You Coming, Princess?
I get on the back of his motorcycle without thinking much of it. He walks me outside without so much as a wave to Bri and Ink, who we found making out in a corner on our way out. Bri winked at me and I can’t help but think she knew what she was doing all along.
I knew Ink was in a motorcycle club but it appears this beautiful stranger is too.
For the first time, I realize I never bothered to get his name.
I run my eyes over the sleek matte black Harley Davidson that sits in front of us, wondering how a good girl can go bad so fast.
“You coming, princess?” he smiles and falter. Princess.
“Tell me your name before I get on that beast of a thing,” I say, feeling some of my senses floating back to me. “And I’m not a princess. My name is—”
“Hart.” He smiles, his plump lips turning up at the corners. “I’m Ledger. And by the look in your eyes I can tell you’ve never even been this close to a bike, so until I say otherwise, princess, that’s what you are. A princess who has never been on a bike. Get on.”
He hands me a helmet and it seems to me that his words should irritate me. He has quite the damn mouth on him, which I knew from the second I met him in the club, but I thought we were past the sarcastic undertone he permeated back there. My mind can’t help but drift to the wonders he could do with that sharp tongue of his.
I watch as Ledger swings a leg over his bike and starts it, life flooding into the deathtrap as it roars to existence. I didn’t think it was possible for the man to look hotter but now that he’s straddling a motorcycle I think he’s reached new heights. I all but drool as I drink him in. He turns back to me, raising his eyebrows before getting back off the bike and walking toward me.
Swinging a black leather jacket over my shoulders, he whispers in my ear again. His voice is deep and full of masculine grit, just like the scent that floats off of him. Something I can’t put my finger on but that’s equally as mysterious with woodsy undertones to it.
“Put your arms in, it’s windy, you’ll be cold.”
I do as he says, taking orders from this man with his perfect mouth and even more perfect cheekbones.
He puts his helmet down over my head, adjusting it before smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkle in a way that tells me he’s significantly older than me, but after what I’ve been through, I could use a man with some goddamn experience. The only light illuminating him, a dim streetlight, shines on his face as he turns away, leaving me needy and wanting.
So I do the last thing Hart from Chicago would do.
I hike my tight dress up and swing my leg over his bike, allowing him to take me wherever he pleases.