Page 111 of Break Me

His fingers slide slightly, just enough to make my breath catch.

He leans down, mouth brushing my ear. “First,” he says, “I’m feeding you.” His thumb presses into my waist, firm and possessive without being rough. “Then,” he adds quietly, “we’ll see how tired you are.”

I swallow. “If we have to.”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes dark, steady.

"We have to." His hand lingers for a beat before he steps back to the stove. "Your dad was at the clubhouse today."

"I didn't realize he was back in town," I say.

He flips the chicken. "He got back last night. Stopped by to see how his bike is coming along."

“And?”

“And he was really there to check on you.” His voice is calm. “He invited us over Sunday. Said it’s been too long since he saw you.”

I swallow. “I didn’t realize it’d been that long.”

“He misses you,” Sam says simply as he plates the food and sets them on the table, sitting across from me.

“Of course, we’ll go.”

He nods once. “I thought you’d say that.”

I pick up my fork but hesitate. “How’s the bike?”

“It’s almost there.” He leans back in his chair slightly. “Just a few more tweaks.”

“No,” I say, giving him a look. “Yours.”

A slow grin pulls at his mouth. “She’s fine.”

“I was starting to think there was something wrong with it,” I counter.

“There’s nothing wrong with my bike,” he says, a faint crease forming between his brows. “Why would there be?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug, trying for casual. “I haven’t been on the back of it in forever. I was thinking maybe there was something wrong with it.”

That lands. His expression shifts and the confusion fades. “You miss it.”

“I miss being on it with you,” I correct quietly.

His jaw flexes. “You’re with me every day.”

“That’s different.”

He studies me for a long second. “How’s it different?”

“When we’re on the bike…” I hesitate, then push through. “You don’t hold anything back. It’s just us. No clubhouse. No noise. No distractions.”

His chair scrapes softly against the floor as he leans back.

“You think I hold back here?”

The question isn’t accusatory.

“I think you’re careful,” I say.