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at the tip.
    He wanted her too, pretty badly it seemed.
    She wanted to swing her leg over him, straddle him, hold him
down and tease him until he couldn’t take it anymore, but she’d apparently
overestimated his patience. When she’d put one leg in the air, he pounced,
using her precarious position to tip her onto her back.
    “God, Mia,” he said, pinning her to the bed and staring at
her with those beautiful pale eyes, “you’re driving me crazy.”
    She bucked against him and he groaned.
    “If you don’t want this, you’d better tell me now. I can’t
take much more.”
    He held her by her upper arms, his legs on either side of
hers. She looked down, and his erection had slipped out of the flap of his
boxers. He was thick, long and hard, hanging there like ripe fruit, ready to be
devoured.
    She lifted her knee toward her chest and used her foot to
caress that beautiful, dark head. “I would have thought what I wanted was
obvious, biker boy.” She raised her head toward his as much as she could. “Fuck
me. Hard.”
    He took her mouth in a savage kiss, so roughly he might have
bruised her. This man, this stranger, was taking her exactly how she loved it,
and she couldn’t help but delight in it. Their tongues tangled, hands
everywhere, almost as much of a fight as it was a fuck. He grabbed a handful of
her hair and yanked her head to the side, allowing him access to her neck. She
moaned as he kissed the tender skin, then squealed when he bit.
    “If I’m too rough,” he paused to bite her again, “you’d
better tell me fast. Because this is how I like it, Mia.”
    “It’s how I like it too.” She raked her nails down his back,
pouting at the fabric that dulled her efforts. “But you’ve got too many clothes
on.”
    “So do you.” He yanked her shirt up and over her head,
tossing it aside. He did the same with his, and Mia caught her breath at the
sight of him.
    The tattoos on his arm she’d admired before, when he’d lost
the jacket. A new-school rendition of a gearhead’s passion, with flames, spark
plugs and machinery done in an almost graffiti style covered his left arm. On
his chest was a shield, a banner below stating “Protect and Serve”. But while
the ink was lovely, it was definitely second place to the man himself.
    He wasn’t just strong, he was fucking cut. Mia ran her hands
down his abs, reveling in the structured muscle. Good god, she’d never been
with a guy who looked like this under his clothes. He must work out for a few
hours every day to look this good.
    But then she glanced downward at her own body. With her
shirt off, there was nothing to conceal the extra pounds around her middle. She
wasn’t obese, but she could stand to lose a little weight. She sure as hell
wasn’t a physical match for the man above.
    Disappointment flooded her. Shit. Now she was going
to lose this beautiful experience, and it was all because he looked better than
she did.
    “Mia,” he commanded, gripping her chin and staring into her
eyes. “Look at me.”
    She did. She had to. How could she not?
    “I don’t know what just happened in your head, but tell me
this. Do you want me?”
    “Yes,” she said as the lust—which hadn’t died a moment
earlier, just hid from the shame of her body—returned with a rush.
    “Then let me see you. All of you.”
    Her cheeks heated but she sat up, removing her bra, then
unbuttoning her capris and shoving them down her legs. Her panties followed and
she sat there, reclining on her elbows beneath him, her body bare.
    “Here I am,” Mia said as her hungry gaze turned to him. “Now
it’s your turn. Show me.”
     
    Garrett wasn’t stupid. It had been painfully obvious what
Mia was thinking when she’d looked at her own body after staring at his abs.
    He’d never met a woman who was happy about her appearance,
and he knew, to Mia, he probably looked like a workout freak. He trained to
keep his stress level down, and sometimes that turned into long hours