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Silver Biker
Author: L.B. Dunbar


Nineteen years ago . . .




“Yes. God, yes.” My palm slaps the side of my camper as the sexy search and rescue officer slams into me.

I’ve never done anything as crazy as this.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he hisses in my ear. His voice is that of someone who’s smoked a pack of cigarettes, although smoking the cancer sticks would never attract me. It’s more that his raspy sound is smoky like the cloud filtering around a crackling fire. He’s a flame, and I’m hot for him.

My only response to his words is a heavy grunt as my pelvic bone hits the fiberglass of my small travel trailer. The camper rocks a little from the eager thrusting of this god-like man entering me over and over again from behind. My cheek presses against the cool metal as he surges into me, filling me deliciously on repeat. It’s incredible and insane.

I’ve just met him.

Yesterday, I was hiking in the Smoky Mountains near Blue Ridge, Georgia. With tunes in my ear and nature as my view, I was in the zone. I never heard him coming.

The cracking of underbrush. The shout from his mouth.

He plowed into me, and we collapsed in a heap of packs and gear.

The cool walking stick I’d found tumbled from my hand. He landed on his back, and somehow, I was straddling him.

“Oh, my God . . .” I nervously giggled.

“Are you alright?” he questioned, coughing and sputtering.

“Where did you come from?” I asked, still trying to catch my breath.

The bluest eyes peered up at me. “I slipped and fell.” The man beneath me was gorgeous. He was rugged in an outdoor manner, and his cheeks were etched like the boulders of these mountains. His abs beneath my core were rock solid while his eyes danced like a riverbed trickling to larger water. He embodied the peaks of nature around us, and I wanted to camp on him.

“I could ask you the same question, but I see you’ve fallen from heaven.” His sunshine smile turned up the wattage but also warned me where there was heat, there was fire. This man could scorch a girl, and I wanted to let him.

“Does that line actually work on women?” I questioned as I slowly sat up on him. My palms remained on his chest. My thighs clenched around his waist, and I prayed the involuntary movement didn’t register with him. When those curvy lips crooked higher on one side, I realized he hadn’t missed the not-so-subtle squeeze.

Then I noticed his hands on my hips, holding me in place.

“Would it work on you?”

Ah, he’s a charmer, this one, I thought.

“What works on me is a hot bath, a no-sex massage, and copious amounts of wine.” It’d been a while since any of the above happened, and beggars would not be choosers. It wasn’t really the truth. I would dip in a stream, skip the massage, and take one sip of him and be drunk.

“No-sex massage? Well, I’m out then.” He chuckled lightly and even that was smoky and rough. “Would you mind, maybe, getting off on me?” he asked.

“You want me to get off on you?” Aghast at his boldness, his laughter turned louder. Richer. Deeper.

“Ah, you’re a firecracker,” he teased. “And as much as I welcome the offer of you to getting off on me, I asked if you’d mind getting off of me. I’m having trouble breathing with this pack pressing into my back.”

“Shit. I’m so sorry.” I scrambled free of his firm body and scampered away from him like a hermit crab.

“No worries,” he stated, slowly lifting himself to a seated position. If I thought sitting over him was a treat, witnessing him in a casual lean on one arm with his knee propped up continued the rush of my libido. I wanted to park on his lap.

Instead, I shook my head to rid the sexual thoughts.

“I’m Evie,” I offered, extending a hand, and he stared at my fingers.

“I’m on duty, so if you’re sure you’re okay, I should probably get going.” He stood slowly, held out his hand, which I passed on taking since he wouldn’t shake mine, and pressed myself upward to stand.

“Well, thanks for that.” I pointed at the ground. “That was fun. We should do it again.” I would hate myself for these lines after he walked away, when I’d second-guess every awkward minute between us. I’d never been so forward.

“I slipped.” He pointed toward a ridge rising to my right, and I saw the fresh line of loosened soil in the slight incline where his hiking boot ground a path. “Be careful around here. You take care, Evie.” He winked at me, a chuckle mixing with the sentiment. Then he walked away just as I figured he would.

“Peach,” he grunts in my ear, his mouth at the shell as his thickness pummels into me. The depth of his voice brings me back to the present. We should have gone inside my sleeper, but we didn’t make it that far.

“Ranger?” I squeak as his body shifts, and he taps my insides in a way I’ve never been tapped.

“You’re like a Georgia peach, juicing all over me.” His teeth nip at my ear. I am slipping and sliding over him, and I’d be embarrassed if the strain in his voice didn’t tell me he was thoroughly enjoying it.

At least I hope he’s enjoying it.

How could he not be enjoying this?

This was incredible.

“Where you going, Peach? Stay with me,” he stresses at my ear as his hand slips forward and his thick fingertip touches my clit. Rubbing this sensitive spot in circles like he’s flint against a rock, I’m going to spark any second.

“I’m going to come,” I warn him as if he doesn’t already know, as if that hadn’t been the end goal when he spun me for the exterior of my camper, nibbled at my neck, and asked me if he could fuck me.

He’s direct.

I said yes.

I wasn’t easy, though my actions appear I might be easier than I thought. My entire reaction to this rugged mountain man surprises me.

He slows his thrusts and increases the stroking on my pleasure point.

“Give it to me,” he groans as he concentrates on me, and I smile to myself.

“I’m giving it to you, pal,” I mutter. “Just don’t ask for my heart.” It’s a heavy thought for the moment—for the rash decision to fuck a man against a camper in the middle of the woods when I only met him a day ago.

Only twenty-four hours, Evelyn Sue. What were you thinking?

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