Stone surprised me with a trip to New Orleans. I’ve been wanting to go to explore all the culture there, hoping it inspires a story. I published Kismet the winter after my Europe trip, and since then have published another one, and have been trying to work on a third. So, this trip may be what gets my creative juices flowing.

With the help of Julian, Stone was able to reach out to the Beaumont chapter of Julian’s motorcycle club and borrow a bike for the weekend so we can ride to New Orleans. Getting to ride on the back of Stone’s motorcycle has easily become one of my favorite things to do over the last few years, but riding bitch from Lubbock all the way to New Orleans—which is at least a twelve-hour drive—did not sound like my idea of fun.

After deboarding the plane and grabbing some food at the airport, we catch an Uber to the clubhouse, getting there just before four in the afternoon. Just like the Lubbock chapter, all the guys are incredibly nice and welcoming. The bike we’re borrowing is a gorgeous, shimmery navy-blue Harley Davidson, and after we get our helmets on, we’re on our way.

The weather’s great. With it being only April, the sun’s shining but it isn’t too hot yet. Being on the open road feels amazing. Stone’s back is flush with my chest as I fist the sides of his leather vest. His scent surrounds me, even with the wind beating down on us, and my pulse races. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to ride on the back of a bike with him and not get all swoony.

Letting go of his leathers, I wrap an arm around him, and I can’t help my grin when he lets go of one of the handlebars to hold on to my hand. His touch sends electric waves through my arm, lighting fire to my blood.

Bringing my mouth near his ear, I flick the lobe with my tongue. “I fucking love you, you know that?” I yell over the sound of the wind and the roaring engine.

He keeps his eyes trained on the road as a smile forms on his face. “I fucking love you too, Bambi.”

All these years later, and that pet name still stirs something fierce in me like it did that very first time in college.

Sliding my hand down until I’m cupping him over his jeans, my cock thickens at finding him already half-hard. I get a couple of firm squeezes in before he grabs my hand, placing it back on his torso.

“Behave,” he growls, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Yes, sir,” I say, knowing it drives him wild when I call him that.