The music was still ringing in Dante's ears as he rode home with his girlfriend, and the headache wasn't helped by his innamorata's (sweetheart's) shouting. No matter what he did, there was always something wrong. First, there were the missed calls from a week ago, then the damned gang incident—which, admittedly, was his fault—and now it was the girl who was grinding on him! Every day seemed to bring a new issue.

But damn, did he love his little spitfire. Her eyes flashed like fireworks when she was angry, and tonight was no exception. He was reminded why he had fallen in love with her. But sometimes, he wanted to rip her head off. Or just fuck her until she shut the hell up.

As raindrops began to splatter against their helmets, Dante cursed under his breath. Great, just what they needed—a downpour. He could feel her tense behind him. Based on the grip she had on his waist, Dante knew it wasn't just the rain that had her worked up.

“Jesus Christ, she came to me. I didn’t even know she was there until she was on top of me. You should know I wouldn't go out of my way to find someone to grind on my dick! Fuck!” he shouted through his helmet before taking it off. “Maybe if you trusted me a little more, we wouldn’t be having this conversation!”

He could hear her arguing back though the rain and the helmets made it difficult to hear. Finally, he pulled up to his home and kicked the brakes of the motorcycle. He watched as she threw her leg off the bike and dropped her own helmet to the ground, the rain drenching her hair and causing it to stick to her skin.

“Hey!” Dante stood up and grabbed her wrist, accidentally pulling her into his chest. “Where are you going?” he whispered, trying to stay angry but her eyes... Those beautiful eyes... His hand left her wrist to cradle the back of her head, threading his fingers into her wet hair to pull her closer, his eyes locked on her lips. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice trailing off in the rain while his free hand slide down to her ass, teasing it with a squeeze.