We’re about a month away from the release of Stolen Hearts — book six in the Don’t Call Me Hero Series. It was also my birthday last weekend, so here’s my present to you (that’s how these things work, right?) Please enjoy the (NSFW) prologue to the latest installment of Cassidy & Julia’s adventures together.

PROLOGUE

“I still don’t understand the appeal.” Julia ran her fingertips along the gunmetal grey handlebars of my Harley Sportster. “It’s not a very practical vehicle."

Julia had met me after work at the facility where I stored my motorcycle during the winter months. I was born and raised in Minnesota—with an eight-year detour while being stationed in Afghanistan—but even my hearty upbringing had me admitting defeat to the upper Midwest’s brutal winter weather.

“Maybe not,” I admitted, “but I look damn good riding it.”

I watched Julia’s painted mouth part. The tip of her pink tongue poked out from between perfect teeth to flick at the barely visible scar above the right corner of her mouth. “That’s not the only thing you look good riding, dear.”

If her goal was to jumpstart my libido, she’d accomplished her mission—although it had never really taken much effort on her part to get me going.

I swung one long leg over my bike and settled onto the low seat. The motorcycle was only intended for one rider, but there was just enough room between where I sat and the gas tank for my girlfriend. Julia had never taken me up on my many offers to take her for a ride on my motorcycle, however.

"Come here," I urged.

Her upper lip curled momentarily. "Why?"

I patted the empty space in front of me. "I want to show you something."

"I'm not exactly dressed for a motorcycle ride," she rejected.

Since she'd driven to the storage facility directly after work, she still wore her work clothes from the day—dark grey dress pants and a matching jacket with a dark purple shell underneath. She always looked like she'd stepped off the pages of a glossy magazine, even after a long day of litigation.

I patted the leather seat again and showed her my teeth. "I promise you'll like it."

I spied the quick roll of her caramel-colored eyes, but then had to suppress a victory whoop when Julia stepped closer to me and my bike.

She eyeballed the motorcycle with trepidation. "I've never been on one of these things."

I started up the bike and cranked on the throttle to make the engine roar. "Glad I can be your first time at something," I said cheekily.

Julia pursed her lips. I could see her mentally wrestling between wanting to put up a fight but also her curiosity about what I wanted to show her.

"It's just like riding a regular bicycle," I assured her. "Toss one leg over the seat and sit down."

"You're not planning on driving this thing in here, are you?" she openly worried.

I could have felt insulted that she'd called my beloved motorcycle a thing, but I was too focused on getting her on the bike to feign injury about her unfavorable word choice.

"We won't move an inch. I promise."

I kept my feet firmly planted on the concrete floor to make sure the bike wouldn't wobble when Julia finally got into position. Experience with this woman told me she would bolt the moment she believed I had ulterior motives. I did have ulterior motives, but it had nothing to do with taking her on a joyride around the storage garage.

Julia sturdied herself with her hands firm on my shoulders before she swung one leg over the leather seat of the Harley. She gingerly lowered herself until she sat in the empty space between my own body and the chrome gas tank.

I leaned forward until my chest pressed against her back. With my leather jacket and her wool blazer sandwiched between us, I couldn't feel much of anything. But this wasn't about me; it was all intended for her.

"Scooch up a little," I coaxed. "And grab onto the handlebars."

Julia slid forward on the seat, but didn't immediately reach for the handlebars.

I kept my boots firm on the ground. I rested my hands on her hips. "I've got you, don't worry." I tightened my hold on her body. "We're not going to move,” I reiterated. “I promise I won't let us tip over."

Julia tentatively reached for the handlebars. She lightly rested her manicured hands on either bar. I was impressed by her willingness to trust me and follow my instructions. An earlier version of Julia Desjardin would have been stomping out of the storage facility by now. I was being purposefully vague about my intentions, which she typically didn't have the patience for.

I pressed myself more fully against her back. I leaned forward so she could feel my breath at the back of her neck. "Now open up the throttle."

She turned her head, but with me seated behind her, she couldn't quite address me directly. "The what?"

"Twist the right handle toward you."

I watched the delicate muscles and fine bones of her right wrist shift as she twisted the right handle. The motorcycle's engine growled. Although we didn’t budge—like I’d promised—Julia's hand immediately jerked away from the handle with the increased volume. The engine returned to its gentle, idling purr.

"It's okay," I tried to assure her. "It'll get loud, but we're not going to move. Just imagine you're pressing the gas pedal on your Mercedes when it's in neutral."

Julia's hand returned to the right handle. I watched her tapered fingers curl around the bar and twist. When the engine roared again, this time she didn't let go.

I pressed more fully against her back. "Can you feel that?"

Julia didn't immediately respond. I set my right hand on top of hers and cranked harder on the throttle until the engine screamed and whined. I pinned her hand beneath my own and refused to let up. The entire chassis vibrated with pent-up energy.

I grinned when I finally heard her reaction: "For fuckssake."

Multiple layers of wool, cotton, and lace existed between her naked skin and the metal gas tank, but I anticipated the constant vibrations she would be experiencing between her parted thighs. The metal gas tank itself behaved like one oversized vibrator.

I could feel Julia's body wiggle beneath my own. I wasn't sure if she was trying to put more space between herself and the quivering motorcycle or if she was only getting comfortable. Either way, I didn't intend for her to get off so easily.

Correction: that's exactly what I wanted to happen.

With my right hand still tightly gripping the respective handlebar, my left hand was free to wander. I sought the bottom hem of her silk shell and slid beneath the front of her shirt. My fingers made contact with naked skin and then the lacy material of her bra. I didn't need sight; I felt my way beneath the bra's underwire until my fingertips brushed across her nipple. I pinched the puckered bud between my middle finger and my thumb, alternating between punishing pressure and a light, tender touch.

"Cassidy." Julia's voice came out like a choking gasp.

I eased up on the throttle, not wanting to overwhelm her senses. Her body collapsed forward, but I kept her steady with an arm around her waist. I didn't let her recover entirely. I revved the engine again and surged my body forward. Pinned between my body and the motorcycle’s trembling gas tank, there was no place for her to go. Her hands fell to my upper thighs and she dug her short, polished nails into my rough work pants. Her nails bit through the thick material. I pictured the half-moon welts she would leave behind—battle wounds I could be proud of.

The engine whined, but no louder than my girlfriend. After a few minutes of constant contact, I felt her entire body spasm. Her head fell forward and she seemed to surrender herself to the quaking between her thighs. I could hear her uncensored cries above the aggressive spewing and sputtering of my Harley.

I gently eased off the throttle for a final time. The bike shuddered, almost as intensely as the woman in my arms. I held her close and breathed her in.

"That wasn't very nice," she murmured.

"No?" I said innocently. I brushed at the dark hair that fell across the nape of her neck. "I thought I was being extra nice."

“If I didn’t know any better,” she remarked, “I would have thought you’d planned this all along.”

I leaned back in my seat and grinned. “You know me, babe. I’m more of a pantser than a plotter.”

Julia, miraculously, stood from the motorbike. I stared up at her long, lean figure and her elegant pantsuit. If my hands were on her thighs I wondered if I'd feel them shake.

She calmly flicked a lock of glossy, raven-black hair behind one ear. “I think it’s time I get you home and get rid of said pants.”

I looked around the seemingly empty storage facility. I knew we had the building to ourselves. An acquaintance of my friend Brent owned the warehouse. He generously let me store my bike in the temperature-controlled storage space during the winter months for a nominal fee.

My hands went to my heavy leather belt. I loosened the belt buckle and tugged until the ends fell free. “Why wait?”

A distinct smug feeling washed over me when I realized I’d managed to shock Julia Desjardin. Her look of surprise seamlessly morphed into boredom a split second later. But it was too late. I’d caught her having an emotion.

"How many other women have you dismantled with your traveling vibrator?" she wondered.

I couldn't stifle my sharp laugh. "Have vibrator. Will travel."

Julia continued to stare. I realized her question hadn't been rhetorical.

I shut off my bike and stood up. "I only got the bike when I joined the police academy. It was my first 'adult' purchase after coming back to the States."

Julia folded her arms across her chest. "That's not an answer."

"As soon as I felt that vibration, pretty much the first time I took the bike out for a ride, I wanted to do that with someone. I thought about it," I admitted, "but it never happened with anyone else."

Julia's features softened. "It's nice I can be your first time at something."

"You're my first a lot of things," I ventured.

"Such as?" she wanted to know.

"My first real relationship. The first person I've really been in love with. The first person I could see spending the rest of my life with."

I licked my lips. The conversation had become unexpectedly heavy in a short amount of time. I'd half-assedly proposed marriage to her once; I didn't want her to think I was doing it again. She deserved an elaborate proposal with multiple moving parts. I wiggled my eyebrows. "I think there's enough gas in the tank if you wanna have another go."

"Not here," she decided. "You might be surprised, but motor oil doesn't play a part in my fantasies."

"Fantasies?" An eager smile formed on my lips. "You've been holding out on me?"

Julia grabbed me by the front of my pants, forcing my breath to hitch. "All in good time, darling."