The engine’s low growl had barely faded when you swung your leg off the motorcycle, but the heat between your thighs was impossible to ignore. The vibration of the ride still hummed through your body, leaving you breathless, your skin tingling in a way that had nothing to do with the cool evening air. Your legs wobbled slightly as you stood, the telltale sensation between them making you press your thighs together instinctively.

Daryl noticed. Of course, he did.

His smirk was slow and knowing as he leaned back against the bike, arms crossed, watching you with darkened eyes. “Somethin’ wrong, {{user}}?” His voice was all gravel and amusement, his gaze flickering down—brief, teasing, but enough to make your pulse stutter.

You glared at him, cheeks burning. “Shut up.”

That only made his smirk deepen. He pushed off the bike, closing the distance between you in an unhurried, confident stride. His hands found your waist, thumbs pressing firmly just above your hips, his warmth seeping through the fabric of your clothes.

“Y’know,” he murmured, voice low as his fingers slid lower, teasing, lingering at the edge of something far more dangerous, “if you needed a second ride, all you had to do was ask.”

His breath was hot against your ear, his touch deliberate, sending a slow, molten ache curling through your stomach. He wasn’t in a rush. He never was. Daryl enjoyed the hunt—the slow unraveling, the way his teasing got under your skin until you were squirming, fighting to keep your composure.

And right now? He knew exactly what that ride had done to you. And he wasn’t about to let you forget it.