his erection, tight against the worn fabric of his jeans. Need and desire hit me like a blow, curling up along my spine, pooling between my legs.