Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Dreams wove through my mind, blurring reality and fantasy. Clark’s face shifted between the polished image of my imaginary boyfriend and the rugged truth of the biker lying next to me. We were dancing under the stars one moment, his eyes holding promises I couldn’t decipher, and racing down winding roads on his motorcycle the next.

I jolted awake, heart pounding. Disoriented, I realized I was tangled up with Clark. My head rested on his bare chest, my arm draped over his torso, and my leg—oh no—thrown over his hips. Under my thigh, his impressive arousal was evident. I froze.

Moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a silvery hue across his peaceful face. Without thinking, I lightly traced my fingers over his beard. The texture was surprisingly soft. His eyes fluttered open, meeting mine with a sleepy, amused gaze.

“Enjoying yourself?” he murmured, a sly grin tugging at his mouth.

I gasped, yanking my hand back and scrambling away. “I—I was just?—”

He chuckled softly. “No need to explain. If you wanted to cuddle, you could’ve just asked.”

Flustered, I threw a pillow at him. “Very funny.”

He caught it easily. “If you keep throwing things, I’ll think you’re trying to get my attention.”

I huffed, crossing my arms. “In your dreams.”

He furrowed his brow. “Oh, you have no idea what’s in my dreams.”

Sensing the heat on my cheeks, I searched for a distraction. My gaze landed on the champagne chilling by the bed. “Since we’re already awake, let’s make the most of it.”

He shrugged, eyes playful. “Pour me a glass while you’re at it.”

I retrieved the bottle and two flutes. Popping the cork, I poured the bubbly liquid and handed him a glass. We settled back on the bed, propped against the headboard.

“Cheers,” I said, clinking my glass against his.

“To my Little Honey Bun,” he replied, taking a sip.

We sat in comfortable silence. The champagne’s effervescence danced on my tongue, helping me relax.

“This town holds so many memories, yet I couldn’t wait to leave,” I admitted.

He nodded. “Brevard’s beautiful, but it can feel like a cage when you’ve got bigger dreams.”

“Exactly. I love the forests and festivals, but I needed to see what else was out there.”

He glanced at me. “So, you ended up in Nashville, chasing music.”

“And you hit the road on your motorcycle, seeking freedom.”

“Something like that.”

“Why do they call you Frog?” I asked.

“Because in high school, I was awkward. Never had a girlfriend. The guys said I was like a frog waiting to turn into a prince. But the nickname started earlier—my mom called me Frog because I loved hopping in puddles.”

I laughed softly. “Hard to believe. You seem to have no trouble with women now.”

He shrugged. “I’ve had my fair share, but none hold a candle to you.”

I felt a blush rise. “You barely know me.”

“Sometimes you meet someone, and it just clicks,” he said sincerely.

I looked down, swirling my champagne. “I’m not exactly a catch. My ex, Mark... he cheated. Called off the wedding. I haven’t dated since.”

“His loss,” Clark said firmly. “He’s a real prick.”

“It was hard. Nashville’s amazing for my career, but it’s been lonely.”

He studied me. “A woman like you shouldn’t feel lonely.”

I let out a dry laugh. “And what kind of woman is that?”

“Smart, talented, beautiful. You’ve got this light in you, Aurora. It’s mesmerizing.”

I swallowed hard. “You’re laying it on thick.”

He grinned. “Just speaking the truth. Ever since I met you, I can’t get you out of my head.”

I laughed. “You have a way with words.”

“Only when they matter,” he said quietly.

Clark’s fingers intertwined with mine, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine. We spent the next hour talking and sharing pieces of ourselves we’d kept hidden. He spoke of his travels with the Royal Bastards MC and the brotherhood he found. I shared stories of late-night rehearsals and the loneliness that sometimes accompanied success.

As the night wore on, we drifted into a comfortable silence. Lying side by side, our hands remained clasped. Then in that quiet, our eyes locked. Before I could second-guess it, he leaned in, and our lips softly met. The kiss was so tender at first, then deepened as if a dam had broken.

When we pulled apart, I was breathless. “Clark, I...”

He brushed a strand of hair from my face. “You’re tense,” he observed. “Stressed.”

I laughed lightly. “Can you blame me?”

“Lie back down.”

“Excuse me?”

He raised his hands. “Nothing funny. I studied to be a masseuse. Let me help you relax.”

“You’re a biker who gives massages?” I teased.

He chuckled. “Is that so hard to believe? Now, get under the sheet so I can’t see anything you don’t want me to.”

I hesitated but nodded. “Fine.”

Turning away, I slipped out of my tank top and pants, keeping my undergarments on. Crawling under the sheet, I lay on my stomach.

“Comfortable?” he asked softly.

“As I’ll ever be,” I mumbled.

Starting at my shoulders, his hands felt warm and soothing. His fingers expertly massaged the knots of tension, gradually releasing the tightness. I sank into the amazing feeling, shutting my eyes to fully experience it.

“You’re really good at this,” I murmured.

“Told you.”

With skilled precision, his hands traveled down my back, creating a soothing sensation with every touch. I became acutely aware of the strength in his hands—the roughness of a man accustomed to labor, yet capable of tenderness. As he continued, I felt my barriers crumble. His gentle touch, the closeness of the moment, and the sweet taste of his kiss, still on my lips, ignited a spark within me.

“Clark,” I whispered.

“Yes?” he paused.

“Maybe... maybe I was wrong about you.”

He resumed, slower. “How so?”

“Maybe you’re not just some biker. Maybe you’re exactly what I’ve been missing.”

Silence hung before he spoke. “I’ve wanted to get to know you better since we met.”

I turned onto my back, holding the sheet to my chest. “Then maybe we should stop pretending.”

He met my gaze. “I’d like that.”

Without overthinking, I pulled him down into another kiss, deeper this time.

Maybe this was reckless. Maybe I’d regret it in the morning. But right now, I wanted more than just a massage—I wanted him.