Page 258 of Rogue Riders Duet

Then he slips his helmet on in one smooth motion, throws a leg over the second bike, and without another word, he’s gone, roaring after Alaina.

I just stand there, flabbergasted, one hand half-raised to my mouth.

“Merde.”

My lips are still tingling, my brain short-circuited, and my dick, well, let’s just say it’s filing complaints about missed opportunities.

That kiss was a statement. A claim.

Mason kissed me like he was done playing it safe and decided to crash straight through my defenses with no brakes at full throttle.

And I fucking loved it.

I run a hand down my face, trying to center myself. It doesn’t work. I’m still buzzing. Still hard. Still imagining how Mason’s hands would feel if they weren’t wrapped around handlebars but wrapped around me. I thought I’d be the one with the upper hand, but merde, I think I just got leveled.

Alaina comes back to me, pulling me out of my stupor, the bike humming as she eases it to a stop. Her leg swings off like she’s done it a hundred times before, and she rips off her helmet, revealing her flushed cheeks and bright eyes, but there’s a crease of frustration in her brow.

“You guys were right. It’s harder with just two fingers. The throttle, the grip, all of it. I think I’d rather stop here.”

I step toward her, grinning while taking the bike over from her. “Look at you. Making rational decisions.”

She raises an eyebrow as she hands me the helmet. “Coming from you, that’s wild.”

“Touché.” I wrap an arm around the back of her neck, tug her in close, and press my nose against the curve where her throat meets her shoulder. She smells like lavender and the sharp bite of dust. I breathe her in deep, let my mouth graze her neck, then bite. Just a little.

“Luc.” She gasps, half a laugh, half a warning. “Stop it.”

“I can’t,” I murmur against her skin, nibbling up toward her ear. “I’m so fucking happy.”

She stills, then leans back to look me in the eye. “You are?”

I nod, letting my hands slide to her waist. “Yeah. I have you. And Mason just told me he’s fine with me having both of you.”

Her mouth curves. “I’m so happy for you.” She rises on her toes and kisses me, and when she pulls back, her eyes are gleaming. “Now go. Show Payne how the Flying Frenchman does it.”

I laugh and swing onto the bike. “Oh, bébé. You’re about to witness art.”

Throttle. Kick. Dirt spits behind me as I shoot forward, the bike vibrating beneath me as I fly over the first bump, carve into a turn, and hit the straight like I’ve got rockets strapped to my ass.

Mason joins me halfway down the track, matching my speed. We exchange a glance—half-challenge, half-grin—and then he punches it and overtakes me by a hair.

Oh, it’s on.

We race like kids with no brakes and nothing to lose. I pull a wheelie, just because I can, and Mason cackles beside me before dipping into the next corner. I keep pace, lean in harder, get dirty and reckless with it, and every time we scream past the starting point, Alaina is there, yelling and clapping, her voice bouncing off the trees.

“Faster, you slowpokes!”

The joy. The lightness. The rightness of it all.

I land the last jump harder than I mean to. Breath punches out of me in a sharp exhale, and the bike skids a little as I coast to a stop near the far edge of the track.

Mason rolls up beside me, engine rumbling low before he cuts it. “You having fun?”

I pull off my helmet and wipe my forearm across my forehead, sweat and dust mixing. “Yeah.” I pant. “This is the best fucking day of my life.”

He snorts. “You’ve won three World Cup overalls, and this is the best day of your life?”

His goggles still hide his eyes, but the shape of his mouth behind the mouthguard is familiar now, the way it twitches when he thinks he’s caught me being dramatic.