Chapter One
The Girl Who Never Stayed Still
Sage Alvarez had never understood people who liked sitting still.
Growing up outside the United States, she’d spent her childhood climbing trees instead of wearing dresses, racing boys through muddy streets, and coming home with scraped knees that earned nothing more than a laugh from her family. If there was something dangerous to do, chances were she’d already done it.
Returning to Florida a few years ago only made her rediscover another addiction.
Horsepower.
The scream of a sport bike winding through empty roads at sunrise.
The rumble of muscle cars gathering beneath city lights.
The smell of gasoline, burnt rubber, and late-night gas station coffee.
She loved every second of it.
It wasn’t long before people started recognizing her.
Not because she chased attention—quite the opposite.
She just showed up.
Helmet tucked beneath one arm.
Oversized hoodie.
Cargo pants.
Hair tied back.
Always smiling.
Always laughing.
The problem was everyone else noticed her.
Guys constantly found excuses to walk over.
“You should let me teach you.”
“You ever ridden one of these?”
“You need a passenger?”
She politely turned every offer into friendship.
“I just need riding buddies,” she’d laugh.
Nothing more.
She wasn’t looking for a relationship.
Not in a community where half the people couldn’t tell the difference between flirting and basic kindness.
The first time she noticed Damian…
She didn’t.
Well—not really.
He stood with a group of riders, laughing about something Jaxon had said.
He was impossible to miss physically.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Dark skin that practically glowed beneath the parking lot lights.
The air in the Orlando parking lot tasted of ozone, burnt rubber, and the metallic tang of high-octane fuel. Neon signs from the surrounding strip malls bled pink and electric blue across the polished hoods of a hundred different machines. I leaned against my bike, the heat of the engine still radiating through my cargo pants, watching the crowd.
“You parked crooked.”
I didn’t need to turn around to know that voice. Deep, smooth, and laced with a permanent layer of smugness.
“I parked perfectly,” I snapped, finally glancing at Damian.
He stood there, a silhouette of solid muscle draped in a black T-shirt that clung to his chest. His skin glowed under the sodium lamps, and that crooked grin was already firmly in place.
“It literally looks drunk, Sage.”
“So does your motorcycle.”
“My bike has feelings.”
“It should feel embarrassed.”
Beside us, Jaxon let out a long, suffering sigh, leaning his head back against his car.
“There they go again.”
Riley laughed, nudging me with her elbow.
“They’re exhausting.”
I ignored them, crossing my arms and tilting my chin up. I loved this—the friction, the challenge, the way Damian looked at me like I was a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.
A few nights later, the humidity was a thick blanket over the city. We were huddled outside a burger joint, the smell of frying grease mixing with the scent of the asphalt. My legs were screaming after three hours of walking downtown, and I wasn’t hiding it.
“I can’t move,” I groaned, leaning heavily against a brick wall. “My legs are officially dead.”
Jaxon grinned, glancing at Damian.
“Someone should just carry her. Save us all the trouble of waiting for her to find her will to live.”
I shot him a look.
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m heavy,” I countered, though I said it with a smirk.
Damian, who had been quiet until then, shifted his weight. His dark eyes locked onto mine.
“No, you’re not.”
I let out a sharp laugh.
“You’ve lost your mind, Damian.”
“I promise you…”
“You can’t pick me up,” I challenged, my voice dropping an octave.
“Oh?”
He didn’t hesitate. He moved with a sudden, fluid confidence that caught the breath in my throat. Before I could even register the movement, one arm hooked around my back and the other swept beneath my knees.
The world tilted. Suddenly, I was airborne.
“What the—!”
I squealed, my fingers digging into the fabric of his shoulders by instinct. He adjusted his grip, pulling me flush against his chest. He didn’t strain. He didn’t grunt. He just held me, his heartbeat a steady, heavy thrum against my ear.
“I told you.”
I stared at him, my mind suddenly a complete blank. The witty retort, the sarcastic jab—everything vanished. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, and for the first time in my life, I had nothing to say.
Damian seemed surprised by the silence. He searched my eyes, the smugness softening into something warmer.
“See?” he murmured, that crooked grin returning. “You still think you’re heavy?”
“Oh my God…”
I shoved his shoulder the second he set me back down, though my hands were shaking.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Shut up!”
Jaxon burst into a loud, obnoxious laugh.
“Dude! I think you broke her!”
Riley leaned in, a mischievous glint in her eye.
“Sage, you are so red.”
“I am not.”
“You absolutely are.”
I pulled my oversized hoodie tight around me, trying to hide the heat crawling up my neck.
“This never happened. Everyone forget this immediately.”
Damian chuckled, a low vibration that I could still feel in my bones. Something had shifted. The air between us wasn’t just electric anymore; it was heavy.
A few weeks later, the shift became a landslide. We had just finished a night ride, the adrenaline still buzzing in my veins. Damian stepped toward me and tossed a spare helmet. It clattered against my chest.
“You riding with me?”
I raised an eyebrow, clutching the helmet.
“I usually ride my own.”
“I know.”
“So why should I trust you?”
He smirked, leaning back against his bike.
“You don’t have to.”
I looked at the helmet, then at the broad set of his shoulders.
“Screw it.”
I climbed on behind him, and the second he kicked the bike into gear and pulled away, I realized the rear seat was practically non-existent.
“Oh my God—”
I shifted, trying to find an inch of comfort.
“This seat hates me!”
Damian’s laugh was muffled by his helmet, but I could hear it.
“You okay back there?”
“Barely!”
The bike hit a sudden dip in the road, and I lurched backward. My arms wrapped tight around his waist, pulling me chest-to-back.
“I almost died!”
“You definitely didn’t.”
“I’m blaming the bike!”
“The bike says skill issue.”
I smacked his shoulder hard.
“You talk too much!”
“And yet you’re still here.”
Later that night, we crowded the sidewalk outside a pizza place. Jaxon had disappeared inside to handle the order, leaving us in the humid Florida night. Damian leaned against a light pole, the blue light of his phone illuminating his face. Riley and I sat on the curb, our shoulders touching.
“So…” Riley nudged me. “Teach me.”
“About what?”
“Men.”
I groaned, throwing my head back.
“You’ve dated women your whole life, Riley. Men are… different.”
“Different how?”
“They’re confusing.”
“They’re simple,” Damian called out. He didn’t even look up from his phone.
We both snapped our heads toward him.
“Oh?” I challenged. “You listening in now?”
“I’m just correcting misinformation.”
Riley laughed.
“Okay, expert. Enlighten us.”
Damian shrugged, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.
“You girls overthink everything.”
I rolled my eyes and stood up, brushing the grit from my jeans.
“That’s rich coming from you.”
The confidence in his voice made something twist in my stomach. A flicker of doubt crossed my mind—maybe he was like this with everyone. Maybe the banter was just his default setting. The thought stung, a sharp needle of jealousy I didn’t want to acknowledge.
“C’mon, Riley,” I said, my voice suddenly louder.
“Where are we going?”
I glanced toward a group of guys chatting near the entrance, then looked back at Damian, making sure he was watching.
“Let’s go flirt with those chocolate men over there,” I said, tilting my head with exaggerated innocence. “Since the one behind me doesn’t seem interested.”
I took two steps. I didn’t get a third.
A hand wrapped gently, firmly around my wrist. I stopped dead. Before I could turn, Damian closed the gap. He didn’t just step toward me; he invaded my space. One arm settled around my waist, pulling me back against him.
My breath hitched. He leaned in until our noses were almost touching. The teasing grin was gone. His eyes were dark, focused, and completely serious.
“And who,” he asked, his voice a low, dangerous murmur, “said I wasn’t interested in you?”
The world stopped. Every witty comeback, every sarcastic shield I had spent years building, crumbled. For the second time in a month, I was speechless.
His hand lingered on my waist for one heartbeat, then two, before he finally let go. I stayed frozen, my skin tingling where he had touched me.
“So…” he said, the smug grin returning. “You weren’t expecting that, were you?”
I let out an embarrassed laugh, rubbing the back of my neck.
“No.”
“No?”
I shook my head.
“No one’s ever done something like that before.”
His eyebrows shot up.
“Seriously?”
I nodded.
“It caught me completely off guard.”
A smug smile tugged at his lips. He leaned against the wall, watching me with an intensity that made my toes curl.
“So… you like a man who actually acts instead of just talking?”
My cheeks flared.
“I guess I do.”
“Good to know.”
Our eyes locked. Neither of us moved. We were in our own bubble until Jaxon’s voice shattered it from inside the restaurant.
“You two gonna stare at each other all night or are you eating pizza?”
We both burst into laughter, the tension breaking but the spark remaining.
From that night on, the world changed. The texts became a constant stream.
*You going to the meet tonight?*
*Already there.*
*Come outside.*
It became a ritual. I’d hear the deep, visceral rumble of his black Camaro before I even saw it. He’d pull up, the engine purring like a predatory cat, and I’d slide into the passenger seat. We spent hours drifting through the neon veins of Orlando, stopping for midnight coffee and arguing about anime in empty parking garages.
When his bike went into the shop, we only grew closer. We stopped needing a destination. We just needed to be in the same room.
He spent a few days at my house first. I watched him navigate the chaos of my family with a grace I didn’t know he possessed. My mother practically adopted him on sight, insisting he stay for every meal. My younger cousins dragged him into brutal Mario Kart tournaments, and my uncle spent three hours trying to convince him that Brazilian barbecue was the only true way to eat meat.
By the end of the first weekend, Damian was leaning back in a chair, laughing so hard he looked breathless.
“I think your family officially owns me now,” he joked.
“They basically do,” I admitted.
Then came the weekend at his place. Walking into his apartment was like seeing into his soul. Everything was precise. His helmets were lined up like soldiers. His riding jackets hung in perfect symmetry. And then there was the manga collection—alphabetized.
“You alphabetized these?” I asked, tracing the spines of the books.
He looked over from the kitchen.
“…Maybe.”
I burst out laughing.
“You’re secretly a nerd!”
“I prefer ‘man of culture.'”
But the real discovery happened when the lights went out. The first time we slept together, I thought I knew what to expect. I’d been a brat all evening, teasing him, pushing his buttons. But when the clothes finally came off, my inner freak was grinning from ear to ear.
I hadn’t expected him to be… that large.
He was a powerhouse in every sense of the word. Being that tight and having him packed inside me was a shock to the system. It took patience, a lot of communication, and a few breathless gasps, but we fit. We were a perfect match—two people who didn’t want average, two people who pushed each other to the limit.
On Saturday, my mother invited him to a friend’s ranch for Sunday morning.
“Let’s see how you do on a horse,” she’d challenged with a wink.
Damian had laughed.
“I don’t know if that’s a fair trade, Mrs. Alvarez.”
The ranch was a slice of heaven. Riley met us there, her energy matching mine. The day was a blur of laughter and dust. Watching Damian’s first awkward attempt to mount a horse had me doubled over in laughter, and he took it with his usual easy confidence.
We spent the afternoon in a haze of Brazilian music and smoke from the massive barbecue pit. Plates overflowed with picanha, sausage, pão de queijo, and fresh salads. We played cards and dominoes, the sound of clacking tiles mixing with the loud, joyous chatter of my family.
Damian leaned in close to me, his hand finding mine under the table.
“I’ve never had something like this before,” he whispered.
“Welcome to a Brazilian Sunday,” I replied, squeezing his hand.
“I could get used to this.”
“So could I.”
By the time we got back to his apartment, the week had taken its toll. It had been a long, emotional, and physically exhausting stretch. Damian had picked up a slight cold from work, and he looked beat.
“I’m dying,” he groaned, collapsing onto the couch.
“You’re not dying, you just have a sniffle,” I teased, though I felt for him.
We decided to put on some anime to kill time before he had to drop me off. He laid his head on my thighs, closing his eyes. I had full access to him—the broad expanse of his chest, the strength in his arms.
As the opening theme played, I started tracing patterns on his skin. I could feel him reacting, his breathing shifting, his body tightening beneath my touch.
“Sage…” he murmured, eyes still closed. “I’m trying to rest.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said innocently, my fingers drifting lower, grazing the waistband of his pants.
“You’re making that impossible.”
“Am I? I’m just being supportive.”
“Liar.”
I laughed and leaned down, kissing his forehead. But the thought of him—of how he felt inside me—was playing in my mind like a broken record, and I wanted to hear the full song.
I shifted, lying down beside him to watch the show, but I couldn’t keep my hands off him. I have a snake-eye piercing, a cold piece of metal that I began to gently caress against his arm, tracing the line of his bicep.
He turned to look at me, his gaze heavy.
“What are you doing?”
I leaned in, whispering against his skin, “It’s not your nipples, love.”
He let out a low groan, reminding me about his sensitivity to touch. I giggled, the sound bubbling up from my chest. I leaned in and licked his bicep—once, twice—quick, sharp bursts of affection designed to catch him off guard.
“Lick me one more time,” he threatened, his voice dropping an octave, “and you’ll see what happens.”
The threat sent a jolt of electricity straight to my core. Blood rushed through my body, and I gave him a slow, deliberate side-eye right before I licked him again.
He bolted upright.
“You wanna see what happens when you don’t listen, you brat?”
I didn’t even have time to answer before he grabbed my wrist and dragged me out of the living room. I was giggling the entire way, the sound echoing in the hallway as he threw me onto the bed.
He didn’t waste time. He stripped my shorts off in one fluid motion. My body had started getting used to him, but the way he looked at me now—with a hunger that bordered on feral—made me feel like a beginner all over again.
He flipped me over, putting me in a position I’d been craving for weeks.
“Doggy,” he whispered, his breath hot against my neck.
He went all in.
I gasped, my fingers clawing into the bedding like a cat on a carpet. I thought I was used to the size, but the angle changed everything. It felt like all my progress had reset to zero. The pressure was immense, a mix of sharp pain and overwhelming pleasure.
I tried to push myself forward, trying to find some relief.
“Oh no,” Damian groaned, his grip tightening on my hips. “You weren’t listening. Don’t try to run away now.”
He thrust back in, deeper than before, forcing me to take every inch of him. I let out a strangled cry, my head tossing side to side. He smacked my ass—a loud, stinging crack that echoed in the room—right before he finished inside me.
I let out a shaky giggle, collapsing onto the mattress.
“That’s what happens,” he panted, leaning over me, “when you don’t listen and mess with me while I’m trying to be sick.”
I rolled over, looking up at him. My eyes were wide, hungry. I looked down and saw that despite having just finished, he was still hard.
I giggled again.
“You think you won this? Oh baby, you don’t know what you just started.”
I beckoned him closer. He walked toward me, his hand reaching out to stroke my hair. I looked down at the evidence of our encounter on his skin and felt a surge of desire. I slid off the bed, my knees hitting the hard wooden floor.
I took him into my mouth, my throat tightening around him. He tried to complain, tried to tell me I was still not listening, but the words were cut off by his own moans. I smirked against him, feeling the vibration of his pleasure.
I pulled back for a second, looking up at him with a devilish glint in my eyes.
“What’s that saying?” I asked. “My steaks too juicy and what?”
Damian let out a breathless laugh.
“My steaks too juicy… and my lobsters too buttery.”
“Exactly,” I whispered. “So I don’t want to hear you complain when you were the one who dragged me into the room.”
I switched to using both my hands and my throat, treating his groans like a background song to my performance. I focused on every sound he made, every shudder of his thighs. Finally, he lifted my head, his eyes clouded with lust.
“Aren’t you tired already of taking my load?”
I looked back at him with a shy, angelic face, though the smirk remained. I shook my head and climbed back onto the bed, tapping the mattress.
“Lay down. I wanna ride.”
“Sage,” he groaned, “I’m literally sick.”
“I don’t care.”
“Didn’t you already ride me this morning, hun?”
I lowered my voice, making it soft, almost hesitant.
“Um, no baby… because it wouldn’t fit. I was too tight.”
A flicker of memory crossed his face.
“Oh yes,” he whispered. “I remember.”
He pulled me closer, his voice a ghost of a sound in my ear.
“Seems like someone has a breeding kink, huh?”
“Maybe just with you,” I replied.
I lowered myself onto him slowly. I felt him touch my uterus, a deep, internal connection that made us both moan in sync. The sound of our bodies colliding—the rhythmic clap of skin on skin—filled the room.
Damian sat up, grabbing my hips to drive himself deeper, hitting every single inch. I pushed him back down, wanting total control. I planted my hands on his broad, muscular chest, our lips connecting in a clash of tongues—enemies to lovers in a single kiss.
“Oh fuck,” he gasped against my mouth. “I’m about to come.”
I didn’t stop. I smirked and pushed harder, faster.
“Oh, and you don’t seem like you’re going to get up,” he groaned. “You’re enjoying getting filled up every time.”
I gave him a devilish smile and watched his expression as he finished inside me. I kept going, riding the wave of his sensitivity. I knew how it felt to be overstimulated—he did it to me every time he treated me like a buffet, making me peak twice in a row before he even thought about stopping.
I leaned in, giving him a soft kiss on the lips and then the forehead.
“How does it feel to be overstimulated after cumming, huh?”
He started laughing, though he was completely out of breath. I slowed my pace, moving gently, making sure he felt every single vibration of the tip.
Once we finally cleaned up, the fire died down into a warm, comfortable glow. I asked him to lay on his stomach. For the next hour, I worked lotion into his muscles, giving him a full back massage. I punctuated the silence with little kisses on his shoulders and the small of his back.
As we finally drifted toward sleep, the rumble of the city outside felt miles away. I curled into his side, the scent of him—skin and salt and something uniquely Damian—wrapping around me. I had found someone who didn’t ask me to slow down, someone who could keep up with the horsepower of my life and still find a way to make me stand still.
Chapter Two
The Calm After the Storm
Sage used to think love was supposed to arrive dramatically.
A grand gesture.
A perfect moment.
Something written like a movie scene.
But Damian was teaching her that sometimes love arrived in smaller ways.
A helmet waiting for her on his bike.
A message asking if she got home safely.
A random picture of something that reminded him of her.
A hand reaching for hers when they crossed the street.
It was never loud.
It was consistent.
And somehow, that meant more.
The weeks after the ranch felt different.
Not because they had suddenly become a completely different couple, but because something between them had settled into place.
They weren’t just two people who flirted at car meets anymore.
They weren’t just the girl who loved speed and the biker who always had a smart comment ready.
They were becoming a team.
Everyone noticed.
Especially Jaxon.
“You know what’s funny?” Jaxon said one evening as they stood around a parking lot filled with cars and motorcycles.
Sage glanced over.
“What?”
“You two used to argue every five seconds.”
Damian shrugged.
“We still do.”
“Yeah,” Riley added, laughing. “But now you argue like an old married couple.”
Sage immediately pointed at her.
“Don’t start.”
Riley held up her hands.
“I’m just saying.”
Damian looked at Sage with a small smile.
“She’s not wrong.”
Sage narrowed her eyes.
“Careful.”
“What?”
“You sound like you’re agreeing with her.”
“I am.”
She crossed her arms.
“Wow. Betrayal.”
Damian laughed.
And that was the thing about him.
He never tried to change her.
He liked her fire.
He liked that she challenged him.
He liked that she wasn’t impressed by a nice car, a motorcycle, or attention from other people.
Sage had always been surrounded by people trying to get her attention.
Damian was the first person who made her feel like she didn’t have to perform for it.
One night, they sat outside after a late car meet.
The city lights reflected off the pavement, and the sounds of engines slowly disappeared as people started leaving.
Sage leaned against his Camaro, looking at the crowd.
“You ever think about how weird life is?”
Damian looked over.
“What do you mean?”
“Like… if I never decided to come back here, if I never got into cars and bikes, if I went somewhere else that day…”
She shrugged.
“We probably would’ve never met.”
Damian was quiet for a moment.
Then he smiled.
“But you did.”
She looked at him.
“Yeah.”
“And I did.”
The simplicity of it made her smile.
Sometimes the biggest moments in life weren’t planned.
They just happened.
As time passed, Damian became part of Sage’s world.
He learned her family’s traditions.
He learned which Brazilian foods she loved.
He learned that when she said “I’m fine,” there was usually a 50% chance she was annoyed about something.
She learned his habits too.
The way he got quiet when he was thinking.
The way he tapped his fingers when he was focused.
The way he acted like he didn’t care when he absolutely did.
“You know you’re terrible at pretending not to care, right?” she told him one night.
He looked confused.
“What?”
“You.”
She smiled.
“You act all calm and serious, but you’re actually the biggest softie.”
He laughed.
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“Too late.”
Their relationship wasn’t perfect.
They still disagreed.
They still annoyed each other.
They still competed over everything.
Who was the better driver.
Who picked the better anime.
Who had the better taste in music.
But every argument ended the same way.
With laughter.
With understanding.
With one of them eventually admitting the other had a point.
Usually Damian.
Usually after Sage refused to stop arguing.
One afternoon, Sage found Damian sitting in his garage, cleaning his motorcycle after it came back from the shop.
She stood in the doorway watching him.
For a moment, she didn’t say anything.
The same guy who once caught her attention by surprising her was now the same guy who made her feel safe.
The same guy who challenged her was the same guy who supported her dreams.
He looked up.
“You’ve been standing there for like five minutes.”
She smiled.
“Maybe I like watching you work.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“That’s suspicious.”
“You’re suspicious.”
He laughed.
“Come here.”
She walked over and sat beside him.
No crowd.
No friends.
No engines.
Just them.
“You ever think about the future?” she asked.
Damian nodded slowly.
“All the time.”
“What do you see?”
He looked at her.
And Sage realized she wasn’t just asking about careers or cars or motorcycles.
She was asking about them.
“I see someone who keeps challenging me,” he said.
She smiled.
“Sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
She playfully pushed his shoulder.
“But…”
He caught her hand.
“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
For once, Sage had no comeback.
And Damian noticed.
“Did I finally make you speechless?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Don’t get used to it.”
But she was smiling.
Because somewhere between the motorcycles, the late-night drives, the family gatherings, and all the ridiculous arguments…
Sage realized something.
She hadn’t just found someone who matched her energy.
She found someone who understood it.
And Damian realized something too.
The girl with the ruby red hair and fearless heart wasn’t just someone he wanted beside him for the adventures.
She was becoming the reason he looked forward to them.
