Free No Surrender by Sara Arden Page B

if she were some sort of delicate instrument and he a master composer. It was nothing short of bliss.
    She found her hips bucking, driving her cleft up against his mouth. He’d gripped her hips, pinning her where he wanted her. His breath was a warm caress over the heated and engorged flesh when he spoke. “When I’m done here, when you’re coming and riding the wave, I’m going to kiss you and we’ll taste each other.”
    It was naughty and decadent, and it caused her interior walls to constrict around his fingers.
    “Like that, do you? Yeah, me, too. I want to know what we taste like together.”
    He dipped his head again, suckling and thrusting.
    Just as he’d promised, when she was riding his fingers and arching up into her orgasm, he broke away and slammed his mouth into hers.
    They tasted sweet together, a comingling of evidence of their ecstasy.
    When she lay sated and exhausted, he slapped her ass lightly. “Okay, rest time is over. Let’s go.”
    “What? I thought we were spending the day inside.”
    “No, that was just a good start to an even better day.”
    She licked her lips.
    “Stop that,” he said. “It makes me think about your pretty lips on my cock. And we just can’t do that again.” Sean grinned. “I need like fifteen minutes.”
    Her interior walls tensed at the idea, but holy hell. She wasn’t used to this much activity. “I think I need more than fifteen minutes.”
    “Okay, that might have been optimistic on my part, as well. But the will is there.” He nodded.
    “I say we put a moratorium on it at least until tonight.”
    “So we definitely need to get out of the house or I’m just going to have to bury my face between those pretty thighs again.”
    “And I’d let you, even though I’d be sorry for it later.”
    “So where’s the bike?”
    “It’s in the bay with my personal vehicles.”
    “How many do you have?” He raised a brow.
    “Oh, you know how I am with the project cars. I always have at least three or four. Then I sell ’em.”
    He got dressed and laced into his combat boots while she searched for something clean to wear. She found a pair of black jeans and an old band T-shirt from high school, then pulled on her own combat boots. Of course, hers hadn’t seen any actual combat. They were Doc Martens. She tied her wet hair up into a low ponytail.
    “Except Betty.”
    “I might sell Betty.”
    “You lie. You’ve put off finishing her just so you don’t have to make that choice.”
    “You don’t know everything, Mr. Smarty-Pants.”
    “Not everything, Kentucky. But I do know you.”
    “As if, bro,” she teased. “So, you still cool to let me drive?”
    “It’s your bike.” He grabbed her. “Let’s go to that little coffee shop in Ozawkie for breakfast.”
    “I haven’t thought about that place in years. I wonder if they’re still open.”
    “I Googled. They have crepes...”
    “Done.”

8
    I T HAD BEEN a long time since Sean had been on the road like this.
    A long time since he’d felt the wind rushing around him, the connection to the pavement, the endless possibilities of everywhere the road could take him.
    He felt a lot like this when he was in the air. He loved flying the Black Hawks, but there was something more intimate about being on a bike, having all of that power between his legs.
    Sean especially liked being on the back of the bike, with his arms wrapped around Kentucky’s waist, feeling her powerful body holding up the bike, guiding it down the spinning ribbon of highway. Feeling her ass pressed up against him.
    He liked the freedom he felt with her driving, too.
    He could race with the wind and he didn’t have to be in control. He wasn’t the one whose hand was the guiding force of life and death.
    Although it was a little terrifying, too. He was so used to having all of that responsibility resting on his shoulders. It was quite something to surrender it to someone else.
    To put his life in her hands.
    Even though she