Aeon {Celestial Bodies Book One}

~ aeon ~

Aeon wished she was wearing pants. The dress was not short by any means, but with her legs braced around Dane Maddon, it was working overtime to keep her covered. Her bare legs quivered from the cold, but her midsection was so hot that she was sweating under Dane's heavy leather jacket. It smelt of old things, spice and cigarettes, a scent that drifted under the helmet and trapped her in a bubble of Dane. She was extremely conscious of the closeness of her groin to his and the feel of the leather beneath her scantily clothed backside. Every so often, when the bike would stop suddenly, her pelvis would slide up the bike, her underpants a thin shield against the textured leather, and an indescribable jolt would spike through her, rendering her knees even weaker than they already were. She was worried Dane would notice her fidgeting, and she held him extra tight so he wouldn't notice.

She'd felt this way very rarely, although she'd been assured by far too many of her siblings it was a very normal sensation. Arousal, that was. She certainly hadn't felt it this potently, and towards an inanimate object. Although it wasn't the bike, not really; it was everything; the scent from the jacket, the hard chest beneath her arms, the roar of the machine. Dane's long tresses of black hair, whipping in the wind against the shield of her helmet, and the steadiness of his arms on the handles. The corded muscles of his forearms, which she couldn't help but imagine holding her down. God knew what that meant, but the thought alone left her heart palpitating.

What had brought her to this moment? Straddling a strange man on a bike, having the most confusing sexual awakening she could have imagined, all while the world whizzed past in a blur of light and sound. Dane wove through traffic with practised ease, his shoulders a comfortable slope and his thumbs occasionally tapping the handles to a song she couldn't hear, one that must have been playing in his head.

By the time they pulled onto her street, Aeon was about ready to leap off the back and run inside to take a cold shower. But she managed to keep her cool until Dane killed the engine, before sliding off the back and wrenching off the helmet, patting down her hair as she scanned the house for signs of life. The lights were off, which was a good sign, but both Vic and Larrikin's cars were in the driveway, and they were both notoriously light sleepers.

She had to get Dane to leave before they decided to investigate. "You should leave now."

Dane laughed again, sounding bewildered. "Can I at least get my jacket back first?"

Aeon was glad her skin hid blushing better than some of her other siblings because her entire face felt hot. She unzipped it and shrugged out of the leather, her skin immediately missing the warm cocoon of the jacket. She folded her arms against the cold and nodded at Dane. "You didn't have to do that."

Dane rested his arms on the handles of his bike, giving her a gentle smile. "Course I did. You'll be alright?"

She hated that question, hated how earnest he sounded when he'd asked it both times. "I told you, I'm physically unharmed."

"No, but it must have been scary," he elaborated. "I would have been scared, a bunch of guys coming after me like that. Just because you kicked their asses doesn't mean you have to shrug off what they tried to do."

Aeon swallowed what felt like a ball of dry clay. Despite the chill, she felt like she could have stood on the pavement next to him and his bike forever, as long as he wanted to talk to her. "I guess I was. Scared."

Dane's eyes were soft, understanding. Despite the dragon tattoo above his right brow, the untamed mane of black hair, and the impressive width of his shoulders, he spoke in a way that betrayed his exterior. He was gentle, sincere. His face was all hard lines and stubble, his body trim and solid from what she could see between the slither of exposed skin between his hoodie and jeans, and what she'd felt with her arms around his abdomen. His lips quirked so easily into a lazy, crooked smile, which never failed to reach his eyes. His dark, appraising eyes, which reminded her of charcoaled wood in the dying embers of a fire.