Free BILLIONAIRE BIKERS: 3 MC Romance Books by Kristina Blake Page B

enough to tip the motorcycle over, but now I find myself pinned between man and machine as Flint's larger body eclipses me.
    The bright, industrial light from the bar sign fades as Flint Carter looms in. I gaze up into his angular face, darkened by shadows cast as much inwardly as they are outwardly. I don't feel afraid; I feel…nervous. Excited by his proximity. So much so that my body feels as if it is reacting to him on more than just a chemical level. Small thrills of electricity shoot through me as he presses himself closer. I brace myself against the seat of the bike, and his larger gloved hands come up as well. He has encased me in his arms without ever actually managing to touch me. My chances of escaping from our deal are fast dwindling. I'm not sure I even want to anymore.
    "You're so hot and cold," I murmur. "I can honestly never tell what you're thinking, Flint. One moment you don't want me around, the next you're inviting me to take another ride on the back of your bike and stay in a five-star hotel with you. I can't tell if you're being serious now or…"
    "You were the one who set the terms," he reminds me as he leans in. I can feel his hot breath gust across my face. It smells sweet, with the sharp tang of alcohol lingering just below the surface. I feel absolutely intoxicated by it.
    "And you were the one who changed them," I point out. "Something tells me you don't play by anyone else's rules, Flint Carter."
    Despite our proximity, he still manages to take me unexpectedly. The bike shifts beneath me, the leather creaks, as he swoops down and captures my lips with his. It's almost as if he's made a study of the difference in our heights in advance. He kisses me easily, effortlessly; I half expect him to pull away and leave it at that. Then I feel the bike creak once more as his hand slides up my back to cradle the back of my neck and solidify me against him. Just as I had imagined he would.
    And now I know there is no chance of my escaping our deal, because it's my reward, also. Maybe I'm just drunk, but I think it must be more than that. I know alcohol has a way of amplifying fires, but the fire inside me is stoked by something else. The feeling in my stomach, the twisted, tied-up sensation I get every time Flint looks at me, does anything to me, unravels, and I experience a pleasure like nothing I've ever felt before come untethered and release inside me as the tension breaks.
    This is more than a winner collecting a reward. This is Flint Carter kissing me. And I'm kissing him back.
    I raise my hands off the seat to clutch the front of his shirt, fisting the material tightly in my fingers. I feel as if I need something to hold onto, and the only viable anchor is the same man who is sending me head first into the stratosphere with every movement of his lips.
    I was wrong about one thing. Flint isn't only an aggressive kisser. He's certainly forceful, and I feel the full pressure of his need as his mouth moves against mine insistently, but there's more to it. He almost breaks from me first, but it's only to gasp a long, ragged breath. Then I feel the hand on the back of my neck clasp harder, and with a groan of defeat his lips crash against mine once more like a wave upon the shore. I answer him with a moan of equal desperation. I shouldn't love this as much as I do. I shouldn't need it, and feel it so acutely when it's gone from me.
    Luckily for me, Flint appears nowhere near finished. His other hand comes off the bike to grip my flank, his fingers digging into taut flesh until I feel as if the barrier my jeans provide is thinner than tissue paper. It may as well not be there at all; I feel strangely, and absolutely, naked beneath him. His fingertips dig in, and I find myself enjoying the intense sensation that springs up beneath his needful grip. The sharp, almost-pain of his fingernails drives me to do exactly as he instructs, and within seconds he has guided me up into a sideways sitting position atop his