Attracted to the Biker Outlaw

"Hey there, you awake?" he called out, his warm hand giving my spine a little tickle as it pulled the sheet along with it. It sent this tingly shiver down my skin, settling just above my bottom.

I couldn't help but break into a big old smile.

Man, I'd actually done it. No kidding. I'd only gone and found him. And believe me, he was right there, lying in bed beside me, and it definitely wasn't the tequila messing with my head. Sure, I'd knocked back a bit more than I should've, but not so much that I couldn't tell who he was.

It was him. The one I'd been dreaming about, right here in the flesh. This guy, all rugged and motorcycle-cool, was the living, breathing version of the dude from my dreams.

Funny thing was, I never would've pegged a guy like him as the one. But deep down, I just knew. The moment I spotted him across that crazy-packed hangout, amidst the whole crowd going wild—laughing, boozing, yelling, busting moves, chowing down, getting up close and personal or throwing punches—yeah, that wasn't exactly my scene. But Eloise insisted I join in, claimed it was the only way to truly be part of the crew. So, there I was, stepping into this new life I'd decided on, ready to embrace it with open arms. And embrace I did.

He spotted me in the crowd, and I sure as heck noticed him too. It was my motorcycle man, and he wasn't about to play coy. Nope, he made a beeline right to where I was hanging. And lemme tell you, the tequila he handed me? It was just a bonus 'cause I was already all in. The moment he swaggered through that sea of people, every step taking him closer, his gaze locked onto mine, and his lips—man, that goatee framing them just right—curled into this insanely sexy grin.

And when he finally reached me, he hit me with this deep, gravelly "Hey," that sent a shiver right down my spine. Talk about instant captivation.

So there we were, side by side, lined up at the bar, knocking back tequila shots like it was the most natural thing in the world. But the thing was, we weren't just doing shots. We were swapping stories, shooting the breeze, and letting laughter rip through the air like we were old pals catching up after ages apart.

After a whole hour ticked by, he clasped my hand, leading me through the maze of the motorcycle club's hangout. And now, fast forward a bunch of hours, here I was, butt naked, tucked in bed with him, riding a wave of countless orgasms that had piled up so high I couldn't even tally 'em anymore. And let me tell you, it wasn't just the fireworks that had me convinced. It was the way he had me cracking up, guzzling drinks like there was no tomorrow, and feeling like I was on top of the freakin' world while the wild party was still going strong all around us.

This guy, Steel they called him, well, he didn't just embrace life; he bear-hugged the living daylights out of it. And somehow, in the middle of that raging party storm, I had this crystal-clear realization that I was gonna be right there by his side, living my life just as fully and as intensely as he did.

So picture this: I was sprawled out on the bed, belly-down, arms folded up on the pillow, cheek resting on the stack, and my noggin turned away from him. But then, I shifted, rolling my head his direction, meeting his eyes straight on.

His hair—oh, man—was this dark, slightly unruly masterpiece, with just the right dash of gray thrown in for that touch of rugged charm. And his blue eyes? Yeah, they were like this mesmerizing canvas with these pale laugh lines crinkling out from the corners. Those lines, they told stories, like this map of a life full of good times.

Then there was that dark goatee, tracing the line of his mouth. And let's not forget that chin scruff that hung on just a smidge longer than expected, biker-style, and lemme tell you, it was cooler than a polar bear's toenails. And the tattoos? Oh, baby, they weren't just tattoos. They were these winding masterpieces, slinking up his arms, mapping out the terrain of his muscles, stretching over his broad shoulders, down his rugged neck, and even staking their claim on his rock-solid chest and his massive back. And speaking of solid, the dude's body was like a fortress of strength—believe me, I had the pleasure of getting up close and personal with every darn centimeter of it.

It was nuts. Completely nuts. He was all this beauty and perfection wrapped up in one. And what's even crazier? He wasn't the type I'd ever picture myself falling for. Like, seriously, a biker guy? A motorcycle man, all tough and always up for an adventure? Yeah, that wasn't my usual scene. But here I was, having found my dream man, and let me tell you, he was like a piece of the puzzle that just fit perfectly.

"I'm awake," I breathed out, my voice a mere whisper. And honestly, that's all I could muster up. My throat? Oh, it was this tangled mess of joy and excitement, all bundled together. I'd waited for this guy for what felt like forever, and here he was, right by my side.

I knew the moment I took that leap off the roller coaster that had been my life, I was onto something big. And wouldn't ya know it, there he was—solid, real, and looking like something out of a dream. Tattoos snaking across his skin, a voice that was pure gravel and somehow heart-melting at the same time, hands that knew how to do incredible things, and well, let's just say, the dude had mastered the art of working all the right angles.

He pulled his hand away from my skin just to give my rear end a light smack before tossing out those words, all casual-like: "Time to scoot over to your own bed, darlin'."

I blinked, but the rest of me? Frozen in place, like I'd been caught in a freeze frame.

And then? Boom. He made his move. Slipped out of the bed, snagged his jeans, and wriggled right into 'em. And that walk of his? Lemme tell you, it wasn't just any old walk. It was this saunter that screamed confidence, like the dude owned the room. He beelined for this door tucked away in a corner of the room, and wouldn't you know, he didn't even give a second glance back at me. Instead, he tossed out this request over his shoulder like it was no big deal: "Hey, Red, how 'bout you drop your number and shut the door on your way out?"

Next thing I knew, that door was swinging shut behind him, like some kind of curtain drop on the most unexpected scene I'd ever been a part of.

It was creeping up on eight in the morning when I took a deep breath and made that turn off Broadway, cruising into the sprawling, cement-coated path that led me right around the massive warehouse auto supply joint that was all part and parcel of Ride's whole gig. Then, with my heart giving an extra thump or two, I pulled up into the open space of the three-bay garage that was Ride's beating heart.

My eyes were glued to the sight before me as I edged closer. Ride Custom Cars and Bikes, the place where I was now clocking in, had earned itself a global reputation. We're talking A-list celebs and big-shot Saudi sheiks dropping major bucks on their rides here. Cars and bikes from this joint? They'd been the poster children for magazines, had their close-ups on the big screen, and honestly, they had people chattering all over Denver, heck, all across Colorado and probably stretching far beyond that. Trust me, even though I couldn't tell a carburetor from a