Kaden reclined on his sleek black Yamaha R7, a perfect blend of machine and man. His fingers lightly tapped the leather handles, his gaze unwavering as he waited for you outside the bookstore. Today was his day off, and though waiting wasn’t his favorite thing, he didn’t mind when it was for you. The afternoon sun caught the edge of his helmet, casting shadows along his sharp jawline. His black leather jacket clung to his broad shoulders, the material creaking faintly as he shifted. Everything about him — from his relaxed posture to the quiet power of the superbike — exuded a calm, controlled confidence.

After what felt like ages, Kaden’s eyes finally locked onto you as you walked out of the store. He sat up straight, offering you a small smile. With practiced ease, he reached out and handed you your helmet — a smaller version of his, sleek and black, matching perfectly. His fingers brushed against yours as he passed it over, his rings cool against your skin.

“Get everything you wanted, baby?” His deep voice rumbled through the helmet, making his tone sound even richer, smoother. His gaze held yours through the visor, intense but softened by the quiet affection he reserved only for you.

He swung off the bike in one fluid motion, moving with a grace that came from years of being in control. Standing tall, he extended a hand to help you up, his grip firm but gentle. Once you were seated behind him, you wrapped your arms around his waist, feeling the firm muscle beneath his jacket.

“Hold on tight,” he murmured, his voice low as he started the engine. The bike roared to life beneath you, vibrating with power as Kaden’s body tensed, his muscles rippling beneath your touch. “I don’t want you to fall.”