Page 256 of Rogue Riders Duet

Aaand, I’m hard.

Shifting in my seat, I try to make it look like I’m adjusting my phone or something. Definitely not repositioning myself because my girl just went full shy mode on my man’s lap.

I’m going to dream about this scenario, but we’re all going to wear much less clothing.

I turn the key. The engine rumbles to life beneath us, and the van jerks forward a little too eagerly. Glancing over as we pull out, I catch the sight of Mason’s arms snug around her waist, Alaina leaning back into him like she’s known the shape of him her whole life.

Fuck, those two are dangerous together.

Like cliff edges or lightning.

Like sex you feel three days later and still want more of.

And maybe, if I’m patient enough, if I play it right, there’s a way I could slide right into the middle of them.

Mason said he’s a top, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since, because yeah, thanks to Petite, my brain has done more than flirt with the idea of gay sex. I’ve imagined it, messy sheets and moaning and a lot of butt stuff, but I always figured Petite would be the one with the knees up, flushed and begging.

Now it seems that if I want that ride, I’m the one getting it. It’s not like I’m opposed to it. I’m just new, curious, maybe even cautious.

Hell, I should order some toys, do some test rides by myself, and learn the terrain. I don’t want Mason to think I’m a clueless virgin who doesn’t know what he does or doesn’t like.

My eyes flick to him again, and how he’s tracing slow circles on the flowers on Alaina’s forearm, lips ghosting the side of her head.

And fuck me, I just know Mason would be nice about it. Gentle, patient. He’d make it feel good for me. I trust him.

I mean, I’m letting him hold my girl like that, while I’m driving and we’re all squished in the front seat, pretending it’s not the weirdest, most intimate throuple moment of the year.

That’s how much I trust him.

I trust him with her.

So I’ll have no problem trusting him with my ass too.

Way too quickly, we arrive at the track. I park the van on the edge, kill the engine, and we all pile out. The air is dry, the earth damp and solid, and I can already smell the adrenaline.

We unload the motocross bikes, and Mason checks them again because, of course, he does.

“Come on, Payne,” Alaina teases. “Let’s get moving.”

Mason smirks but doesn’t rush. Finally satisfied, he swings one leg confidently over the bike, settling into position. “You sure you can handle this?”

Without hesitation, Alaina steps closer, swings her leg effortlessly over, and parks herself right in front of him like she owns it. And him. Feet on the stand, hips tilted just enough, her ass pressing flush to his waist like she’s daring him to hold on.

“See?” she throws over her shoulder. “I can handle myself just fine.”

Payne’s hands come up and settle on her hips, thumbs grazing the waistband of her pants like it’s muscle memory, his gaze glued to her ass.

I lick my bottom lip, watching the whole thing like it’s my personal cinema screening. Mason is pretending to behave, but I see the way his cheeks pinken and his fingers tighten, just slightly.

Possessive little thing.

Fuck, they’re hot.

So hot I don’t even try to pretend I’m unaffected as I yell, “You guys look hot as fuck.”

Mason flinches like he forgot I was there, mutters something under his breath, and slides off the bike to give her space.

The second she’s seated properly, Alaina reaches for the helmet, pulls it on, guns the throttle once, and shoots off, making the tires spit gravel in her wake.