Hotline Fling

39: Knew It

Juneau's POV

"Oh, my goodness." My hand flew up to my mouth. "You have a... motorcycle?"

"Yeah?" Damian glanced between his bike and me a few times. "Is that not a good idea?"

My visit to Damian's office started with the intention to thank Officer Bryson, but I wanted to see Damian in person. Within his office, I gained so, so much more. I sat damn near mute through our conversation because realization after realization struck me like fucking Cupid's arrows the longer I sat there. My heart lassoed my brain, making it vomit up fact after fact and rendering me speechless.

He was the strong compassion I received after the accident.
He wanted to come after me at the party.
He came to the hospital. 
He texted me that he was looking forward to our date.
He was everything.

And fuck, his smell. He smelled like warm coffee, strength, security, and a giant pile of nerves. When he asked me out? My heart almost exploded inside my chest, and I fought back another surge of tears. If he hadn't, I would've gone with my vagina's suggestions and fucked him on his desk right then and there. Or, at the least, I threaded one of those fucking donuts around his cock and ate to my heart's content.

I had one request, to wait until removing my staples so I no longer needed the arm sling. I couldn't have felt less attractive or confident with those physical reminders attached to me. My arm was stiff and the skin sensitive, but removing the staples and sling brought a welcome peace of mind.

After a week of talk-only conversations between us where he adorably asked if my staples were out yet every fucking time, an uncomfortable second visit to Dr. Ford, and a giant tube of scar treatment cream, I was more excited than a teenage girl going to her prom.

I certainly wasn't dressed for prom, opting for my go-to little black dress. Damian was at least six inches taller than me, so my four-inch black heels were a go. I threw away my black coat since it reminded me too much of that night. A creature of habit, I owned the same version in light gray and a shorter mid-thigh length. My dress fit comfortably in all the right areas but had thin straps. Since I wasn't comfortable with my newly-exposed shoulder scar, I slipped on a black shrug sweater with three-quarter-length sleeves.

Damian's bike, though? Sleek and black and chrome. "Are you trying to give me an orgasm prematurely?" I cocked my head as if his sexy, black leather coat, black jeans, and messy helmet hair weren't already stirring inspiration. Fuck, he looked so attractive, those eyes lighting up in the ultimate compliment. Wherever he looked caressed me with goosebumps.

I took the helmet he extended and strapped it under my chin. Unlike his, which hid his entire face, mine looked more like a moped helmet, with my face exposed.

He gave me a devastatingly gorgeous grin, revealing tiny dimples at the bottom of his cheeks. "Only if you tell me about it after...or during."

"Pretty sure I couldn't hide it if I tried." Without hesitation, I swung one leg over his bike and onto the seat extender over the rear wheel.

My dress hiked up from sexy to near prostitute level, but I smirked at the intensity burning in his eyes. They traveled up my leg, electrifying my skin with one upward drag. He swallowed, put on his helmet, and slid ahead of me. I sighed with girly happiness when I wrapped my arms around him and palmed his chest. Cold, smooth leather coat brushed my cheek as I koala-hugged him.

"You've done this before," he said over his shoulder in a statement, not a question.

"Bet your ass I have, Sergeant Hotpants." I leaned closer and brushed my nose against the back of his neck. "You are far from my first ride."