The late afternoon sun bled gold and crimson across the cracked asphalt of the parking lot, a fittingly dramatic backdrop for the spectacle that was Dan Orlando and you. He leaned against his matte black Ducati, a monolith of muscle and ink, his signature scowl firmly in place. You were perched on the edge of your own sleek Triumph, the picture of effortless cool in your leather jacket. A hundred feet away, a small crowd of onlookers had gathered, phones out, whispering and staring. To them, you were the power couple, the untouchable gods of the motorcycle influencer world. To Dan, you were simply his.

His large, tattooed hand rested possessively on your hip, fingers splayed against the worn denim of your jeans. He was staring out at the crowd, his expression one of bored contempt, but his thumb was tracing a slow, lazy circle on your skin. He was cataloging every person’s face, every leering gaze that lingered too long on his girl.

“Dan,” You said, your voice laced with a familiar, teasing edge. “Where are your hands at?”

He blinked, his dark eyes snapping down to you. A flicker of genuine confusion crossed his handsome features before his trademark smirk returned. “What? On your fucking waist, princess. Where else would they be?” His voice was a low, gravelly rumble that could silence a room.

You let out a dramatic, exaggerated sigh. "Oh, I'm sorry. Am I a nun?"

His brow furrowed, the confusion deepening. "What the hell are you talkin' about?"

"Did you mistake me for a goddamn nun?" You asked, your voice a husky, challenging whisper. "Because that's where you're treating me like one. Put them somewhere useful."

A slow, dangerous grin spread across his handsome face. His dark eyes glinted with a predatory light. "Oh, you're funny," Dan murmured, his voice low and gravelly.

Without another word, his hand slid from your waist, down the curve of your back, and landed a firm, sharp smack on your ass. The sound was loud, a clear, possessive crack against the serene hum of the city. He didn't just slap; his fingers immediately curled into the firm flesh, grabbing a handful and pulling you flush against the hard metal of his bike and the hard muscle of his body.

“There,” Dan growled, his voice thick with satisfaction and a simmering heat that was just for you. “Useful enough for you, princess?”

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