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back and my crotch fitted tight to him. Was this what it was like for teenage boys? To be so goddamn horny you could barely function?
    I slipped my hands around his waist and felt his rib cage expand as he took a deep breath. A smile teased my lips at his reaction, which he couldn’t see.
    His muffled voice rang out. “You ready?”
    “Yeah.”
    His hand came off the bike, cinched one of my arms tighter, and slapped his visor down. We jerked away from the curb and were off.
    The anxiety-inducing tattoo process was barely a thought. Riding on the back of the bike with one hand hanging onto his belt and the other inside his jacket, splayed on his chest, was like eating dessert before dinner. Once we got going, the September air was chilly. The fitted t-shirt and jeans I had on only gave me some protection, and I curled closer to Silas.
    It was more physical contact than I’d had with the opposite sex in weeks. It was made all the better when we came to a stop at a light and his calloused hand rested gently on top of mine.
    “I should have given you my jacket,” he yelled over the engine. “You okay?”
    “I’m fine.” It wasn’t a lie. I was happily cold, burrowed against him. Was that his real intention, to ‘forget’ the jacket and force me to snuggle close? If so, I had no problem with it. I loved the excuse to touch him. Besides, his hand on mine made me warm inside.
    Traffic wasn’t too bad, and true to his word, Silas didn’t drive recklessly or fast. I was in no hurry to get there or for the ride to be over. Was it the same for him?
    Things got interesting when we stopped at a long light, and my hand slid to rest on top of his thigh. Beneath the denim, the muscle tightened. I couldn’t help it. My sex-starved body stole command from my brain, and my fingernails raked up his thigh, narrowly grazing just to side of his fly.
    The groan was barely discernable. “Regan.” His helmet swung my direction. “What was that about?”
    “I’m interested in you, but I’m too subtle to tell you outright.”
    His shoulders lifted as if he chuckled. “Oh, yeah?” He shifted on the bike, adjusting. “Message received.”
    The light flipped to green.
    Arriving at the tattoo shop was a cold shower. Most of the lust for Silas washed away and was replaced with anxiety. My hands retreated from him as he shut off the bike and straightened in the seat, then pulled the helmet from his head.
    I did the same and stared at the thick cord of neck before me. He turned to the side, giving me a view of his perfect profile, and the lingering desire flared.
    “I can’t get off until you do,” he said.
    He clearly hadn’t meant it sexually, but my dirty mind went there. “I hope that’s true,” I said.
    There was a sharp intake of breath from him. Was I coming on strong? Yeah. But I didn’t fucking care. I was tired of not getting what I wanted. When I stepped off the bike, he peered at me, and time slowed to a halt.
    Holy shit. Holy fuck.
    The look of pure desire, of total want, the one I hadn’t seen from a man in months, was etched on every inch of Silas’s face. Lust . . . for me . My breath lodged in my chest as he rose up off the motorcycle until he loomed overhead.
    “Come on.” His deep voice was quiet, but strong. “This won’t take that long. Then I can give you a ride . . . back.”
    It dripped with innuendo and had me grinning.
    The exterior of the tattoo shop mimicked a retro pump station. Hand lettering in the windows boasted ink and piercings, and the OPEN neon sign glowed in the building’s late afternoon shadows. Silas held the door for me and I went through.
    The large room was partitioned off with half walls. Like Silas’s bike, it was mostly black and chrome, but here there were a few red accents. Open velvet curtains, the shade of blood, hung from the ceiling, and I assumed they would allow each tattoo bay privacy when needed.
    “We’re at the back, on the left,” Silas said.
    The place